《Murder in the Temple (LitRPG | Progression Fantasy)》 Chapter 1 - Broken Legs and Bad Debts "Are you fucking kidding me?" The Bailiff 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 this 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 Bailiff. Even a Level 14 one, such as Brona, would have access to Skills that would probably further ensure his day continued to be 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 opened his inventory. To be honest, he had any number of odds and ends that he could probably put up as collateral, but if the Bailiff 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 Bailiff 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, I am pleased to say 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 the ruinous nature of my career to date be worth four and three-quarters pieces of gold?" Brona shook his head. "Fraid not, mate." "Fine." Lowe sat down on the floor and extended both his legs. "Have at it." *If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The soft buzzing of the Sending Stone brought Lowe back to consciousness. He''d mercifully passed out after the Bailiff 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 eventually shake off. 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 when he stepped on the wrong toes.. The buzzing of the Sending Stone was beginning 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 Bailiff, 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 Sentinel of Justice 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 the ring 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 and all." 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 Hoodlums and Wannabe Gangsters 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 2 - Dead on Arrival The eighth bell had just tolled when Aintra Weber had 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 Coal Stirrer. Not that he''d been inundated with choices, of course. Not many administrative options were available to you when you were disposed towards the element of fire. 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. That young firebrand had been Gianna dAvec and she was now the High Priestess of Gravalk. As her 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 Estate Agents as ''vibrant''. As a gut wound. Sure, a Level 32 Coal Stirrer was hardly going to 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, last night, the High Priestess called him to her chamber in the Temple and informed him that his service would not be required when she ascended from the third to the second floor of the Celestial Temple. 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. "Im 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 past 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 on his demotion. 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 to the Celestial Temple 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 of Yolgorth on the Second Floor at the end of the season. However, given time and focus, he would have been able to make that journey. Of course, he had not put any of his Progress Points into Skills which would lend themselves to the speedy gathering of XP. Coal Stirrers 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 that would attract many recruiters to his door . . .If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. 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 Coal Stirrer 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? But, 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 for a High Priestess to choose to reside in a place other than in the Temple itself. Still, having made that unusual choice, d''Avec was never less than fastidious of being at work before Aintra arrived each morning. Aintra 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 behind his desk and then directed a stream of mana to the stone, causing a rather hysterical elderly woman''s face to hover before him. "It''s Mylaf speaking. I''m the High Priestess''s housekeeper." Aintra grimaced, 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 the appropriate moment. He had yet to find a way to convince her such concerns were lower down Gravalk''s priorities than she apparently thought. That would be one of his tasks he would not miss with his . . . replacement. "Yes, Mylaf. It''s Aintra Weber. 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 Drudge to seek kinship with him with the choice of the word ''our''. Mylafs Class would never allow her to 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 Drudge''s face 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. I looked after her from then on. And she always was home before midnight for 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 should not to be brought into her presence. But then, Aintra reflected, looking at the dismembered corpse of his very 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 Drudge 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 fiery 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 pulsed out a message to Cuckoo House, the home of Soars Security Service.. "Calling Inspector Lowe? Inspector Lowe, please." Chapter 3 – Blood on the Marble A shower, a shave and a change of clothes later, 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 found himself cricking his neck to look upwards. A Temple Warder 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 soft 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 Council deem your investigation may become a threat to their interests." "Ah," Lowe stood awkwardly for a moment. Can we come to some sort of deal whereby 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 quiver. "Probably not, to be honest." "Excellent. Glad I know where I stand with you. Would be great if that wasnt in a potentially giant pool of my own viscera without appreciating why. But I appreciate your candour." "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. Maybe its someone else?" "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."The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "Who found her?" "Her secretary, a minor-Classed called Aintra Weber. Does something with spreadsheets if you can credit that? 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 Temple Warders 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. But, you know, sure. A shadow. Nice metaphor." "Awesome. Cheers for that. So, ignoring my impending death, the only person - outside of the Temple Warders - 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 to the Council - 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 clearance 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 whilst Classless and 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 First Desk at Cuckoo House." 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 Temple Warders 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 irresistible 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 Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder, "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 were a lower Level, I could imagine the attacker could have suppressed her aura. Maybe prevented her casting? Bigger dog eat smaller dogs all the time. I''ve seen that more times than I can count. But Level 67? I mean, the sort of mana that would require would be . . ." The Temple Warder 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 very 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 not have been a fan of the High Priestess." Latham laughed. "That, my little friend, will be quite a list." Chapter 4 – Burnt Offerings and Bitter Truth It turned out the Temple Warden 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 Deathcaller? 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 View, 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 View gave him perfect recall for 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 Temple Warden 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."This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. "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 it 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 indeedand have a huge amount of luckto 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 Coal Stirrer 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 Hell Raiser whilst the other one - Setort - was a Blazing Candle. 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 Weber, 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 Hell Raiser 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 Hell Raiser 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 Classless 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 Coal Stirrer 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, Weber, 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 Priestesss 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 Drudge 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 5 – The House of Secrets 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 nothing 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 Drudge 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 Drudge 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. "I would very much appreciate that, Mylaf. Please produce the most appropriate beverage and sweet confectionary you believe would be suitable for me."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. 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 Drudge 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 Drudge 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 Drudges" 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 myfood, 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: 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 Drudge 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. Laughters 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 6 – Tea, Cake and a Corpse It turned out Lowe needed more than just a moment for his head to stop swimmingand 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 Secondary Attributes: Health Points (HP): 1150 Mana Points (MP): 400 Stamina Points (SP): 550 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 Drudge. 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 Professor 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?"If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. 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 Professor. "I don''t know, sir." "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 Classless 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 Drudge''s 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 Drudge 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 Weber 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 Temple Warder 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 Drudge 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 Journalists 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 Drudge looking to stay busy whilst keeping her head down . . ." Chapter 7 - Murder and Misdirection "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 Drudge 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 Journalists 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 Press Officer 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 Drudge 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 Temple Warder 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 worldone 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 Drudge 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. 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. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. 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 Drudge 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 Winter Spearmen 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 Grid View. 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 chambers 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 chandeliers 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 footprintthe shape of a boot, not Giannas bared footpointed 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 waxan odd relic in a fire-worshipping sanctum. Grid View 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 Weber 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. Weber 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 butwithout all that much encouragementhad 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 8 - One Last Punch 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 Stoneheading for jobs that singularly failed to put a spring in anyone''s stepnoticed 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 Ogre accosting him, came from slightly to his left. Lowe tried to launch Grid View 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." 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. Stolen story; please report. 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. And that part of 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 momentand had he any belief left that the gods of Soar gave him any thought whatsoever he may have thanked them 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, andperhaps most significantlyhis 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 Ogre. 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 Ogre 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 9 - The Long Fight Back "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 Temple Warders 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 Ogre 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 Merchant. 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 Temple Warder 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? "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 Greater Hoodlum, Level 46." Lowe coughed out his final bite of cookie. "Level 46!!!''" "Yup!"Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. "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 Temple Warders, Justicars, Dungeon Keepers, 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 Greater Hoodlum 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 that 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 Merchant, 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 Temple Warder''s 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: Secondary Attributes: Health Points (HP): 1150 Mana Points (MP): 400 Stamina Points (SP): 550 "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 Waste Management 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 Temple Warder, 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 10 - Behind the Scarlet Door 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 an overarching stat that 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. One that enough gold spent on enough gear could easily replicate. 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 Classtrated state, his Core stats were in such an abject state. Each of his Progression Points from Level 1 to 19 - including his Level 10 and Level 15 bonuses - 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 of 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 Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder''s 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 Temple Warder 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 relatively low level, you''ve actually 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. He was just about to draw level when the boost to Intelligence caught up with his brain. *This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. 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 Temple Warder 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 Coal Stirrers office. He had hoped that dAvec''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. Weber?" "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 Coal Stirrer 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 Coal Stirrer 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 Coal Stirrer 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 Weber 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, Weber 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 Weber 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 Temple Warder 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 11 - A Floor Too High "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, Temple Warder. 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, Im 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 youve 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 couldnt 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." "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. * 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 an 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'' 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 giddy to verbalise properly right now. That bubbling excitement 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.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! 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. "You know, Khaled Sahil, the Chosen of Oh, mused aloud, 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 Ill do it for you. With a glaive. The grasping fire bitch is dead. Whats 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, Khaled said, 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. Khaleds eyes scanned over the Archdeacon''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. "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 an Archdeacon 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!" 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 about the fate of a certain Fire Demons avatar that was quite tasty. "What do you want?" The Archdeacon''s 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 of this. 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 the investigation? "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 was somewhat baffled that someone who would obviously be very much in the crosshairs of the Security Service was acting in such a careless way. Did he not realise that the whole reason why dAvec was boosted so quickly to the Third Floor was that there was quite some dissatisfaction with the performance of Yolgorth''s chosen on the Second? Those worries were not simply 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. For this information, 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 Khaled''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 if, indeed, there are some hidden 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 dAvec''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 Khaled was giving him an alibi, but he''d provided the Chosen of Oh with one, too. Chapter 12 – The Coffee Was Cold, But the Grave Was Fresh On the morning after 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 collectivefour women and two menwould 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 should never have had 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 Accountant 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. Which meant the atmosphere in Crazy Xim''s cafe was somewhat strained this morning. "She was definitely on the Scarlet Throne by the eighth bell," a short, dark-haired woman with the rather ominous sounding Class of Nightmare Reaver. It should be noted, though, that he 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 roll with the other. "That was 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 was 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 had bred contempt. And what could be more familiar than a daily contact stuck forever in the raking over the coals of sorrow and anger. Impotence of revenge led to its own sorrow. "Some of us took our role in this endeavour seriously, Charl," she almost spat at him. "Since we uncovered that the bitch didnt actually stay in the Temple overnight - which I worked out, you will remember? - my job was to track her whereabouts. Which I did, without error, for nearly five years. It is hardly my fault that the rest of you couldnt 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 Berserker Balloon 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 sleeping rough, tutted. He had made that noise countless times over the years when this confrontation had played itself out. As an Empath Nullifier 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. Although, considering the news they had just received, probably wouldnt 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, this made Hel smile, but the frustration 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 downthey always did. These daily meetings had progressed almost like clockworkif the particular clock was designed by a madman stuck in a time loop, relentlessly masturbating over an image of his pet turtle. First, Tenia would outline the High Priestess'' arrival at the Temple. Realising she did this, rather than stayed overnight on the Temple''s Third Floor, sadly, had represented the only significant development they''d achieved in about a year. That they didn''t know where dAvec 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 what they were going to do now the focus of their rage had been taken off the table. 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. And now someone had killed her. 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. 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. 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 Wraiths 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. 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.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. 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. And yet, for all their advantages, they had not been able to make it happen. And now someone else had done it for them. 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, wasnt that wonderful. He felt a wobble in the emotional state of one of the two Wraiths - 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 Nightmare Reaver 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 Wraith sisters little outburst earlier seem like a minor giggle, knocking him to the floor. Hel flicked a gust of wind towards Tenia, lifting herand holding herinto 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. 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 Wraiths 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 Wraiths, 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?" Tenias 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 Berserker Balloon 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 Temple Warders?" 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 Wraiths 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 Tenias 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 13 - Water in Her Blood 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 Deathcaller. 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 Mortuary Assistants. 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 Temple Warder had saved his life this morning (of course, he''d then absolutely kicked his arse a few moments later), and hed 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 Deathcaller 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 subjects 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 Pyromancer 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 Temple Warder?" "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?"Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "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 Temple Warders 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 Deathcallers 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 Priestesss 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 dont 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 14 – Ashes in the Chandelier 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 Temple Warder. 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 Deathcallers 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 Temple Warder 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?" 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. "If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. 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, shouldnt 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 15 – Shadows in the Marble If Latham thought there was anything odd about what had happened, he didn''t mention it. The Temple Warder 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 prestigiousnot to say homicidalclients 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 Advocates 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 Justicars, 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 ?? Justicar 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 Justicar, 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 Temple Warder 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 clearmy job is straightforward. I am to be at your shoulder throughout this investigation in case it needs to be terminated." 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 Temple Watcher had given him advice about his build, hadn''t he? But then again, he''d been pretty free with his hands at other times.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. 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 Priestesss 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 Veritas Assessor 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 16 – A Courtesy of Violence 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 Senior Recorder to repeat himself for the third time. Mr. Lowe, the man sighed, speaking from beneath insanely bushy eyebrows, do you have somewhere else you would rather be? Yes. I mean, no. Im sorry, Ive been distracted, havent 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 Senior Recorder sat forward and smoothed out the document he had been referring to. Fair enough. Never let it be said that I wasnt 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 didnt think hed updated his Will since Cenorth had forced him to write one the second C or was it the third? C time hed 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. Thats a fair comment. Verahalims 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 Senior Recorder 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 clients 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 Drudge. 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 Verahalims point. He made a mental note to let Mylaf know that she had been remembered by dAvec 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 chuggers hunting down the High Priestess for the snub of leaving them slightly less money. No, Mr. Lowe. To be clear, Gianna dAvec 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 mans face scrunched up in discontent. The effect, Lowe assumed of nearly giving an opinion away for free. What occurred, Mr. Verahalim?Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The Senior Recorder 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 wasnt really much more for the two of them to discuss after that, and shortly later, Lowe made his excuses to leave. Hed scanned the last five of dAvecs Wills into Grid View, but he wasnt 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 didnt 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 Arebellas 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 didnt 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 hed dropped into Intelligence gave him a bit more of a buffer than hed been used to: that and Mylafs 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 didnt end there. The power of Slugger, finding itself unable to transfer itself into the intended victim, stopped, then travelled back up Lowes 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. Im sure youre 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 dAvec 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, dont try to get up. Im 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 Temple Warder 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 speakers 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 employers attention that you do not comply with this request, there will be consequences. Lowes 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 17 – The Smoke Never Lies 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 similar 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 Accountant. 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 Personal Assistant 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 Personal Assistant 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?" 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.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. 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 drawersthere was a quick flash of lightand 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 sceneand yes, now he looked carefully, he could make out the wedding ring on her dinner companion''s fingershe 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 zonenot impossible, but certainly a challengethen 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 wasthe 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 Blazing Candle, Setort. Chapter 18 – The Shadow Wore Red This time, it was the Temple Warder who had to sprint to keep up with Lowe. "How did it go, little man?" "Oh, you know how these legal types arelots 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 Junior Server 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 Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder 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 coffee 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 Lawincluding 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 Junior Server stepped forward. "I say, Temple Watcher, 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 Justicars 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 Temple Warder 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."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "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 Junior Server 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 Temple Warder turned towards the Junior Server and waggled a finger at him. "Just as a head''s up, trying to poison a member of the Security Services, let alone a Temple Warder, 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 Temple Warder 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 quailing 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 Junior Server 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 Temple Warder, 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 Temple Warder summoned to vaporise the Junior Server, 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 19 – No Gods, No Justice After seeing him turn the Junior Server 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 Commercial Assistant at the Dry Cleaners 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 Commercial Assistant 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." * The proud owner of a crisp, white shirt and a brand-new suit that the Commercial Assistant 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.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. 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 Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder, 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 Temple Warders 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 Warders. "No reason why you should. Tell me, little man, what experience do you have of Dungeon Delving?" Chapter 20 – Levels, Lies, and Lockouts "Are you sure about this?" Lowe asked dubiously. The closest Dungeon to the Celestial Temple was surprisingly near where Latham had outlined his plan. It was easy to forget when going about your normal business in Soar that - within walking distance - were these giant infrastructures just beneath your feet. It had been a short stroll to the stone staircase that led to the undercity and then a slightly longer walk to reach the staging area. "If you know a better way to put on levels, I''m happy to hear it. Legally, of course. I''m assuming you''d look askance at me just beating people 99% to death and letting you make the finishing blow." "I''m just going to throw that out there, shouldn''t you be looking askance at that?" Latham shrugged. "If you think I reached my illustrious level without making questionable moral choices, you''re kidding yourself. I doubt anyone above Level 40 in the city hasn''t needed to treat ''right'' and ''wrong'' with an element of pragmatism. If you''d like, I can call in a few favours in the cells. There''s all sorts of high-level fuckers down there no one would miss." Lowe wasn''t sure if Latham was joking, but looking at the man''s severe and broad face, he decided he probably wasn''t. "So, just as a standing order of business, shall we take murder off the table?" "Suit yourself. Well, that does kind of leave us with limited options to help you quickly jump five levels. This being the most obvious one." Lowe looked at the console pillar in front of him. It stood about four feet high, its chipped stonework revealing its age. The inscriptions that ran up and around its base may have said anything: if you squinted just right, you might make out the words "Abandon All Hope" or maybe "Beware of Dog"Lowe thought it was hard to tell, really. At the top of the pillar, a gemstone, the size of a dragon''s egg, sat nestled in a cradle of bronze. Every few seconds, it emitted a half-hearted glow as if unsure whether it wanted to light up or return to bed. The pillars control panel itself was a testimony to overengineering: a series of levers, buttons, and dials covered its front, with one particularly ominous button labelled "Do Not Press." The lever next to it was stuck in a position that could have been "Open Sesame" or "Release the Kraken." Quite a queue was building up behind Lowe as he took all this in, but - hardly surprisingly -no one was that anxious to give a Temple Warder the hurry up. "So, what do I do?" Latham reached forward as if to touch the gemstone, then hesitated. "I better not touch it. I''m good, but there is no way I will be able to power-level you through a dungeon that is appropriate to me. Put your hands on either side of the stone and clear your mind." "Fuck''s sake, noob. Get a move on!" Latham turned around and glared at Level 58, almost bouncing up and down in frustration. "I so much as hear you breathe again, and the only place you will be going is the Medical Tower. In pieces." The moaner flushed red. As a Paladin, and a highish level one at that, he probably wasn''t used to being spoken to like that. Pride warred with self-preservation, and he took a half-step back. Hoping to avoid conflict - Lowe assumed Latham could take the guy, but the fallout was likely to squash the lesser beings in the queue flat - he put both hands on the console and cleared his mind. Dungeon Delving had never really appealed to him. Even in a profession that was solitary by its very nature, he had been considered a loner in the Security Services. Success within a Dungeon needed you to make nice within a team, and that had never been his preferred approach to things. In fact, his lost Class had given him all sorts of crunchy benefits for operating alone. Besides, joining a random pick-up group to grind out some XP had just had no draw. "Welcome, Jana Lowe," a screen popped into being above the gemstone, filling the centre of his vision. "Please select your chosen difficulty." A large number of greyed-out options appeared before him. The only one he could seemingly select was 0-5. "Fuck''s sake." Latham was reading the screen over his shoulder. "Have you seriously never done any of these?" "I told you I hadn''t. So, what do I do?" Latham gave a weary sigh. Lowe was starting to get used to hearing him make this noise around him. "No choice, really. Just pick it. We might able to get some sort of bonus if we''re quick about it." Lowe chose the option, and a further three screens appeared. "Shit, I forgot about all this crap. Little man, you are fucking disgrace. My niece has done these three and plans to be a Dressmaker. Fucking hell. We''re going to be here all day. Just choose the Castle." Lowe did so, wisely biting back any snark. From what he understood, what Latham was proposing was the sort of deal only the highest of high spenders had access to. Letting a veritable, certified monster boost you through dungeons for the XP was frowned upon, but it was one of the easiest ways those of an insanely high level could generate gold for the gear they needed. For example, Latham could have hired himself out - for one boosted run - to that Level 58 Paladin for several years'' salary as a Temple Warder. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Once Lowe had selected the Castle, there was a short countdown, and then he felt the same way he did when operating a portal stone. His eyes streamed with tears, andwhen they clearedhe stood in the middle of a medieval Castle''s courtyard. Latham was next to him, a look of profound disgust on his face. "Do you know how long it''s been since I had to come to this fucking place? Shit, let''s get this over with." "What do you want me to do?" Latham strode to the door in the corner of the room and kicked it open. "Just try to keep up." * It took three minutes for the Temple Warder to complete the dungeon, and that was only because he got lost at one stage and had to bring down an entire section of the wall in order to get back on track. Lowe was intellectually aware that the colossal number of casualties that were racked up was not ''real'' in any way that made sense to him, but he still found the level of slaughter distressing. The Dungeons that dotted the continent had been uncovered centuries past and had been a mainstay for those seeking XP ever since. For a small fee, people could be transported to an instance of another location - and a different time - and work their way through a series of mini-bosses before ultimately battling a boss who would drop level-appropriate loot. The residents of these Dungeons were, for all intents and purposes, ''alive'', but no matter how many times the individual Dungeons were completed, the set-up remained the same. "Who are these all?" Lowe said, looking - although not too closely - at the defeated boss. He had been an eight-foot tall Knight Templar. Or he had used to be. Latham had chopped him into two, even four-foot sections with one swing. "Who cares?" Latham''s eyes unfocused for a second in a way Lowe recognised meant he was checking out his stat sheet. "Fucking hell. I got more XP for my last bowel movement." The Castle vanished, and the two were stood back at the console pillar. "Go on, time''s a wasting. Let''s get cracking." "You''re not doing a second? For fuck''s sake, you know the rules Temple Warder. It''s one and done. Everyone knows that." The Paladin had managed to find both his balls and also failed to read Latham''s level of frustration. Sensing some real-world violence was imminent, Lowe chose the Swamp and triggered the console. * It took most of the rest of the day before they reached the Dungeon Latham had initially planned to power-level Lowe through. The queue behind them had become disgruntled, then irritated and then, finally, vocally pissed off. So much so that, at one stage, they''d returned from burning the fleet of a Pirate King to ashes to find a Dungeon Keeper waiting for them. Like Latham, she was a Level ?? and did not look like she was delighted to make the pair''s acquaintance. The Paladin was almost effervescent with joy at this turn of events. "Warder Latham, am I to understand you are hogging this console?" The woman''s voice was oddly raspy as if she had spent her life on smokers. Compared to Latham, she was ridiculously delicate in size - was she some sort of gnome? - but obviously had the power to bounce Lowe around the staging area without using a single Skill. He briefly wondered if he''d enjoy it, but one glance at her expression cleared that up nicely. "Keeper Rosaline, long time no see." The small woman glanced at the console and then turned and spat on the floor in disdain. "Power-levelling, Latham? I never thought I''d see the day." She then glanced at Lowe and then up above his head. "And a Classless at that?" "A guy''s got to do what he needs to do to make it through the day. Especially when a certain Keeper refuses any attempts to go for a drink." "So, it''s because I stood you up that you''re causing a ruckus at my work? Smooth. What would you do if I fucked your mate? Level this place?" Lowe enjoyed the moment of awkwardness. Although he was growing to appreciate Latham''s protection, the whole omnipotent, insufferable thing got old. "Look, I know this has taken a while. Trust me, it was never part of the plan. But he''s never so much as stepped in one of these places before, so I''ve had to put in more groundwork than expected." A little burst of air exploded upwards to move a stray strand of hair from the Keeper''s forehead, followed by a little puff of mist over her face. Lowe took another step back. He seriously doubted he wanted to be too close to a Level ?? Kineticist if she decided to get into it with Latham. "I''m hearing a lot of ''your problems'', but I am unclear how they became mine?" "Look, I just need to run him through ''Ambush at Iraklion'' one time. We''ve unlocked it now. Just one more run. Please?" If the Dungeon Keeper had been pissed off before, the look she gave Lowe now could have curdled not only milk but the entire herd of cows. "Fucking hell. The gods save us from noobs." "Tell me about it. Just one more run. No need to be a fey bitch about it, Ros." "Don''t call me that." There was a pause during which Lowe was sure the Paladin? was close to ejaculating in anticipation of their arse-whooping. "Okay. You get one more run." The groan from behind them stopped the moment Rosaline glanced backwards. The pulse of fire that whipped over their heads probably had something to do with their new-found respect too . . . "Thank you, Keeper. One run, and we''ll be out of your hair." Latham motioned for Lowe to access the console and to be quick about it. Needing no further encouragement, he leant forward and selected the 20-30 option for Dungeons, which was no longer greyed out. He was about to choose ''Ambush at Iraklion'' when the Keeper leant forward and tapped it for him. The words changed colour, taking on a deep, glowing red, and two skulls appeared on either end of the phrase. "Ros, that''s not going to work for us. Dude''s Classless!" "Tell it to someone who cares. You''ve blocked this console for the last few hours, and - what''s worse - you''ve caused me to need to get out of bed on my day off. I have no fucks left to give if your little payday doesn''t come through. Truly, my fucks have run dry as far as you are concerned." Latham looked at Lowe, grimacing. "We can come back tomorrow, little man?" Rosaline shook her head. "Nope. I''m locking you out for the week. Need to show that Temple Warders don''t get any special treatment." There was a reasonably comical moment whilst the vast man and the tiny woman squared up. Mainly because the pretty gnome clearly got the better of the hulking giant in the face-off. "Shit," Latham sighed. "You win. Come on, let''s go. We can find a different way to do it." Lowe paused, hands hovering over the console pillar. Truth be told, he''d made out like a bandit during the day''s Dungeon runs. Not so much in terms of XP, Latham was too insanely over levelled for that, but in terms of coins and gear, the gains had been insane. By the time he''d flogged all the stuff he''d accumulated to the nearest Merchant, he reckoned he''d be close to bringing one of his skills to the Epic tier. But the point of this exercise hadn''t been about money or Skill upgrades. It''d had been to get him access to the Celestial Temple. For that, apparently, they needed this last run. How hard could it really be? Lowe triggered the instance before Latham had the chance to clear that one up for him . . . Chapter 21 – Death’s Safe Zone "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 Temple Warder literally could not have moved any faster. Latham, though, carried on cursing a blue streak under his breathand over itwhile 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 . . . Dungeon Keeper 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 Outlaw 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." "And that would be bad, right?" "Terminally so, yes." "Fucking hell. And people do this for fun?"Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "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 somber. "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 Temple Warder dealt with the last of his opponents, but things at his end had all become intense. Because the Outlaw 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 Temple Warder 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 22 – Every Coin Has Its Price "How went the looting?" Lowe scowled at the Temple Warder. "No idea, mate. I was doing all I could to keep up with you. I just left auto-loot running 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 Temple Warder''s 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 auto sell and go see the Merchant." 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 Merchant came to life as soon as he drew near. But it was not ''life''nothing 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. "Let''s say I have a working knowledge." "Excellent. Well, a Token of Reset will effectively allow you to test it out."Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. 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 Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder went to sleep. Lowe watched him for a moment, and then, once the snoring started, he moved over towards the Merchant 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 soul bound 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 Do you wish to reset your Progress Points? Answering ''Yes'' will consume your Token of Reset. This action is irreversible. Any breaks to Builds are entirely at the user''s own risk Well, that didn''t sound too fucking doom-laden or anything. "How many Progress Points will this give me back?" Calculating 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 = 200 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. Do you wish to Proceed? 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. Allocated Progress Points have reached the maximum. Do you wish to rank Intelligence up? "Erm, Latham?" The Temple Warder 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. Bonus +50 PP for bringing first Core Attribute to Level 2. Please note that these P.P. must be allocated to a Level 1 Core Attribute 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: 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 Merchant? was staring at him, his unblinking gaze really freaking Lowe out. "What?" "I notice that you have several Skills, sir, that are rated as Common. I will be able to upgrade those for you for a small fee." Lowe grinned. "It seems rude not to, doesn''t it? Show me what you''ve got." Chapter 23 - Glass Jaws and Golden Fists "Come on, sleepyhead. Places to go. Ambushes to defeat." Latham''s eyes snapped open and took in a somewhat more confident Lowe than before his snooze. "You''re looking spunky." "I took some advice." "Did you indeed, little man? And how did it work out for you?" Latham asked, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity and more than a touch of amusement. Lowe paused, not sure how to answer. His Mana Pool was pretty much at the level it had been before he had lost his Class, which was an extraordinary feeling after so long. But there was something different about Rank 2 Intelligence. It had made his Mana . . . richer, somehow. He found himself wishing he''d spent a bit longer studying that Essence Transmutation Theory scroll. Mindful of conserving his available resources, he hadn''t committed it to Grid View, which he realised - with a smile - was not something he''d need to worry about so much moving forward. "It''s fair to say I''m glad to have a chance to test the theory." Especially so, since he''d been able to offload all his looted coin on the Merchant to bring his three Skills back up to Rare. This had been a very profitable Dungeon for him. So much so that he was already wondering what it would take to convince Latham to boost him through a couple more. When the case was resolved, of course. "Don''t even consider it," the Temple Warder said, his tone firm. "This is a one-time favour to get you to Level 25. I don''t make a habit of Power levelling the Unclassed. There are names for those who make a living from this sort of thing, and I have a reputation to uphold." Despite the momentary pang of disappointment, Lowe could understand that. What had been done for him was already far ahead of anything he could have hoped for. And, with five more Levels, with the threshold bonuses, he could plan to plugin even more Progression Points. "Fair enough. So, what''s next?" Latham stood and stretched. "From memory, there should just be one more stage. We''ve got the Raid Boss to take down, for which I hope you''re no longer so squishy that I need to focus on protecting you rather than taking him out." The Temple Warder suddenly looked at the ground as if shy. "Did it work out like I thought? Were you able to reclaim your Progress Points? Even from the Skills taken from you when you lost your Class?" Lowe shared his Core Stats screen with Latham, causing the big man to frown. "What does Rank 2 next to your Intelligence mean?" "No idea. I kind of hoped you would be able to tell me." Latham shook his head. "It''s not anything I''ve read about. When did it happen?" "When I hit 200 Progress Points in Intelligence." Latham shook his head again. "That''s not something of which I''m aware. But then again, I don''t know of anyone who would only have had Progress Points in a particular attribute. All the examples of those who have tried this I''ve heard of were seeking to supplement their Class advantages. I''ve not come across anything in the literature of the Unclassed trying it." "We are pretty rare." Lowe''s smile was brittle. "Rank 2? The text''s even a snazzy gold colour. Fancy. Does it feel any different?" "It does, and it doesn''t." Lowe pushed some mana into Slugger, feeling his hand fill up with the comforting heaviness. "It''s working like before, but . . . " he raised his hand, noticing an odd shimmer across the surface of his fist. "Did you see that?" "Try it out." "On what?" "Hit me." Lowe raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, sure. And then I''m going to solo a Level 50 Dungeon and fuck the Mayoress as an encore." "I mean it. It''s not like you''re going to hurt me. And it would be good to know what sort of heat you''re packing before we move on." "Mate, this kind of feels like one of those situations where you lure me into doing something foolish and then kick my arse to teach me a lesson."Stolen story; please report. "You say that like it''s happened more than once." "Once was enough." "Suck it up, buttercup and hit me. What do I need to do? Insult your dress sense?" With a sigh, Lowe half-heartedly raised his fists into a pugilistic posture. "Seriously, mate, if you''ve got some sort of exotic Skill that makes my pants catch fire when I try this, I''m going to be pissed." With that, Lowe unloaded Slugger onto the side of Latham''s jaw. The outcome was somewhat unexpected. The jab didn''t drop Latham to his knees - that would have been insane. The Temple Warder''s Level was so far above Lowe that it was surprising that the big man did not regularly cripple his companion just by breathing near him. Likewise, by the very nature of his build and Class, Latham had the sort of passive defensive Skills more usually found on bank vaults. Thus, some significant expectation management was required when Lowe''s fist made contact with his face. In other circumstances, a split lip might have been underwhelming. Right here, right now, however, the two men reacted as if they had just discovered a method of turning water into Stamina potions. "Motherfucker!" Latham spat a tiny globule of blood to the floor, his massive grin splitting the already healed wound. Lowe, for his part, was staring at his fist with a look of profound wonder. "What the fuck!" "So, it is all true!" Latham''s voice was almost breathless with joy. "Progress Points are more pure than Class-generated ones. Little man, do you know what this means?" Lowe did not answer, still looking at his hand. Latham grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, rattling his teeth as he did so. "Do you understand, Jana? You''ve got some game!" "I barely broke your skin," Lowe protested half-heartedly. "Little man, your fist should have vapourised before it even made contact with me." Latham waved away Lowe''s outraged expression. "Chill, I have Health potions. You would have been fine. The key point is that there''s absolutely no way in Soar that you should have been able to hurt me in the normal run of things." His eyes were suddenly unfocused as he checked his damage log, whistling at what he found. "Yep, you are now a certifiable baller. I''d have expected a Level 40 with some sort of Skill like Pugilist to be able to do that. Okay," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Let''s see if it works in reverse." Lowe enjoyed the next round of experiments considerably less. * On the plus side, Roll with the Punches apparently experienced a similar upgrade to Slugger. Whatever Rank 2 Intelligence did to Lowe''s mana, it also meant that his healing ability was equally as beefy as his offensive one. It was pretty hard, though, to hold on to the half-full glass while it was being systematically brutalised to tiny shards. The beating from Latham seemed to go on forever but was probably over in less than twenty seconds, with the Inspector returning to consciousness shortly afterwards. The first thing he saw was Latham''s smiling face looming over him. "Glad someone was having fun," Lowe croaked. The Temple Warder held out a hand and hauled him to his feet. "Where''s your childlike sense of wonder? This is simply amazing!" Lowe looked down at yet another shirt ruined by an epic bloodstain. "Glad to be of service." "Your passive Skill gives you the sort of survivability of someone twice your level. I actually had to put a bit of weight behind the last punch to overwhelm your healing factor. Do you understand what that means?" "That you''re a sadistic son of a bitch?" Latham put his hand on Lowe''s shoulder. The Investigator winced instinctively but then realised the impact hadn''t hurt for once. "You are showing all the signs of being a Level 40. And that''s at Level 20 and, crucially, without having a Class. There''s not even a Class I''ve heard of that can breach that sort of gap. You could eat Mylaf''s food for a year and a day and still not have the numbers needed to pull that off." "Okay . . ." Lowe could understand that this was remarkable, but Latham acted like it was a seriously big deal. "No, it''s more than ''okay''. This suggests that when you reach Rank 2, whatever the fuck that is, you double the effective worth of your statistic." Latham was almost hopping with excitement. "You''re living proof that Essence Transmutation Theory isn''t just pie in the sky. You prove that you don''t need a Class to be competitive. That we don''t need to find a patron god to survive. That we can get by on your own without any of that!" Lowe wasn''t wild about the fanatical gleam in the Temple Warder''s eye. He had come across a lot of people in his previous career who looked like that. Usually right before they started slaughtering people who didn''t share their view of the world. "Mate, let''s chill things a little. All of that sounds simply lovely. But shall we keep that sort of chat on the inside? I can think of at least half a dozen gods who would see what you''ve just said as heresy. And I''d kind of miss having you around." Latham took a deep breath and nodded, but Lowe could tell his words of caution had fallen on deaf ears. There was no zealot like a convert, he thought. "Latham, I mean it. As the only one of us who has had to experience being stripped of his Class and most of his Skills being blocked, I can tell you it''s no picnic. There''s a reason I was offered execution as an alternative. As a ''mercy'' due to my years of service." But Latham wasn''t really listening. Lowe watched as he made a conscious effort to drag his mind back to the here and now, but the glow of possibility did not fade from his expression. "Okay. I hear you. However, in light of developments, I think we should try to mix things up a little. Moving forward." Lowe felt a sinking feeling settle in his stomach. "Mix things up, how?" "How do you feel about soloing a Level 30 Heroic Boss?" Chapter 24 – A Flag, a Dagger, and No Time to Die "Do you really think there''s any answer to that question which isn''t me laughing hysterically?" "Little man, you have an offensive and a defensive Skill equivalent to being a Level 40. This Dungeon is rated for 20-30. What''s your worry?" "My worry!" Lowe''s voice trembled with a hint of hysteria. "This is a Heroic Raid Dungeon. I''m a Classless Level 20. Does any part of that sound like I''m remotely prepared to face a Boss alone?" "Faint heart never won, fair lady." "We''re throwing aphorisms around now, are we? What about many hands make light work?" "Too many cooks spoil the broth." "How about the Temple Warder can go fuck himself with a pole wrapped in barbed wire? I always like that one. Apt." They glared at each other for a few moments, and then Latham grinned. Lowe didn''t think that smile boded well for his immediate future. "Here''s how this is going to go, Little man. By my calculations, you should just about hit Level 24 when we get out of here. I miscalculated the XP penalty for having me in your party, so you''re not going to reach the necessary level to access the Temple. No Level 25. No Setort. No answers as to what is going on." "Fine. So we come back tomorrow and run another one." Latham shook his head. "Nope. I burned bridges getting access today. There''s no chance any Dungeon Keeper, let alone Ros, will let us anywhere near a console for at least a week. If you solo this Boss, you will absolutely cross the necessary threshold. So, that''s the situation. Your move." "Well, isn''t that convenient? Almost sounds like you might be lying." "You''re deductive powers are truly a wonder to behold. The killer of Gianna d''Avec should be quaking in their boots." "Cute." "Funnily enough, I don''t hear that very often." "Can''t imagine why, you smug fucker." Lowe ran his hands through his hair. The whole point of this Dungeon Dive was so that he could get his hands around Setort''s throat. His mind flashed again to those pictures of Arebella; the Priest stood just at the edge of the image, providing the necessary anchor power for . . . someone to overcome the dead zone and take the picture. There were layers here, and the key to being able to start unwrapping them would be putting that Burning Candle against the wall and asking him some fairly searching questions. "Seriously. This is the only way?" Latham nodded. "If it is worth anything, I didn''t mean for it to happen this way. Honestly, this isn''t a big conspiracy. Maths just isn''t really my thing." "Okay, so I need to take the Boss down on my own. And you''ll step in when, inevitably, I start getting stomped?" "Ah, about that." Latham was avoiding Lowe''s eyes again. "I''m going to need to stay away from the final fight. To cross over Level 25, you''ll need all the XP from the Boss. Me being here will just split the rewards." "Awesome. So it''s going to be me against a Heroic Raid Boss and no safety net?" "See, and there was me thinking you were not going to get into the spirit of things." * To give Lowe any chance at all, the moment they stepped outside of the Safe Zone, Latham took care of any and all other combatants in the Dungeon. It appeared the big man might have been holding back on bringing the thunder. As the last Outlaw fell, Latham gave an ironic salute and exited the Dungeon. The forest of Iraklion suddenly sounded very quiet indeed. Shouldering the red flag, Lowe made his way down the road, which very much screamed ''this way to your sudden and inevitable death." The timer in the corner of his vision continued to countdown, but he didn''t pay it very much attention. Either the final surviving bad guy in the woods would shortly be dead. Or he would be. There really wasn''t any other way that this would play out. Lowe tried to channel some of Latham''s confidence in him. If Rank 2 doubled the effectiveness of his Intelligence, then his Skills would have the equivalent power of being Level 40. Awesome. That should make all this a walk in the park, taking candy from a baby while not sweating at all. But he couldn''t shake the feeling he was a Classless Level 20 in a Heroic Raid Dungeon.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. He was fucked. The first arrow took him in the shoulder, the second hitting just millimetres to the right. Fortunately, Roll with the Punches passively kicked in faster than Lowe''s reaction time. Which was helpful. Especially as the third arrow took him in the throat. "All alone, is it?" a jolly voice boomed from the woods with an oddly musical accent. "That''s not going to work out too well for you, boyo." The arrows popped free from Lowe''s wounds as he rolled for cover. He had Grid View running and quickly tried to determine where the attack had come from. His extra mana meant he didn''t need to worry about rationing its use any longer, and it gave him the equivalent of an eidetic memory, even for the things he didn''t consciously see. There. All three shots came from a patch of shadows just a little down the path. "Don''t suppose you fancy doing this in melee range, do you?" The answer was another arrow, this one hitting him in his right hip. It came from about three feet closer. The Boss was closing in on him, trying to get the best angle for a killing shot. "You may well be able to tank a headshot," Latham had told him when they''d been planning this attack, "but I wouldn''t want to bet the house on it." "Fraid not, boyo. Way I figure it, a Level 20 stupid enough to try to solo me must have some sort of wild trump card, eh? No. I''m happy wearing you down from range." Lowe briefly felt satisfied that despite the agony the hits were causing, his health points were holding steady. Not entirely trusting Latham''s fervour, he''d also loaded up on Mylaf''s finest HP food and drink, but - so far - it did not seem like he needed the boost. He was shaking off the damage from the arrows thus far, but that didn''t mean he wanted to keep getting shot. "I''d heard this was an honourable Dungeon. Do you really want me telling people I needed to flush you out of the forest like a bitch?" There was a bright flash, and then a giant arrow careened out from the trees in a golden streak to hit him right between the eyes. Good news? Lowe could apparently take a headshot. Bad news? Half of his HP had vanished, and something called Skill Suppression was now active on him. He lay, flat on his back, arms stretched out in a crucifix position. Without Roll with the Punches functioning, there was no active healing running nor any repairs taking place to push the arrowhead lodged in his forehead out. He didn''t appear to be taking any further ongoing damage, but without active skills, that was probably a moot point. "That looks nasty, boyo." A friendly-looking face appeared above him, grinning mischievously. The Boss''s suntan was topped and tailed by short brown hair and a snazzy goatee. He was wearing green camouflage, with a few branches tucked into the cap on his head. "Skill Suppression is a pain in the arse, isn''t it? Well," the Boss continued, "a pain in the head, I imagine. You can call me the Hood." Lowe tried to speak, but the words wouldn''t come. Arrow to the prefrontal cortex was a deal, apparently. "Not that you''re going to be saying anything for long, I imagine, boyo. I don''t know what you had planned or who put you up to trying to solo me, but it''s fair to say it''s all gone a bit wrong." Lowe couldn''t disagree. He was completely paralysed. Cheers, Latham. Another fine mess you''ve got me into. The Hood vanished from his vision for a second and then reappeared holding a dagger. "Well, it''s been emotional. Catch you on the flip side." Lowe tried to push at both Roll with the Punches and Slugger, but whatever skill the Hood had landed on him resisted. He pushed harder as the dagger swept down towards his eye. It was as if time slowed down as his end approached. But instead of seeing his life flash before him, it was just the legend Skill Suppression that dominated. As soon as the dagger made contact with him, that would be that. He pushed again at his Skills. No joy. Although, did those words wobble slightly? Having no other options, he threw everything he had at his Skills, trying to break the block. The words were definitely wobbling. The dagger was less than an inch from his eye now. Unbidden, Arebella''s face appeared. She''d be safe if he died, wouldn''t she? They''d have no reason to hurt her if he wasn''t around to solve the case. But then the realistic part of his mind kicked in. She knew about the threat. She wouldn''t let it lie. She''d keep asking questions, and whoever visited him in the Tower of Law would doubtless find his way to her office. If he died here, he was pretty much committing her to the same fate. And then the words Skill Suppression weren''t wobbling anymore; they were fracturing into tiny little pieces and the Hood''s dagger was buried through his right eyeball to the hilt. The Boss stood and dusted himself down. Odd chap, he thought. Fancy trying to solo him as a Level 20. He''d never heard anything like it. At the least, you needed eight men, including a tank and an off tank, to avoid a wipe. Something pinged into his shoulder. The Hood looked down at a bloodied arrowhead. That was odd. He turned around just in time for the appalling sight of a man with blood flowing from a terminal knife wound to his face, driving a red flag straight into his chest. There were no more words. There was no more time. As the Hood''s eyes rolled back in his head and the Dungeon reset, he just had time to think you learned something new every Dive. The Dungeon collapsed around him. Chapter 25 – Cut Loose From the Sky "I can''t help but think it might have been nice to mention Skill Suppression." "I didn''t want to worry you." "Ah, bless your heart. It was much nicer to find out about it when he shot me in the face. Glad you didn''t rob me of the surprise." "You''re doing a helluva a lot of bitching for someone who''s just been power levelled to Level 25." "I know. It''s almost like I was tricked into a fight for my life without having access to all the necessary info." "Little man, you were always going to be able to power through anything the Hood could hit you with. Technically, you insanely outleveled him. You should have been able to shrug it off without a thought." Lowe stopped dead in the corridor outside the entrance for the Dungeon and turned to glare at the Temple Warder. "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 banister 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 Temple Warder 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?" Latham''s face was impassive. "Dude''s a Level 30 Burning Candle. 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."The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. "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 Weber 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 Coal Stirrer 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 Coal Stirrer 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 channeled 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 Hell Raiser 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 safely 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 26 – Wind-Whipped Alibis 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 Temple Warders 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 Darkling Assistant 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 spiraling 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.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. 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 Temple Warders? had not known about her presence in the High Priestess''s chamber on the night of her murder, then they couldn''t help but have her scent now. The last thing she was willing to do was to lead them back home. Whilst Wraiths 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 Cyclone. 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. Temple Warders 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 Wind Blade 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 Press Officer 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 27 – Questions at the Edge of a Blade "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 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 Temple Warders are not coming out of this looking especially good. I even heard a rumour that the Mayor wants theJusticars to take over. Arkola is reportedly hopping mad." Both of them surreptitiously glanced upwards towards the First Floorthe 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?"Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. 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 Setory - 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 Deathcaller 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 channeled 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 Temple Warder 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." Temple Warder 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 Drudge, 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 Drudge 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 Drudge''s 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 28 - ‘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 Drudge 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 icebreakers." "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 Drudge 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 Wind Tyrant. "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."A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, 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 Wraith. 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. Wraiths 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 Wraith. 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 Wraiths 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 Wraiths 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 had 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 voice 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 29 - All Quiet in the Night 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 Wraiths 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 Wraiths - 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 Wraiths 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 Temple Warders 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 Wraiths would have a chance to tear a Level 67 to pieces, that wasn''t what had happened here, was it? There had been no Wraiths 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 Temple Warders 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 Wraith 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. Wraiths 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 Lowea 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 Wraiths, 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. 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.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. 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 Drudge 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 Flame Wardens, they had been contracted to one of the bigger energy companies." "Flame Wardens 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 Drudge 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 Drudge 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 30 – Storms on Every Floor Lowe was awoken by a frantic Temple Warder 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 Drudge 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 Temple Warder 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?" "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 Temple Warders 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."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. "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 Temple Warder 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 overelaborate? 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 Temple Warder 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 your 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!" Khaled 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 Security Squires. 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 Khaled, 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, Khaled. 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, Khaled 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 Khaled 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." Khaled 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." Khaled 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 Security Squires without anyone noticing. I had his Temple Warder 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. Khaled stood. "I will commune with Oh over this matter as a matter of urgency." Mdamic watched him go, letting a flurry of lightning bolts play at his fingertips. Chapter 31 – Justice Burns at Both Ends 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 Temple Warder 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 Earth Mage. 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 Druid 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 Temple Warder 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 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."A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. "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. Not at 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 Druid, whose level of anxiety suddenly appeared to be under control. He gave a little laugh. "Who 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 Temple Warder 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 Street Rat 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 Druid 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 Druid 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 Street Rat, 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. Earth Mages 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 his master, 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 the lover of the High Priestess, it might have been a little awkward had he been accused of murder in her court." Yes, Lowe thought. It certainly would. Chapter 32 – A Gentleman’s Defence 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 crimesno, 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 Cenorth''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 Senior Gate Guard 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 Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder 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 Earth Mage 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?"If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Maybe." "Tell me, is there a Mrs. - or Mr. - Temple Warder? 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 Senior Gate Guard 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 Temple Warder 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 Butler. "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 Butler 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 Butler''s expression channeled 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, Butler 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 Temple Warder crashed the Butler 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 Temple Warder. 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 33 – The Butler Didn’t Do it. But He Tried. 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 Butler. 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 was Markian 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 Butler. 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 scuttlebutt, 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." "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."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "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 Temple Warders words on Ulton that was even more surprising. "Quite right, Temple Warder. 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 Butler 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 Earth Mage''s 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 34 – The Red Line "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 Butler 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."If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "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 Temple Warder 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 35 – Fanning the Flames 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 Forensic Accountants - crucially under no one''s jurisdiction whatsoever - would be pulling apart every tiny detail of Markian Ulton''s life. The Forensic Accountants 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 Forensic Accountants 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." 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."The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Latham drew close, lowering his voice. "Little man, this is a stupid risk. The bodies of four Security Squires - 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 Temple Warder 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, Temple Warder. 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 Earth Mage 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 Security Squires 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 Security Squires 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, watchedunblinkinglywhat 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 36 – Truth Hurts, Lies Kill "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?" 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.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. "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 Veritas Assessor 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 beeneven tangentiallyinvolved 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 Khaled, 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 37 – Wind, Blood and Girth "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 Nightmare Reaver would never have dared question an order. Even eye contact with her would have been beyond the small, dark woman. Not, 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 Temple Warder shadow and picked up a whole host of tails. Hel had dropped Irek a message to drop in on her sisters - the Empath Nullifier 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." "You''re willing for us to die getting that guy out of trouble?"This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. "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 Sharpshooter, 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 Berserker Balloon 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 Nightmare Reavers. 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 Nightmare Reaver 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 ball ache 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 Sharpshooters, Deadshots and Crossbowmen 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 Empath Nullifier, 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 Door Security 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 Lower Henchmen 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 Hired Muscle. 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 38 – The Trouble With Heroes 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 Pyromancer 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. 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?Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! 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 counterapproaches. 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 Prize Fighters stepped to bar her way. Neither displayed their Class or Level, which cheered the Wind Tyrant 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 Nightmare Reaver 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 Rogue. 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 Man-at-Arms, 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 mind 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 Nightmare Reaver 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 somber. 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 39 – A Monster Left Behind 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. 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.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "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. Underwater. 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 Nightmare Reaver 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 subjectthe intention being to force the person under its auspices to become separated from their partyit 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 Wind Tyrant 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 Berserker Balloon''s 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 Nightmare Reaver 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 flickering 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 40 – Rank and Ruin "When I said, ''drop in any time'', I am now wishing that I had added some parameters." Arebella, her heart pounding, closed the door behind the battered and bleeding little group. She pulled down the blind in her window, a mix of relief and worry etched on her face. Lowe, admiring her dedication to anonymity, couldn''t help but feel the puddles of blood Charl had been leaking since they''d portalled to the ground floor of the Tower of Law, slightly giving the game away. The big man groaned, his head slipping forward as he dropped back into unconsciousness. Tenia sagged under the full weight of her friend. "Lowe, make with the healing." She started to summon Body Odour, but he shook his head emphatically. "Sorry, Bella," he offered, freeing himself from Charl''s arm and stretching out his back. "We had no other place to go." Either the Skills of the Veritas Assessor confirmed the truthfulness of his statement, or it was the amount of body fluids currently ruining a very attractive rug he remembered them spending a nice afternoon hunting for at the market by her house. Ignoring that inconveniently nostalgic memory, he settled down next to Charl and put his hands on his chest. Tenia went to cast her again, but he shook his head. "No, hang on. Let me try something." The flashing gold of his skin had given him an idea. He was nowhere near his next Level, so something else must have happened, and he had a notion of what it could be. He pulled up his status screen and, as he thought, where a fourth technique slot should be was a flashing gold bar. But that wasn''t the most interesting thing. That was that he could select it. Mentally pressing down on it, he was presented with three optionsthree new Skills to choose from. Lowe searched his brain, wondering if he had ever heard of a Classless gaining a new Skill. It didn''t take him long to run out of examples. The Classless were a rare enough species in the first place, let alone ones that lived long enough even to have a chance to unlock new powers. Putting those thoughts away, he concentrated on his options. Where on earth had they come from? He had no god to offer him choices, and obviously, he didn''t have a Class with a whole host of built-in selections to make. "Lowe, we haven''t got a lot of time." Hel''s voice interrupted his thinking. "Patch Charl up, and then we need to come up with a plan." He ignored her. The first new Skill available to him was called Masochist. He didn''t need to avail himself of all of his deductive abilities to work out this was likely to be a technique whereby he could hurt himself to gain access to greater power. Unsurprisingly, he did not find this particularly attractive. Sure, it was what he''d been doing with Tenia''s curse to get hold of his mana, but he already had a Skill that encouraged people to inflict pain on him. He hadn''t especially enjoyed his time in Mr. Law''s torture room, and the thought of actively choosing to maim himself on a regular basis - regardless of how much extra power it gave him - wasn''t his idea of a good time. The second available Skill was, potentially, a better shout. With a name like Circling the Drain, he presumed it was a last-ditch revive Skill to save the truly fucked. Lowe had been in enough bad situations where a friend or a colleague passed away in lieu of the immediate presence of a healer, and he could see this as a lifesaver. Literally. The thing is, it was such a shock to be able to add another Skill to his repertoire that it seemed a bit of a waste to use it on something he would only be able to use in dire extremes. If he had twenty or thirty Skills, it would be different . . . So, with a touch of trepidation, he clicked on the third one. And grinned instantly. Unless whatever system labelled Skills was playing with him, then Medic! would be precisely the healing Skill he was looking for. Of course, he assumed - as he hoped it was a pure healing ability - that there would be an initially crappy mana-to-healing rate. Still, if he could use it without stabbing himself or needing the recipient to be moments from death, then it was the sort of utility technique he could get right behind. Without overthinking it, he selected Medic! and felt a massive surge of joy as it transferred to his fourth technique slot. However, even as he triggered it and started pouring mana into Charl - as he suspected, it appeared for every 500 mana used, there was a return of 250 HP. Not terrible, but hardly an Elixir of Resurrection - a new notification grabbed his attention. New Title awarded. [Restriction Breaker]. Bonus 100 Progress Points available. Congratulations. You have succeeded in shaking off the bonds of those who would be your betters. Your progress will be followed with interest. Without even thinking, Lowe pushed all of his points into Wisdom. The number rolled upwards as before, the colour changing again - as with his Intelligence - to gold when it hit 200. A further message appeared. Bonus +50 PP for bringing a second Core Attribute to Level 2. Please note that these P.P. must be allocated to a Level 1 Core AttributeThis story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Lowe split them into Strength and Dexterity, feeling light-headed as his Mana Regen went through the roof. This allowed him to press out Medic! even faster into Charl, who was starting to look much healthier. A glance at his Primary attributes brought a satisfied smile to his face - particularly the gold colour around Intelligence and Wisdom. Then he realised that no one was speaking. "What?" Arebella looked at Hel, who looked back at her and then at Tenia. The Nightmare Reaver shrugged and seemed happy to be the spokesman. "You''ve just done the weirdest Leve-up thing." "How do you mean, ''weirdest''?" "Flashing lights, choral music, smoke pouring around you. What happened, Jana?" Arebella said, moving to put - he couldn''t help but notice - the desk between them. He was saved from coming up with an explanation by Charl suddenly sitting up, letting out a spectacular fart and looking around blearily. "Did we win?" *It turned out, despite being in the presence of several pretty beefily levelled mercenaries, not a one of them had a decent cleaning spell. They, therefore, needed to spend a solid bell cleaning up Arebella''s office and trying to remove the long streaks of blood that led from the portal stone on her floor directly to her door. "Okay. I feel it is about time I get an explanation." All things being considered, Arebella had been pretty understanding thus far. Lowe figured he owed her the whole story. He was just getting to the bit when he chose to lead an unstoppable Advanced Class psychopath straight to her place of work when he realised that everyone was looking at him like he was mad. "So, all this happened, and you didn''t even have anything to tell him?" Hel''s expression was dark. "I prefer to think that I manfully resisted horrific torture and did not share any crucial information." "Because," Tenia clarified, "you don''t know anything." "I mean, you could look at it that way. I prefer the version where I come across like a hero." Arebella sat down in the chair next to him. Due to the cramped condition, her arm rested against his. He found it oddly comforting. Without further interruption, he filled them in about cracking the healing code and then, after a deep breath, explained what he knew about Essence Transmutation Theory. "Show me your stats," Hel said, "I''ve never heard of anything like it." Feeling like he was in a Doctor''s office, half-dressed and being asked to bend over, Lowe shared his details with her. She glanced at them and then pushed them out to Tenia and Charl. Both of them whistled. "This is fucked up," Tenia said. "How do you mean?" "You''re a Level 25 without a Class," Hel said, taking over, "You''re basically roadkill." "Cheers!" "No offence, but she''s right." Charl''s deep voice rumbled around the space. "Level 25, no god and no Class. I should be able to one-shot you with my cock." "Thanks for the visual. And ''you''re welcome'' for the lifesaving heals, by the way." "But," Tenia chimed in, "your stars are all wrong. And I''ve never seen anyone with this Rank 2 bullshit, let alone a ''Title''. You''re an odd little man. Don''t take this wrong way," she looked over to Arebella, "but I presume he''s telling the truth?" The Veritas Assessor blushed and then nodded. "Fuck. Okay." Hel started pacing. "From what the Temple Warder has said, you''ve basically got the Intelligence and Wisdom of a Level 50. ''Rank 2'' attributes are effectively twice as strong as their Rank 1 equivalent. And no one will ever be able to tell that by looking at you. So, say your smart mouth and general air of punchability doesn''t get you zeroed and you somehow make it to Level 50. You''ll be, in real terms, a Level 100. That''s absolutely insane. You won''t need a Class by then. With your particular set of Skills - even if you can''t add any more - you''ll be pretty much unkillable by anything short of a god." "Awesome. That is, of course, assuming I survive the next few hours." "Who else knows about this Essence Transmutation Theory?" Arebella said, her arm being really quite distracting. "I presume lots of people," he replied to her, "Latham told me about it." "The more important question is, who knows about you being a walking, talking advertisement for taking the road less travelled?" Hel''s eyes were filled with storm clouds. "No one." "You didn''t tell - what did you call him - Mr. Law?" "I didn''t. I kept that under wraps." Mostly because he didn''t ask, Lowe thought, but he sounded more stoic saying it this way. There was a beat, and then Tenia smirked. "He didn''t ask you about it, did he?" No one needed Arebella''s assistance to see the truth, as Lowe blushed a deep scarlet. "Maybe. Maybe not." "Okay," Hel crossed to the office door and checked no one was in the corridor listening. "Well, I will tell you to keep it schtum around anyone else. In a previous life, I''d recommend you kill everyone you''ve already told, but I''m working on being a better person. I would advise getting Strength and Agility to Rank 2 and seeing what happens next. Maybe nothing. Maybe more spectacular bullshit. Do you need any gold to raise your latest Skill to Rare?" Lowe shook his head. "I couldn''t possibly . . . " Tenia pulled a heavy bag from her inventory and threw it at him. He caught it, the money inside being instantly added to his balance. He blanched at the amount. "You broke me out of there. If anything, I owe you!" "You saved Charl. And if there''s one thing secret government hit squads are not short of, it''s cash. Rank it up the expensive way. You hold on to your Progress Points." Hel''s voice brooked no argument. "Look," Arebella''s face had grown increasingly pale throughout the discussion. "I cannot pretend to have followed most of this, but none of the danger has gone away, has it? Mr. Law is still out there, and you''re no closer to solving d''Avec''s murder. He''s just going to keep coming for you!" Lowe stood and brushed down his rumbled clothes. It was a bit of a losing effort. "I think we can do something better than hang around and wait for the inevitable." Hel and Tenia exchanged a glance. "What are you thinking?" "I''m going to go straight to him." Chapter 41 – The Thin Streak Walks Tall "Straight" turned out to be somewhat of an exaggeration. However, by the time Lowe had stopped off at home to refresh his clothes, clarified a few details about the Priestess''s schedule with Mylaf and then stopped by Cuckoo House to make nice with Cenorth, the Celestial Temple was absolutely his next visit. Things had started to slot into place sometime into his third bell of torture. It was funny how being repeatedly punched in the head seemed to help his deductive process. If he survived what was coming, he might need to try it out as part of his usual way of working. From the conversation he had just had with Cenorth, his boss appeared very open to putting together a team to help with a series of experiments of this nature. Nevertheless, after first Mylaf and then his own detailed examination of Grid View had helped the jigsaw puzzle fill in, he was returning to the Temple with the first real moments of epiphany he''d had since the case began. "I really don''t think you should be coming with me," he whispered to his companion for the fifty-eight time. Arebella smiled grimly and kept matching him stride for stride. "You are neither as brave as you pretend nor as smart as you think you are. At the very least, you need a good lawyer with you when you try this." "And in the absence of a good one, you thought you''d step up?" She kicked him in the shins. Roll with the Punches fixed the graze instantly, and his mana was returned to full even before her foot was back on the ground. Rank 2 was nothing to be sneezed at. "Settle down, lovebirds," Hel said, her voice drifting across the spiralling tendril of wind she''d attached to their ears. "We''re trying for covert infiltration. Enough people are already thinking the thin streak of piss in the cheap suit is spectacularly punching without anything happening to suggest this is a hostage situation." "Fuck off, Hel." Lowe''s irritation was more than slightly undercut by Arebella''s giggling. The towering height of the Celestial Temple loomed above them when they paused to reconfirm the plan of action. It seemed like the temporary block on sub-25 entry had been removed, and there were - literally - thousands of people flowing in and out of the entrance hall. "I can''t see Mr. Law anywhere," Lowe murmured. "Of course you can''t," Tenia was using the much more intrusive method of communication of having her words etched in dripping blood on the inside of Lowe''s eyeballs. He was pretty sure that once this was all over and done with, he didn''t want anything to do with a Nightmare Reaver ever again. "He doesn''t need to be stood at the gate checking tickets like a wanker. He has people for that." "Any chance Hel can do the talking? I''m in danger of looking like I have epic conjunctivitis, and, as she said, we''re aiming for discrete here." "How about we all start acting like we''re on a covert mission and shut the fuck up. Lowe, look straight ahead. Four basic Hoodlums pretending to read newspapers. One of them is clearly the genius of the group, as he has it the right way up. There''s another pair to the far left - again, common-or-garden muscle - and the same again about a dozen paces behind you. Don''t look!" she hissed as his head almost instinctively jerked around. "Someone really doesn''t want you going in there," the words in blood dripped down his face, and Arebella handed him a handkerchief. "Make''s a person wonder why." "We can be sure to ask them - " Hel''s voice was soft - "or at least one of them. Very briefly. Charl, clear the way for our sweethearts. Tenia, you go left. I''ll take care of those at the back. Lowe, you understand that we will be of limited operational use once we get you in there. If your Temple Warder friend isn''t on duty - or, more importantly, willing to help - it could get messy." "Messy is where I live," Lowe said, the phrase sounding an awful lot cooler in his head than it did out loud.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "It''s true. He has some shocking personal habits," Arebella noted helpfully. "Children!" Hel buffeted them both with a quick pulse of wind. "Just get me in there, Hel. I have a funny feeling Latham will be exactly where I need him." * Hoodlum was a fairly sucky Class. There was a school of thought that being Classless was actually preferable as the demerits of selecting it were so significant. Sure, even a Level 15 Hoodlum had Strength enough to bend iron bars and enough Stamina to keep punching away long after more prestigious Classes had given up and gone home. However, there was such a commensurate drop in all other attributes that it was one of the few Classes that, once chosen, was unlikely to evolve. If this was not reason enough to steer clear, the gods of Soar were generally pretty unimpressed with worshippers who picked a Class with such limited scope for improvement. Only those right at the bottom of the Celestial Temple - the ones whose avatars tended to share offices and hang around the water cooler - would take an interest in them. This limited the range of patron-gifted Skills and upgrades, meaning that once the Class was locked in, it would pretty much become a dead end. But not as much of a dead end as being a Hoodlum attempting to fight an elite ''Out of Bounds'' squad. That pretty much redefined the term ''futile''. Lowe didn''t even see what happened to them, but suddenly those Hel had pointed out were no longer there, and he and Arebella were walking past a slightly bemused Temple Warder who was trying to brush blood off his coat. "Where in Soar did that come from?" Lowe heard him murmur as they slipped past him inside the Temple proper. "Good luck, guys," Hel whispered. "We''ll do what we can to run interference." "With the emphasis on ''run'' if that fucking Advanced Class shows up," Tenia added, the words in some strange gothic font this time. And then they were gone. Arebella touched his arm. "Come on, Jana. No point in dragging this out." And with that, they activated the portal stone to the Second Floor. * "I have no appointment for you, Mr. Lowe. And - as I am sure you can appreciate - the Speaker of Yolgorth is a very busy avatar." "I think he will want to speak to my client." Lowe had never before had the opportunity to witness Arebella in full ''lawyer'' mode, and it was doing a lot for him. "Please run along and let him know we are here." Szana, an Executive Assistant, stared daggers back. As she appeared to have a number of unusual upgrades courtesy of Yolgorth, this was not a metaphor. Lowe did the chivalric thing and stepped forward to tank them. They vanished as soon as they made contact with him, Roll with the Punches making the wounds vanish in a heartbeat. "Assaulting a member of the Security Services during the course of his investigation is an interesting life choice. Interesting and somewhat devastatingly stupid. And not to mention," Arebella produced a thick book, flicked through it and found the statute she was looking for, "you are in breach of the Convention of Bugs, which forbids anyone in the employ of a post-Fourth Floor avatar from using offensive Skills against anyone sub-27. You are aware of the Convention of Bugs, I presume. It''s an anti-paedophile law." The Executive Assistant''s perfectly manicured eyebrows shot upwards. "Anti-paedophile! He''s at least twice my age!" "I mean, I know I''ve had a rough couple of days, but that''s a fairly harsh judgement." "Hush, Jana. And half your level. The Convention noted that the power imbalance between those who work at the higher levels of the Celestial Temple and those below 27 was so significant that special circumstances apply. What you have just done should get you at least ten years in a very, very special prison. Unless . . . " "Let me quickly contact the Speaker." "Excellent choice." Arebella and Lowe were left alone in the outer office. "Convention of Bugs?" Lowe asked. "All those years of studying alone at night, waiting for my boyfriend to come home for whatever case he saw as more interesting than me counted for something." "Interesting." Lowe took the book Arebella was quoting from off her. "And this had all that information in it, did it? The latest Hyran Fox romantic novel?" Arebella blushed most pleasingly. "It worked, didn''t it?" "Why, Ms. Telut. I had no idea you were so sneaky." She was spared answering further as the door to the inner chamber opened, and a rather white-faced Executive Assistant gestured for them to come inside. "You have until the next bell." "Thank you, Szana. Your assistance has been noted." "And the other matter?" Arebella flashed her a wide smile. "I think, on this occasion, we can let it slide." They pushed past her to begin their audience with Mdamic, Speaker of Yolgorth and pre-eminent challenger to Arkola''s dominance over Soar. Chapter 42 – Death by Proxy 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 Barbarian 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 worerobes 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 Arebella. "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 Temple Warder rota to remove my protection detail and then sent four Security Squires to murder me in my home." "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?"If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. "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 fuckups. 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 43 – Through the Gates of Panic 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 Security Squires. 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 Wind Tyrant. "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 murderedjust something to think about." "Cheers. I''ll get right on that. Do you think he''s noticed the missing Hoodlums 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 story; please report. 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 Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder looked down at the diminutive lawyer, clearly unsure how to play things. Most people did their best to avoid the notice of Temple Warders, 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 Temple Warder 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 mightily relieved at the problem becoming someone else''s, the Temple Warder 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 Temple Warder''s outraged expression and yell, "Lock it behind us!" as the light closed around them. Chapter 44 – When the Temple Draws Steel 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 appall 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 Temple Warder. 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 Temple Warder 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 Justicars 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 alleven 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 Barista 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 Berserker Balloon 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 Berserker 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 Berserker Balloon. 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. 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.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. 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 Barista 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 Berserkers 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 Wind Tyrant 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 Temple Warder. "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. Temple Warders 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, Temple Warder, 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. "Temple Warder, 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 Temple Warders 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 45 – Favour of the Monkeys 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 bushy 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 Courier 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 Temple Warder 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. "Veritas Assessor, 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... 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 . . .Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. 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 distaste 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 46 – God’s Don’t Need Alibis 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 that I like to maintain an air of mystery in all my conversations, and having a Veritas Assessor 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.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. "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 47 – Knights Fall, King’s Rise The Revive Crystal held tightly in Hel''s hand shattered as she crashed into the Temple''s back wall. As consciousness reasserted itself, she felt a momentary pang at the loss of such a priceless artefact, but - well - if you weren''t going to play with all your toys when going toe-to-toe with an Advanced Class, then they should be given to another little girl who would appreciate them . . . Ah, still a little concussion floating around here somewhere . . . Shaking her head, then regretting it, Hel dragged herself to her feet and chugged down the strongest Health Potion she possessed. Lowe had given her a bunch of pasties that he swore were better Consumables than anything she had ever taken in battle, but, well, old habits die hard. A lifetime of assuming people were trying to poison you was the sort of instinct that became somewhat hard-wired. Feeling a little more together, she had a quick glance around, which confirmed that Tenia and Charl were down. Not ''down down'', but not ''give us a minute boss, we''ll have your back shortly down''. And that was fair enough. The Nightmare Reaver had more than done her bit in slowing this fucking monster down, and Charl . . . well, he had earned a little shut eye. It was pretty much Tactics 101 that you didn''t throw your meat shield at something that could eat him in one bite, and she had appreciated the loyalty the big man had shown in being up for running chin-first into Mr. Law again. Speaking of which . . . It didn''t take her long to spot her target; he was already at the Portal Stones and squaring up with a Temple Warder. With a smile, Hel noted that it was the one who seemed to have taken quite a shine to Lowe. She could dig that: for whatever reason, something about that human punching bag engendered protective instincts. That smile swiftly fell away as Mr. Law straight-up murdered a bunch of people whose only crime was standing in an orderly queue, waiting their turn for the stones. Was that Life Leach that bastard had just used? ''Fucking hell'', Hel breathed and started powering up a few of her own more exotic talents. Their plan for Mr. Law had been predicated on the notion he was keen to fly under the radar. None of Hel''s squad had any illusions they could take him down - not even Charl in full berserker-blindness - but they were operating under the assumption that if they were irritating enough, with enough people watching, Mr. Law might just decide to call it a day and wait for a more opportune moment. The dust of desiccated remains wafting across the floor of the Temple suggested that might have been a slightly erroneous idea. Hel was just preparing to throw everything she had at the man when she realised something fairly interesting. Despite the undoubted puissance of Mr. Law, the Temple Warder had not been reduced to a smear on the flagstones. In fact, as she watched the fastest fight she had ever seen, he appeared to be more than holding his own. * Sweating for the first time in years, Bright triggered Kinetic Blast and unleashed a torrent of energy to push the Warder backwards. The air around him crackled as invisible forces converged, launching a wave of raw power. The stone floor of the Temple tore up in a jagged line as the force travelled forward, but Latham stood his ground, simply raising his hand to form a shimmering barrier before him, absorbing the brunt of the attack. Bright''s assault dissipated harmlessly, leaving Latham unscathed. "Fuck''s sake," Bright muttered, sending a whip of the same Skill around him in a wide arc, knocking the other Temple Warders converging on his position off their feet. They seemed susceptible enough to what he was throwing out, so what the fuck was this big guy bringing to the party? As if he needed telling, every warning Skill Bright possessed was trilling loudly as Latham surged forward, his massive form moving with surprising speed, sword arcing down in a blow faster than anything a man of his Level should have been able to achieve. Bright sidestepped, a blur of motion, and countered with a punch infused with Heavy Hands. Latham took the blow right on the chin, shaking his head as he absorbed the impact, the strike''s power rippling harmlessly across his face like a gentle wave. Bright danced back, eyes narrowing. The Temple Warder''s Build was impressive, clearly designed to withstand and mitigate damage while having decent offensive capabilities. Bright rechecked the Warder''s Level and frowned again: Level ?? covered a multitude of sins - especially within the grounds of the Celestial Temple - but there were limits to what those who were Rare Classed should be able to achieve. Even if this guy had mini-maxed every possible option, he still shouldn''t be able to show this sort of moxy. Bright rolled his wrists, pinging out a few A.O.E attacks via Kinetic Blast to knock the other Warders staggering to their feet back to the floor. This wasnt going to be a quick one-and-done. It would require a bit more finesse and cunning, a chess game played with lethal pieces. And all the time, Lowe was already on the First Floor. That thought sparking him into haste, Bright summoned a field of Temporal Distortion: time slowed around the two combatants, the world becoming a sluggish tableau. Then, moving with all of his Class-empowered speed, he struck at the Temple Warder from multiple angles, hundreds of fists fracturing free from all manner of planes of existence, each thrown by an alternate version of Bright. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. This was about as much of a ''finishing move'' as Bright ever was required to use; however, although the majority of the blows hit their mark, leaving terrible damage visible on Latham''s body and armour, the big man just tanked them and moved to launch his own attack. Latham''s sword blazed with Divine Flame, the swing creating a wave of purifying energy that was triply boosted by being activated within the aura of the Celestial Temple. In something approaching alarm - when was the last time he had felt that emotion! - Bright conjured a shield of Dark Matter, absorbing the brunt of the assault and reflecting it at one of the alternate Brights, who burned up with a scream of indignation. "Sorry! Survival of the fittest, right now," Bright thought to . . . himself, staggering as the force of Latham''s attack pushed the core version of him backwards. His feet skidded across the ground, carving deep trenches in the Temple floor as he sought to find purchase. As diverting as this was proving, this . . . scrap was not what Bright was here to do. His employers were already going to question the level of collateral damage he had brought to bear. At the very least, he needed to get on with completing his mission. Draining a significant portion of his remaining Mana, Bright summoned a storm of Spectral Blades. The ethereal weapons of those he had previously vanquished in battle converged on Latham, slicing through his armour, even as it flared with protective runes. Bright gawped as the big man took the damage, then continued to move forward through the assault with grim determination, each step bringing him closer to Bright. "What the fuck are you!" Bright shouted at the Warder, triggering Elemental Fury. Flames roared to life around him, the floor beneath them both turning to molten slag. Bright directed the inferno towards Latham. In response, Divine Light shimmered around the Warder, the flames parting around him like water around a rock. He then charged forward through the inferno and swung his sword straight at Bright''s head, who barely had time to raise a barrier of his own, the impact sending shockwaves through his body. He staggered back, his suit singed and smoking. Breathing heavily, Bright''s mind raced. He needed this to be over. Now. Crushing a Mana Stone, he felt his expended power reassert itself, eyes glowing as he tapped into the fabric of reality itself. The air around Latham solidified, bending to Bright''s will as he prepared an attack that would, at the very least, cause all sorts of uncomfortable questions about the legality of such methods. But, right now, Bright could not have cared less. Latham winced, planting his feet and raising his sword high. The blade blazed as Bright unleashed his attack, a concentrated beam of Reality Rend that would tear the Warder out of existence. Should the technique hit, everything Latham had ever said or done would no longer have occurred. Every aspect of his being would be ripped free, leaving threads of Fate hanging across the reality gap, which would become the man''s life. It was a staggeringly overpowered Skill to use on this plane of reality, but Bright was pissed. The attack collided with Lathams sword, the two forces clashing in a blinding explosion of light and sound. The ground shook, the air vibrating with the intensity of their struggle. Bright''s eyes widened at the resistance and pushed harder, his mind straining, every ounce of his will focused on breaking through. The Warders face was a mask of concentration, resisting the colossal impulse to blink out of existence. Moments felt like hours as they remained locked in their struggle. The rip in reality crackled and sparked, tearing at the Temple''s foundations, creating shockwaves radiating outwards throughout Soar. Finally, with a final, desperate surge, Bright managed to break the stalemate. His beam of energy flared, pushing Latham out of time. It wasnt a permanent erasure, but it was enough. Into that space, Bright poured everything he had into Latham''s soul. In response, Latham . . . roared, a sound unlike anything Bright had ever heard in his life, and he swept his blade down to cleave Brights beam in two, shattering the attack and sending a backlash of energy towards its creator. Bright was thrown back, his body hitting the floor and sliding through a group of fallen Warders with bone-jarring force. He lay there, gasping for breath, his vision swimming. For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a groan, Bright forced himself to his feet. Latham did the same, using his sword as a crutch. They stood there, facing each other, the Portal Stone still pulsing behind Latham, still out of Brights reach. Bright adjusted his tie and straightened his suit; he couldnt help but offer a grudging nod of respect to Latham. A card appeared in his hand, and he flicked it towards the big man. "I don''t know what the fuck you are, but if you ever get tired of kissing godly arse, I can probably find you some work." Latham watched the white square drop to the ground, then jutted his chin upwards. "We done here?" Bright smiled broadly back. "For now." He started to vanish, his mouth being the last bit of him to disappear. "I look forward to Round Two on . . . shall we say, more neutral ground? Take care." And then he was gone. * Hel rushed forward, literally dousing the Temple Warder in the strongest Health Potions she had in her inventory. She hadn''t been able to follow the confrontation, which, in and of itself, was terrifying. The fact the big man was still standing - albeit clearly one puff of wind away from collapse - was one of the most staggering things she had ever witnessed. And Hel had seen some shit. Latham had activated some Heal Skill of his own and was chugging a veritable vat of Mana Potions of his own as she reached his side. "That was ... epic!" Hel said, awkwardly aware she sounded like the worst fan girl in the world. Latham looked at her, eyes showing every sign of being within an inch of being zeroed and knowing it, and then turned and staggered for the portal. "You think that was impressive? Wait until you see what I''ve planned for an encore." Hel moved to follow him, slipping one of his oozing, lacerated arms over her shoulder to provide some stability to his staggering. "Which is?" "I''m going to persuade Lowe he''s looking at all of this the wrong way." Chapter 48 – Connecting the Dots, One Dead Priest at a Time "Mate! You look like shit. And trust me, when it comes to the aftermaths of a real shoeing, I know of what I speak! What in Soar happened to you?" Lowe activated Medic! and pushed it towards Latham, who, he realised, was only standing because a red-faced and breathing heavily Hel was lodged under one of his armpits. Seeing that she also looked significantly worse for wear, he triggered a second instance of Medic! and cast it towards her, too. "What do you think happened, you fucking idiot?" Latham put out a hand to lean against the doorframe of Arkola''s chamber. "You kicked a hornet''s nest and then ran away. The adult in the room then had to deal." Lowe was so aghast at the amount of mana Medic! was sucking down to address the various injuries the Temple Warder and the Wind Tyrant were sporting that he had almost forgotten the reason both of his friends looked like shit. A vision of Mr. Law swam forward in his mind. "And?" Latham left a pregnant pause, straightening up slightly as Lowe''s healing finally started to take effect. Once she was confident the big man could stand again under his own steam, Hel slipped free from under his arm and stretched out her back. "What do you think happened? I took care of business." Lowe''s eyebrows shot up. He had a very clear memory of the capabilities of Mr. Law. He knew Latham was good, but . . . Lowe glanced Hel''s way for confirmation. She shrugged back. "To be fair, he''s not lying. I''ve never seen anything like it. Tenia, Charl and I were barely able to make the Big Bad miss a step, but then your man did his thing." "So, we''re safe?" Latham laughed grimly. "Well, for now. But I wouldn''t give much for any of our chances if we leave the Temple without having this all wrapped up. The two of us left things on somewhat of an ''I''ll be seeing you soon'' note . . ." Lowe cursed and looked around the empty chamber, searching for . . . something. The imminent danger might have receded, but that didn''t change the overall dynamic of the situation. It was clear their only path to survival was to solve the case and then hope they would no longer be worth bothering with. That felt somewhat like a forlorn hope right now. The moment Latham opened the door to let light flood in, Lowe had felt the presence of Arkola fade. Not that had had much more to say to Soar''s supreme being. He had been so sure that the responsibility for all the week''s events lay within this room: nothing else made sense of everything that had happened. But, to hear Arkola''s version of events, they had simply taken advantage of someone else''s throw of the dice. And what was more, Lowe believed what he''d heard. "So what next?" Arebella said, tapping him softly on the arm. "If it wasn''t Arkola who was responsible, who should we be looking at?" Lowe''s eyes glazed over as he activated Grid View. Thanks to all of his recent upgrades, he''d been able to leave it running more or less constantly after his Dungeon Dive. Moreover, he found that the speed at which he could review things had also increased exponentially. Being able to review everything that had happened in the last few days in an instant was quite a trip. On more than one occasion, Lowe had been close enough to death to experience his ''life flashing before his eyes.'' This was like that. With slightly less traumatic peril. Latham cleared his throat, pulling Lowe out of his reverie. "Actually, whilst I was kicking Mr. Law''s arse - " "I mean, let''s not get carried away here. You were damn impressive, but there was only one arse being kicked down there. The dude took off because he literally grew tired of whupping you." "- as I was saying!" Latham continued, ignoring Hel''s sotto voce commentary, "While fighting Mr. Law, I realised the problem with this case. We are looking at everything the wrong way around."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Lowe frowned, pausing his review of everything that he''d seen or heard recently. Even as he did so, he could feel there was something there that was waving its arms and shouting for his attention, but it wouldn''t quite press forward. Ignoring that for a moment - often, it was concentrating on something else that let the hidden present itself - he looked up at the big man. "How do you mean?" "From the very first moment this all occurred, we''ve been thinking too big." "We have a dead Level 67 Pyromancer, ripped to pieces in the Celestial Temple under the full protection of her god. On top of that, we have an Advanced Class hitman floating around casually slaughtering people, a bunch of assassination attempts on the two of us, another dead Priest and then a heavy hitter from Jewel Town implicated. Dude, this is the definition of ''big''." "All true. But we''ve become obsessed with looking for shadowy figures and massive conspiracies since the get-go. I just wonder if we''ve let ourselves be distracted by everything that happened after the murder." "Post hoc, ergo propter hoc," Arebella exclaimed. "What?" Latham smiled slowly and nodded. "Exactly!" "''Exactly'' what?" "Interesting," Hel''s voice was soft, her expression thoughtful. "What''s ''interesting?'' What the fuck are you all sagely agreeing about!" Lowe''s sense of frustration was almost a distinct, separate person in the conversation. "Can I remind you there''s only one investigator in this room? If anyone is going to have a moment of blinding epiphany, it is going to be me!" "It was one of my Law Professor''s favourite expressions. Post hoc, ergo propter hoc. Come on, you know this, Jana!" "I''m going to go out on a limb here and suggest he''s got no idea. From my very limited contact with your boyfriend, it strikes me that you''re the brains, the beauty and all of the classical education. He''s the . . . I actually don''t know. At this stage, I have to assume he''s an amazing lay, right?" Arebella blushed at Hel''s words and cleared her throat. "After this, therefore, because of it. It''s a term in law for the logical fallacy of assuming one thing caused another merely because the first thing preceded the other. A whole host of things have occurred since the murder of Gianna d''Avec, but that does not mean they happened because of the murder. Or, at the very least, that the person who murdered the High Priestess was responsible for putting them in motion." Lowe let that percolate in his mind for a moment. Both Arkola and Mr. Law had expressed something similar - that there had been ''opportunities'' presented by the death of Gianna d''Avec, and they''d jumped all over them. But they''d each denied being responsible for firing the starting pistol, as it were. For all the sound and fury that had occurred since the discovery of the High Priestess''s body, was there anything that couldn''t be explained by powerful beings in Soar taking their chance to settle some private scores . . . Lowe dived back into Grid View, trying to parse out anything that could be locked away in the file marked "Unrelated Shenanigans of the Rich and Powerful Being Wankers." It left precious little. Then it hit him. For the first time since Cenorth had arrived at his apartment and dangled the case before him, the pieces slotted together to reveal a coherent picture. When you faded out the noise and ignored the threat of violent death, what remained was actually pretty mundane. It all came down to a piece of seaweed, a missing glove, and, of course, a second dead Priest. Everything else was just the noise of Soar being Soar. "You''ve figured it out, haven''t you?" A massive grin was spreading over Arebella''s face. "You always look that way when you''ve figured it all out. You know who''s responsible!" "Maybe," Lowe said, glancing at Latham and Hel. "You both feeling okay?" "These things are relative. Could I stomp you like a bug? Sure. Do I have another entanglement with Mr. Law in me? Probably not." Hel bumped Latham with her hip. "Don''t listen to him, Lowe. He''s more than fine. What have you got?" Lowe took a deep breath and held it. If he was right - and he thought he was - then there was only one place left for them to go. "I think I might have it figured out. But proving it is going to be tricky. Where are your sisters?" Hel frowned at the unexpected segue. "A friend is looking after them. Why?" "Because I''m a drama queen, and it''d be good to pull all the players into one room when I talk through it." "It''s true. He is." Arebella affirmed, taking Lowe''s hand in hers. "It''s kind of his thing." Hel looked between them, clearly baffled. "I mean, I can arrange for them to join us if you think it will help?" "It will. It really will." "Okay," Hel tugged on her connection with Irek, letting him know he should bring her sisters to her. "If you''re sure this is necessary? But where is this big reveal going to take place?" "Where else?" Lowe said, exiting Arkola''s chamber and moving down the corridor towards the Portal Stone. "Let''s go to where all this started: the High Priestess'' Chamber." Lowe activated the portal to the Third Floor. After the last of them vanished through it, the light in the First Floor corridor flicked off and - should anyone have listened carefully - an extremely satisfied sigh was heard from the now darkened chamber at the end. Chapter 49 – The God Wore Crimson "Are we all sitting comfortably?" Arebella did her best not to roll her eyes at Lowe''s question. Sure, she recognised he probably deserved a little melodrama after what he had been through over the last few days, but perhaps now was not quite the time or place . . . Neither were any of the people who had been - with various degrees of bad grace - gathered in Gianna d''Avec''s receiving chamber sitting especially comfortably. For some of them - namely Latham, Hel, Tenia and Charl - that was because they had just had seven shades kicked out of them, and there was no amount of healing nor tasty HP-restoring snacks that made you forget how it felt to be somewhat powerless in the face of overwhelming strength. Included in their little worse-for-wear group was Ortel Maybourne, but his cause of woe was self-inflicted rather than by nefarious, physical means: the smell of alcohol wafting off him was almost overwhelming to those sat next to him. Then there were those who clearly believed that taking part in this sort of charade was significantly beneath their position in life, namely Mdamic, Khaled and the spidery figure of Cadi Velehim, the Senior Recorder. Indeed, the two avatars had only agreed to attend once they heard the distinct sound of Arkola clearing their throat behind them. On the other side of the chamber, Aintra and Hiwalk were sitting, arms folded, peeved that so many non-believers had been allowed access to the inner sanctum of their High Priestess. They were making their displeasure at Gravalk''s space being used for ''some sort of parlour game'' abundantly clear. Little flame birds of prey kept appearing and disappearing above the head of the Hell Raiser. To be fair, even without their personal reservations, it was understandable that everyone sat in the hastily arranged chairs was pretty unhappy to be in a room which, despite the best efforts of the Temple Cleaners, still bore all the hallmarks of an abattoir. "Can we get on with this, please?" Mdamic said, storm clouds forming above his head. "Some of us have things to do." "I''m sure," Lowe said, eyeing the flash of thunderbolts a touch nervously. "We just have a last few people to arrive, and then we can" Through the chamber''s open door, the Portal Stone shimmer opened and closed twice in quick succession. " - ah, here are our last few guests." The first person through the door was a wiry older man with a haggard expression. He looked around the chamber, nodded at Hel, and then turned back to beckon two heavily bundled-up figures into the room. Such was the volume of cloth covering them that it was impossible to tell if they were male, female, human or horse. The three of them moved to sit behind Hel''s contingent, and - despite the strangeness of their appearance and the general mood of anxiety in the room - their arrival, or at least the man''s, seemed to make everyone feel less tense. Following close behind them came Lowe''s boss, Cenorth, the Deathcaller Penarth Lant, and two uniformed Constables escorting a very sorry looking for himself, Markian Ulton. Seeing that arrogant man in chains - literally and metaphorically - put an extra spring in Lowe''s step, and he felt a smile spread across his face. "Excellent. I am so glad we were all able to find time in all our busy schedules to join this little soiree." "Jana, cut the crap." Cenorth''s voice was harsh. "The Council are pissing vinegar about this. By my reckoning, you have half a bell before I start receiving messages I can''t ignore any longer. Get the fuck on with it." Lowe nodded. "Fair enough. Now, before we begin, I just want to set a few ground rules. You will notice my glamorous assistant here?" Lowe pointed at Arebella, who gave an embarrassed little wave. "Well, for those of you who do not know her, Ms. Telut is one of Soar''s finest Veritas Assessor." "And the possessor of a spectacular bosom," Lant added, slightly louder than was truly necessary. He met Cenorth''s glare with a shrug. "It''s not like I''m lying, is it? And that is the point you are making, Mr. Lowe, is it not? You have brought your own personal lie detector to proceedings?" Lowe ignored the pot-bellied man and opened his arms wide. "I would also note that we have quite the collection of fell powers present here today. Thus, for the sake of all our survival, can I please ask that we think first, smite later should tempers run a little high?" Cenorth looked around at the gathering and felt a little bead of sweat break out on his forehead. Lowe wasn''t exaggerating. There was enough firepower in the room to sink a small continent - and that was just the people he recognised. He wasn''t wholly sure what he would be able to do if things cut up rough. As a Sentinel of Justice, he had several Skills that had an Area of Effect mitigation to damage, but he''d never had to launch them against an angry fucking Avatar before. What in the name of Soar had Lowe talked him into here . . .Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "I think," Khaled said, his entirely reasonable tone belying the blazing fury in his eyes, "it might be best if we were to get on with things. I am happy to confirm that I understand the delightful Ms. Telut will be able to identify lies and that it would be best if any retribution for the discourtesy shown here were saved for later." His reptilian eyes met Arebella''s. "I can promise your Mr. Lowe that I will see him soon to discuss how the Chosen of Oh was dragooned into attending this . . . meeting." Lowe didn''t need to check with her if this was the truth or not. "Okay. So, moving right along. We all know why you have been gathered here today." After a few moments of no one answering and Lowe clearly pausing for effect, Verahalim coughed to clear his throat and supplied the response in his wheezy voice. "The murder of Gianna d''Avec. Oh, and for the sake of transparency, I should note that I will be billing the Mayor for every contribution I am required to make to proceedings. On top of my per-bell rate, this delightful little distraction has cost the city 500 gold thus far." Cenorth ground his teeth. He could already hear the Council making clear whose budget this was all coming out of. "For pity''s sake, Jana, can you move this the fuck along!" "Pity?" Lowe said, rolling the word around his mouth. "Pity. Yes, I think that''s probably a good place to start. Because there''s not anyone in this room who feels pity - any at all - for the death of the High Priestess. I am not wrong in saying that, am I?" There were a few downcast eyes at that but also several shrugs and defiant glares. "No, Gianna d''Avec is not much mourned." Lowe started to pace around the room. "I don''t think I have ever heard the word ''bitch'' uttered so often about the recently deceased as I did in connection with the High Priestess. People were not quite lining up to shake the hand of whoever killed her, but neither was there much dismay. As I look around this room, I see person after person that danced a veritable jig at her passing." Looking at each member of the group in turn, Lowe started to pace the chamber the opposite way around. "Maybe she was an upcoming rival, an uncaring employer, a murderer, a corrupt official, an uncorrupt official. A lover. Whatever. But a bitch. Pretty much everyone in the room was united on that score. Gianna d''Avec was a Level 67 Pyromancer and a Level 100 Bitch. And whoever killed her did Soar a favour. Am I right?" Mindful of Arebella''s presence, no one seemed interested in saying anything out loud, but Lowe saw few who disagreed with his assessment. "But, and this is where things start to become interesting, as my investigation moved on, it became clear there was another side to d''Avec. One that does not seem compatible with the general, accepted view. For example, most of you will be aware that she chose not to live in the Celestial Temple, as would be her right. No. Instead, she would retire each evening to her modest childhood home. That strikes me as hardly the behaviour of someone so widely understood to be ''power-hungry.'' A little thing, for sure, but I found that instructive. There are few more luxurious residences in Soar than the Celestial Temple, yet she chose home comforts." Lowe''s words made little impression on his audience. If any of them thought he had scored a point in d''Avec''s favour there, they hid it well. Undeterred at the lack of reaction, the detective pressed on. "And then there is the matter of her financial arrangements." Lowe spun to face the Senior Recorder. "To whom did she leave all her wealth, Mr. Verahalim?" "As we discussed, Mr. Lowe, Gianna d''Avec dispersed the majority of her income in support of a large number of charities. They will each benefit significantly now that she has . . . died." "When we spoke before, you mentioned that the charities she supported were all connected to," Lowe''s eyes flashed as he pulled the words from his memory, Orphans. War Veterans. Young Carers. Is my memory of that accurate?" Verahalim shrugged his agreement, adding, "760 gold if anyone is keeping count." "So the bitch had a social conscience? Whoop-de-doo. Tell you what, I''ll have a few bullocks slaughtered in her name, and my Vestal Virgins can have an hour of debauchery. How does that sound? We done yet?" The storm clouds above Mdamic''s head were increasingly growing dark. Lowe opened his palms to the Speaker of Yolgorth. "But don''t you find it odd? Someone who, even in the event of her brutal murder, no one had a good word to say, being so keen to help others?" "Not especially. No. People can be complex. Especially avatars." "Ah. Maybe it''s just me, then. How about you, Hel? Does hearing about d''Avec''s philanthropy make you feel differently about her?" All heads turned to the Wind Tyrant, who lifted her chin defiantly. "Not in the least. Why do you think it should?" "I was just wondering. Because, as far as I understand it, your hatred for the High Priestess comes from her involvement in the murder of your families. Orphans. War Veterans. Young Carers. I could be wrong, but it sounds to me that most of that could apply to your little group." Tenia snarled at that and made to stand, sickly-green Skills activating in the air around her. Hel hissed an order, gripped her wrist tightly and dragged her back to her seat. "Blood money, Lowe. She could throw as much cash around as she wanted, but that wouldn''t wipe the slate clean." "Interestingly liquid metaphor, there. The High Priestess herself said something similar to you, didn''t she, Mr. Verahalim? ''When you have so much blood on your hands, every bit of mercy helps.'' Weren''t those her words?" The Senior Recorder nodded. "Indeed." "To wash away the guilt, I assume. Again with the water imagery, you will notice. Strange for the avatar of the Fire Demon. And instructive when we consider the manner of her death. Tell me," Lowe said, "turning in a wide circle to face the people on the other side of the chamber, "what element are you most familiar with?" All eyes were suddenly fixed on Khaled, the Chosen of Oh. Chapter 50 – When the Sky Shatters 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." 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.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. "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 Temple Warder, 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. Threatened 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 Wraiths. 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 Wind Tyrant since his moment of epiphany on the First Floor. "How do you know that, Hel?" The Wind Tyrant opened her mouth to retort, her face twisted in anger. But then it stoppedconfusion 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 Sentinel of Justice was already in motion, Skills triggering to slay Markian Ulton and the two Constables 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 51 – The Last Candle Burns 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 Sentinel of Justice 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 Constables 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 Temple Warder 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 Constables 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 Senior Recorder, Verahalim, pumping some manner of healing Skill into a spectacular chest wound. For a moment, Lowe found something incongruous about a Deathcaller 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 Berserker Balloon 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 Wraiths. 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 helptime 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.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report 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 anymore, 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 Wraiths the Wind Tyrant 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 Wraith''s 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. Chances 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 Sentinel of Justice 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, Earth Mages 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 Temple Warder''s 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 Veritas Assessor 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 52 – 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 Empath Nullifier 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 hand job 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 Wind Tyrant 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 Senior Recorder 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 Constables, his body wrapped in thick chains. At least a Deathcaller 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 Earth Mage had survived a Sword of Justice to the head? That was pretty impressive. He''d have to be more thorough next time.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Markian took a few staggering steps forward and then stopped. Lowe stepped out from behind him to the one side, the Wind Tyrant 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 Temple Warder 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 lying?" 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 Temple Warder 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 Wraiths. Ignoring the shrieks and screams, Lowe watched his former friend''s evisceration without blinking. Some things needed to be witnessed. Epilogue 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 Wraiths. 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 Constables 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 Temple Warder 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. Wraiths 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 Weber 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 Coal Stirrer 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?" "I know you killed her."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The statement was so unexpected that the Coal Stirrer 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. Weber. 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 Wraith skin cells, then you are one freaky son of a bitch." The Coal Stirrer 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, Weber 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 Junior Server 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 Temple Warder 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 Junior Server, 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 Deathcaller - 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, Coal Stirrers 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 Coal Stirrer 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 Coal Stirrer glanced up at Lowe''s Classless state and nodded to himself. "I''m sure you havemore 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'' Drudge, 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," Weber 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 Coal Stirrer''s 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 Weber 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 ''Death of a Curator''. Chapter 53 - The Price of Glass and Dust On the morning of the first murder, Grackle Nuroon stalked his museum in a complete and utter funk. Those staff members who had arrived on shift earlyunlucky souls bound either by relentless ambition or the cruel betrayal of faulty alarm clocksdid their best to shrink into the shadows and keep well out of his way. But there was seemingly no hiding from a man whose very gaze was capable of carving resignation letters directly from their souls. Grackle didnt shout; that would have been almost merciful. No, the Director of Soar Museum wielded his displeasure like a toddler handed a flamethrowerwildly, haphazardly, and with all the reckless joy of having just discovered no one was saying no more ice cream ever again. Anyone unfortunate enough to accidentally cross his path as he swept from one exhibit to the next, was soon reduced to a sobbing wreck. On his best day, Grackle Nuroon was a curmudgeonly bastarda Level 56 tyrannical menace wrapped in the shell of rabid wolverine and blessed with all the charm of recurring syphilis. And today was not one of his better days. "Which fucking genius mislabeled this piece?" he hissed at a Cleaner who hadnt heard him coming in time to scamper away. The words ricochet off the stone walls like solidified spite., causing the Cleaner to freeze, caught mid-step, clutching his mop like a shield. Receiving no satisfactory response, the Director stepped forward, glare intensifying on the poor young man. I asked you a question. Who mislabeled this exhibit? I . . . I . . . I dont know, sir, the Cleaner, barely into Level 6, managed to squeak out. I just clean them. You just clean them? You just clean them! The Directors eyes were two pools of fire now that he had locked down on his next victim. You have been granted access to the single greatest collection of artefacts in the whole of Soar and you just clean them! You just clean them? You are being allowed into the presence of the stuff of legends! Material that has not seen the light of day since the time before the gods and instead of revelling in a moment of rapture at your proximity to history you instead just fucking clean them! Get the fuck out of my sight you pathetic, ungrateful philistine! The Cleaner put his head down and ran. As one of his other jobs was sterilising the bathroom at one of the brothels in the undercity, this was hardly his worst interaction of the day. The girls in there didnt come to play. Within that context, being berated by a small, spidery-looking man was almost uplifting . . . Grackle watched the man run and span around for his next victim, continuing to seethe. Four decades in the Directors chair had cemented his unwavering disdain for the teeming hordes of plebians who dared to set foot in his museum. "Dull-eyed troglodytes," he called them - often to their faces - and lamented the way they "oozed their uncultured stupidity across his floors like slime trails." Their lack of intellect offended him as much as their sticky fingers on glass cases, their inane questions about the history of artefacts they couldnt begin to comprehend, or their gawping, stupid faces as they stood in awe of things whose worth they would never grasp. His museum was not a place for the masses to parasitically feed on his brilliance. To him, this temple to all he had achieved was sullied daily by the shambling, brainless rabble who thought a guided tour and a latte from the gift shop somehow elevated them to the realms of the cultured. "They should be stripped of the ability to speak before they enter," hed once sneered to an underling. "If I could charge the public a stupidity tax, the museum would have its funding forever." If the throngs of daily visitors were incapable of appreciating his curated treasures, of even attempting to rise above their festering ignorance, then what right did they have to pollute his air with their toxic presence? They werent patronsthey were an infestation of the mindless, and their very existence in his domain was an affront to the grandeur of his life''s work. His theoretical irritation with humanity was, right now, focused on the offending exhibit he had plucked free from its display cabinet. "''Third Aeon Hunting Knife,'' my haemorrhoided arse," Grackle growled, activating on his most levelled Skills, Artifact Appraisal, with a click of his fingers. The knife glimmered under the spells scrutiny, the faint outline of its true origin emerging like a ghost. "Fifth Aeon, at best," he said as the Skill did its work. "Bloody Khrichen," Nuroon spat. "That pustulent boil masquerading as a scholar wouldnt know an artefact if it crawled up his arse and spelled its provenance on his colon walls. Calling that proficient wanker a Senior Curator is like handing a lunatic a lute and calling him a Maestrono sense of rhythm, no talent, and everyones worse off for having heard the noise.. Every time he mislabels a relic, I feel the collective intellect of Soar hemorrhage a little more. Fifth Aeon, at best," he growled, turning the knife over in his hands. "Third Aeon? Thatd be like calling a glory hole the arse of the Goddess of Beauty." He ran his fingers over the blade as if seeking to purge it of Khrichens aura. "Might as well replace him with a paederast with a fetish for licking glass cases. At least theyd have the decency to misclassify things in sacrificial virgin blood. But Khrichen? Oh no, hell scribble Third Aeon on a Fifth Aeon blade and call it a day, all while masturbating himself into a frenzy of self-regard for doing Soars cultural heritage a favour. This is the tragedy of academia in action. One mislabel at a time, these mouth-breathing fuckwits are dragging us back to the fucking Age of Reason." When the ding, confirmation of the error came through, Nuroons grin spread across his face like grease on a slick road. He glanced around, searching for some hapless nonentity to soak up the overflow of his irritation. But the halls had already emptied, word spreading fast that the Director was on the prowl in the Exhibition Hall. Denied a living target, his wrath fixated on the mislabeled knife. It lay in his hand, an affront to his very existence. Didnt these cretins understand? One error, one mislabeled artifact, and the museums credibility could collapse faster than a whores virtue during a gold rush. Idiots! The thought of their carelessness made his teeth itch. He threw the knife to the floor. I swear, Ill gut every last one of you incompetents with this and label that an exhibit! Because this museum wasnt just bricks and mortar; it was his reputation made manifest. For decades, Grackle Nuroon had dragged this crumbling pisshole into greatness with the sheer force of his own genius. His name was the museums integrity. Its one saving grace, and the thought of that name tarnished by some half-witted cretins blunder made his stomach churn. Mistakes like this werent just stupiditythey were an act of war. In a fit of incandescent rage, Nuroons Cultural Appropriation Skill surged. The knife quivered, then crumbled to ash. A spectral stream of ancient XP bled from the ruins, flowing into Nuroons Core and starting a stream of notifications. He exhaled sharply, satisfaction flickering across his face as the familiar surge of power settled in his veins. He dismissed the messages hovering in his vision. At his age and stage, what did he care for more power? The knife, mislabeled and mismanaged, was no longer a problem. It was now a part of something greaterhim. For a fleeting moment, guilt brushed against Nuroons consciencea faint whisper reminding him that this wasnt the conduct befitting a professional of his stature. Once, perhaps, back in the wild days when hed been just another low-levelled, ambitious Archaeologist scraping through the Pits of Panthen, such impulsive actions would have been his stock-in-trade. It was how he came to prominence, after all. A Skill by which you could absorb the power of ages past was quite a handy one for someone who regularly found himself balls deep in the collected detritus of lost civilisations . . . But now? Now he was a figure of respect. A man of standing. Such feasting should be beneath him. The moment passed. Then the anger that had simmered since the previous nights insult roared back to life, scorching away any pangs of remorse. The Trustees, with their tone-deaf directives and backhanded disrespect, were lucky he wasnt storming through the museum, reducing all of their priceless exhibits to ash and siphoning their essence into his Core.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. They thought he was suffocating presence now, did they? Wait until he had several millennia of XP on board. Then theyd see of what he was capable! His hand rested on the skeleton of some terrible lizard from the past and half of it crumbled away to nothing before another mountain of notifications caused him to step away. The thought of absorbing the entire institution ran through his mind, as it always did at moments of high tension. Who, or what, could stand in his way then? But no. He had long decided that was not to be his role in life. He would rather be lord and master of all he surveyed in the Museum than a more . . . active presence in the wider world. Starting to calm, he let his charged Skills fade away. Around Soar, several gods that had powered up their own abilities in response to the burgeoning threat, took a sigh of relief. Slightly calmer now, the Director thought back to his conversation of the previous evening. The one that had put him in such a mood. The one where he was told an auditor would be presenting themselves at the Museum this morning. He had not taken the news well. "Grackle, I do think youre overreacting just a touch," Liando Verlan had ventured, her watery blue eyes flicking to the door of her office as if gauging the distance to safety. Delivering bad news to this man was a task no one relished, least of all Liando, who had been handed the job like a live mana grenade. Nuroons temper was the stuff of whispered legend, and she had no desire to become another cautionary tale to future Chairs of the Museum Board. "Its not that the Trustees are implying you have done anything untoward," she continued. "Its just... well, you know how it is. Our Articles of Association are quite clear on this point. An annual audit of the exhibits is standard procedure to remain compliant with our insurance. Checks and balances, Grackle. Checks and balance. Nothing more sinister at play here." Her fingers tightened around the edge of the report shed brought with her, a flimsy shield against the firestorm she expected to follow. "And... well... from our records, it seems its been some time since" But Nuroon wasnt listening. He rarely did when his temper was in full swing. "Interference," he snapped. "Plain and simple. What youre suggesting is the very betrayal I was assured would never happen when I agreed to take on this role so many years ago. Do you know what a museum is without the independence of its leadership? A circus. A sideshow. A political instrument. And, with your actions, you are threatening to turn this institution into precisely that." He didnt stop to let her interjecthis anger rolled on, building in momentum. "Whats next, I wonder? Will one of the Trustees suggest we turn over the Minaron Wing to showcase their personal histories? Shall we swap out the Hall of Kings for an exhibit of the art of their latest whores and mistresses? This is a travesty, Liando. A travesty!" His hands slammed down on her desk for emphasis, sending a stack of documents skittering to the floor. "I have tolerated much in my tenure here, but up with this sort of thing, I will not put!" The Directors voice echoed in the room like the final gavel in a courtroom, daring her to argue. Grimacing at the Directors tone, Verlan raised her hands in a gesture of what can I do? "I hear your concerns, Grackle. Truly, I do. But I must be clearthe Trustees are united on this matter. The Auditor is already booked and she will be here first thing tomorrow morning." Her voice softened, though it was more out of self-preservation than sympathy. "We, of course, expect you to extend them every courtesy. Theres no reasonnone whatsoeverthat this audit cannot be resolved swiftly and without fuss. By the supper bell, itll all be over. You let them in, walk them through the exhibits they wish to inspect, and if everything is in order - as Im sure it will be - you wont have to deal with this again for another year." She paused, offering a carefully practised smile. "This is just a routine formality, Grackle. Nothing more. Im sure youll handle it... impeccably." It was a challenge to sustain the full heat of his indignation in the face of Verlans calm, reasonable tone, but Nuroon gave it his best shot. "And that," he said, jabbing a finger toward her for emphasis, "is yet another outrage. Why am I only hearing about this inspection now? We had a Board meeting last weeklast week, Liando! An event of this magnitude should have been front and centre on that agenda. Not snuck in like this!" His voice rose, echoing off the officess polished walls. "It is scandalousabsolutely scandalousthat Ive only been informed of this inspection on the eve of its occurrence. The Trustees, it seems, have decided that humiliating me is their new pastime!" Nuroons words dripped with theatrical venom, his eyes narrowing as if daring Verlan to contradict him. "Is this what my decades of service have earned me? To be blindsided like some novice Curator in charge of a backwater artefact swapmeet?" Verlan privately reflected that a significant factor in the Directors prickly personality was likely the fact that he hadnt been humiliated nearly enough during his long and self-important life. Of course, now didnt seem like the moment to offer that observation. "I can assure you, Grackle, theres no conspiracy at play here. Tomorrow is simply the first available date we could secure. Thats all. "Frankly," she continued, "we must also consider our responsibilities. Im sure I dont need to explain this to someone with your experience, but Soar Museum houses some of the most priceless artefacts in the region. In the event of fire, flood, or an act of the gods themselves, the Trustees must be certain were in full compliance with insurance requirements." Her gaze became steady, almost challenging. "You understand, of course, that such oversight is not only prudent but essential to safeguarding our collectionand, by extension, your impeccable reputation." Of course, the deliberately short notice of the inspection also ensured that Nuroon would have little time to make their lives a living hell in the interim. And that was the whole point. The Trustees had learned long ago that giving the Director too much lead time meant hed have the chance to unearth a host of old skeletonsmetaphorical and otherwiseand use them to drag anyone standing in his way into the muck. There had been countless occasions during his lengthy tenure when the former Archaeologists Skills had not been confined to the excavation of ancient artefacts. No, Grackle Nuroon had a particular knack for unearthing the kind of inconvenient truths that others desperately hoped would stay buried. Take, for instance, the now-infamous "Goat, Gallon, and Melon Incident"a debacle that still haunted certain members of the Board. Nuroon had stumbled upon it during what he liked to call "routine diligence" and what everyone else would call "a targeted campaign of blackmail." It turned out that a former Chair had been moonlighting as a particularly enthusiastic supporter of the local Fruit Growers Guild. This would have been harmless enough, except for an after-hours event in the Museum''s Hall of Mythic Agriculture that had somehow involved a goat, a gallon of lube, and twelve exquisitely carved melons. The details were mercifully lost to historysomething about an interpretive performance art piece gone horribly wrongbut the few grainy Mana-Captured images that survived were more than enough to bend the will of the most obstinate Trustee. "I dont need to know why the goat was on a wheeled platform," Nuroon had said at the time, lounging back in his chair as the Chairpersons face turned an increasingly impressive shade of scarlet. "I dont need to know why the melons were hollowed out. And I certainly dont need to know what the lube was for. What I do need is for you to approve my budget proposal. Otherwise, I might find myself inspired to mount a new exhibit on ''Unusual Rituals of the Late Fourth Aeon.'' Can you imagine the public interest? The scholarly debate?" Suffice it to say, the funding was approved in record time, and the Chairperson quietly resigned a week later. It was one of Nuroons prouder momentsnot because of the leverage, but because it so perfectly encapsulated the fundamental truth of his philosophy: there was no closet without a skeleton, and no skeleton without a story to be told at just the right moment. This time, however, the Trustees were determined to avoid such a bloodbath. They had learned from past mistakes, and they had made sure the cards were stacked against the Director. No dirty laundry to air, no whispered deals to be put in place and no desperate alliances to be formed. This time, they were playing it smartkeeping things tight, contained, and most importantly, keeping Nuroons arsenal of secrets just a little out of reach. All of them had gone away to the country the moment Liandro had sat down with the spidery little tyrant. "And if I were to offer my resignation?" Nuroon said, skinny nostrils flaring. "Would that make a difference?" Verlan stiffened. Rising to the Chairwomanship of Soar Museum, the beating heart of the citys cultural life, was no small feat. One didnt get there without learning how to wield sharp elbows and an even sharper mind. As a Level 40 Captain of Industry, she had recently been granted an unusual threshold bonus by her patron god, and while she wasnt exactly itching to bend Grackle fucking Nuroon to her will, she was also done indulging his petty tantrums over a relatively minor request. "Of course, Grackle," she said, "that would be a matter of considerable regret to the Trustees. We wouldnt want you to feel that was your only option." She leaned forward slightly, just enough to let him know she wasnt going to back down. "However, on behalf of the Trustees, I have been empowered to accept... should you insist that to be your wish." If Nuroon wanted to escalate this into something personal, shed play that game. But it would be on her terms, not his. The ball, for once, was not in his court. Verlan raised a hand, summoning Nuroons contract into it in a puff of theatrically satisfying smokeentirely unnecessary, but it served its purpose. She glanced down at the document, her fingers tracing its edges as if contemplating the weight of its words. "We extended the term of your Directorship just last year," she said. "It would indeed be disappointing to see your long career at Soar Museum come to an end over a matter as trifling as this. But make no mistake, Gracklewhile you may regard this as a minor inconvenience, the Trustees cannot afford to compromise on the matter of compliance with our constitutional rules." She let the silence hang between them. "This audit will proceed, whether you like it or not. And if you choose to obstruct it, we will find a way forward regardless. The reputation of this institution, and the legal standing of its operations, cannotand will notbe jeopardized over personal grievances." Despite a little more back-and-forth, there was nothing left to say, not after the stakes had been laid bare. Now, this morning, here he stood, watching the hands of the clock tick towards the arrival of an Auditorone who might be poised to unravel everything hed spent years carefully constructing. His carefully built empire, each piece of the museums intricate operations a fragile card stacked upon the next, could very well come crashing down around him. And that was quite without mentioning the astonishing find even now being explored in the Great Hall . . . 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 Auditor killed, was it? Chapter 54 - The Cost of Obfuscation In a grudging surrender to the relentless shrieking of her alarm, Karolen Mehin pried her eyes open, every fibre of her being screaming to just vaporise the fucking thing and slip back into the oblivion of sleep. Today was going to be tough, and it took an effort of colossal will to not just yank the sheets back over her head and consign the whole damn thing to the rubbish heap. Audits were dangerous enough things at the best of times. So 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, in theory, to be an entirely independent Auditorfree from the tug of alliances, untouched by the politics of the day. But it was a whole other beast when you found yourself caught in the crossfire between one of Soar''s genuine up-and-coming business power players and, well, Grackle fucking Nuroon. Today was likely to be the defining moment of her career thus far. The stakes couldnt be higher. She was going to be forced to pick a side, and - when she did that - she would incur the wrath of the other. Whatever way she played this, someone with pull was going to be gunning for her by the end of the day. The Museum Director was an institution in Soaror at least, as the joke went, he ought to be locked up in one. And preferably heavily medicated to stop him breaking free. From the moment, nearly fifty years ago, when Grackle Nuroon first claimed the keys to that monolithic monstrosity in the heart of the Cultural Quarter, he had deflected every attempt to rein him in with a level of obstinacy typically reserved for feral mules. Trustees, auditors, and meddling bureaucrats alike had thrown themselves against the impenetrable wall of his ego, only to bounce off like rubber balls lobbed at a fortress. The fact that the Trustees had been reduced to playing their last cardseeking an indictment for tax fraudspoke volumes. It said as much about Nuroons Teflon-like ability to avoid any stain on his career as it did about Verlans growing desperation to finally bring the matter to a head. And she was allowing herself to be the instrument by which they were attempting his downfall . . . Man. Was she fuuuuuuucked. It didnt help Karolens mood that every other Auditor whod tried to investigate the museums accounts in the last twenty years had come out of it rather worse than simply having a bit of a shitty day. There had been three unexplained deaths and two inexplicable disappearancesand those were just the incidents that she had managed to pry from the lips of suddenly very unchatty colleagues. Who knew how many other accidents had been quietly swept under the rug? Of course, in the brutal world of financial investigation, just making it home with all your fingers and toes was considered a good days work. However, even Karolens courage had its limits and, as she sat on the edge of her bed, thinking about the day ahead, she kind of thought Grackle Nuroon might be it. Despite the polished assurances of Liando Verlan and the explicit backing of the rest of the museum Board, Karolen couldnt shake the sense that there was no outcome here where anything short of handing Nuroon the cleanest, most glowing bill of health wouldnt be her death knell. The moment she signed off on anything less, that spidery vulture would start circling. Should she uncover irregularities and Liando didnt use her report to take the Director down, her career - fuck it, her life - would be pretty much over. Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, Karolen stood up , her mind returning to the words of her best friend, Arebella Telut, from the wine bar the night before. "How the hell do you get yourself into these situations, K?" Arebella had asked. "This case is the very definition of lose-lose." Karolen had almost choked on her drink at the time, half laughing, half wincing at the truth of it. The whole thing stunk of inevitability. No matter how she sliced it, this was going to end in disastereither Nuroon would chew her up and spit her out, or Verlan would throw her under the bus the moment the ink was dry on her audit. "You think I don''t know that?" "It''s the biggest open secret in Soar that Grackle Nuroons been fiddling the museums books since Arkola was in short trousers," Arebella had said. "Theres a reason the Trustees havent found anyone willing to sign off on those accounts in years. Hell, its a miracle theyve kept the whole operation afloat this long. But then again, thats Nuroons real talentmaking things look just clean enough to keep the wolves at bay while quietly stacking the deck behind everyones backs." Karolen had taken a long sip of wine, considering the truth of it. Nuroon had the kind of pull that didnt just smooth over the cracks; it made them invisible, even to those who should know better. But everyone in the city knew. They just turned a blind eye. In a place like Soar, even the most outrageous secrets were as common as cobblestones. "I know," she had said again. Somewhat more resignedly this time. "Best case scenario," Arebella had said, "you manage to spin anything untoward you find as an accident. A clerical error, maybe. A simple failure to carry the one, or whatever it is youre supposed to watch for in those spreadsheets of yours. But even then, there will be red faces all around when the truth comes out. That blood-sucking spider will find a way to make your life hell for making him look stupid. And the Trustees? Theyll never forgive you for making it look like they were asleep at the wheel. Thats the best case, K. I can''t even imagine the shitstorm you''ll wade through if you actually uncover enough evidence of wrongdoing to kick off a prosecution." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Youll have every one of them gunning for youfrom Nuroons cronies to the Trustees who will backpedal faster than a drowning monkey. Youll be the one left holding the bag, K, and that bags full of every dirty secret Soar has been sweeping under the rug for decades." "Bella, I know!" "I know you know," Arebella said. "And thats what makes you accepting this job such a colossally stupid thing to do. Youre damned if you do, and youre damned if you dont. Either way, youre stuck in a no-win situation. You''re need to find a way to recuse yourself before it blows up in your face." "It''s too late for that," she replied, rubbing her temples as though trying to ward off the headache she could already feel coming on. "Verlans telling the Director tonight that he''s to cooperate fully with me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn''t pull out now. The trap''s already set, and I''m the damn bait." "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," Karolen said, swirling her glass. "But thats not the point, and you know it. Unless some of us are willing to stand up to the way things have always been, we''re just going to keep circling the drain. Relics like Nuroon... Well, justice needs to be done, Arebella. And it needs to be seen to be done. You, of all people, should respect the hustle of trying to disrupt the status quo." She took a sip, her lips curling into a grimace. "I mean, hell, if we dont stir the pot, well all just keep living in the same old sleazy script, watching the same assholes come out on top all the time.. And who knows? Maybe one day, well all be so numb we wont even notice when they start locking the doors." 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, of course," Karolen said, "I can just turn off all my Skills and pretend I dont see a damn thing wrong. Thats what the last Auditor did when they sent someone to investigate. You should see the report they came up withits the work of an evil, maniacal genius. You can practically feel the sweat on his brow as he uncovers a mountain of dirt, but stops just short of actually saying anything you can pin him down for. Its a masterclass in dodging responsibility. I could play it that way, sure. I could tell the truth, but do it in such a way that no one can touch me. You know, obfuscate. Obfuscate. Obfuscate. But hey, at least Nuroon wont come after me with a meat cleaver." 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 an Inspector 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. She wasnt exactly kick ass yet, but she could certainly prod buttock of someone five, maybe even ten levels above her. At University, it had come as something of a surprise to her how often an Auditor 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 had come up. All her painstaking progress up the slippery career 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. The coffee was consumed. Well, she 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 for Grackle Nuroon''s tender ministrations within the hour. Her flat in the ''emerging district'' - as the slimy Estate Agent 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, fiery red hair into a tight bun, Karolen regarded her reflection with satisfaction. Moving with more purpose, she crossed to the neatly laid-out clothes she had prepared the night before, as though the very act of dressing was a ritual she could control in a world gone haywire. Her finely tailored tunic, crafted with an eye for elegance and function, was expensively cut, hugging her frame just right, and its silver buttons more than just decoration: they significantly enhanced both her Dexterity and Concentration. Her trousers, a recent purchase from one of the more exclusive boutiques in the Commercial District didnt just look goodthey worked. A 10% boost to her Endurance and Resilience was a subtle advantage that only the truly discerning would understand. Over the top of all that, she pulled on her Inspector''s Mantle, a cloak of deep, shifting colors that practically melted into the shadows. The cloak had a stealth bonus that made her nearly invisible and now, with her recent crossing of her Level 20 Threshold, the aura it exuded had grown stronger. It clung to her like a second skin, sharpening her edges, amplifying her every move. 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. She was an Auditor. If anyone had told her that she was on her way to witness a murder she would have assumed they were speaking metaphorical. And in that, she would have been wrong. Chapter 55 – Barbarians at the Gate Despite Karolen living so close to her district''s Portal Stone, the inauspiciously driving rain added considerably to her journey to the museum. As she locked her front door, water poured down in sheets, turning the streets into a network of muddy rivers. All of those commuters who might usually have enjoyed a leisurely early morning stroll to work 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 to activate the Stone, Karolen spent the time 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 Cloud Weaver 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 Minor Drug Runner tried to shield his wares with an oversized raincoat, regularly checking the deluge wasnt ruining the carefully organised powders. It was very much in keeping with the vibe of 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 Barista, 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 are going to be some buzzing people at their desks this morning, Karolen thought . . . A little further back, a Level 24 Elemental Enforcer stood with their arms crossed, electricity crackling around their fingers whenever someone jostled them and repeatedly shocking themselves whenever rain fell on them. Call it an Auditor''s instincts, but Karolen did not think there was much chance of the guy making it to Level 25. Behind his ongoing suicide attempt, and repeatedly bumping into them, a Dog Walker 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 with the leads collide with the shins of the sparking Elemental Enforcer again and again with the lead, Karolen thought it might be too early to make that call. And all of this was set to the tune of a Level 11 Street Busker played a melancholic little tune on a waterlogged violin, adding a touch of musical whimsy to the dreary scene. Despite herself, Karolen''s lips twitched upward as she took in the patchwork scene before her. Young professionalsbright-eyed, overworked, and underpaidcrammed into spaces barely big enough to swing a Cat Familiar, their mismatched furniture and hopeful pot plants visible through uncurtained windows. It wasnt hard to see herself reflected in them: striving, pragmatic, and just barely scraping by in a city that never paused long enough to let anyone catch their breath. Among them, the more traditional residents moved with a stubborn permanence, their routines etched into the fabric of the streets like weathered carvings on ancient stone. It was a haphazard symphony of cultures, ambitions, and survival. This was Soar at its finest, Karolen thought: a roiling, vibrant mess of humanity that defied logic and thrived in the chaos. It was the heartbeat of the city she wanted to protect, the reason shed thrown herself into her latest jobs. Taking down Grackle Nuroon wasnt just about the ledger books or the whispers of corruptionit was about safeguarding this. The citys drive. Its diversity. Its soul. 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, of course, done her homework. Her inventory was a tangle of page-upon-page of notes, questions, and outright accusations, a haphazard collection of potential bombs she intended to drop on the Museum Director once her investigation officially kicked off. Every angle she had explored, every lead she had followed, was dutifully documentedexcept, of course, the nagging suspicion that it might all be little more than smoke and mirrors. It had been so long since anyone remotely competent had been allowed to touch the museum''s accounts, let alone investigate them properly, that Karolen had to wonder if what shed uncovered during her long, painstaking hours of preparation was nothing more than dust-covered relics of an old, rotting scandal. But she couldn''t afford to back down now. She had read enough to know that somewhere in the tangled mess of financial records, buried beneath layers of bureaucracy and decades of misdirection, there was something rottenand it was going to be her job this day to dig it up, no matter how deep she had to go.. The level of ''creative'' accounting, quadruple-entry bollocks, and general numerical sleaze she had unearthed in the previous audit was far from the kind of thing that could be brushed under the rug with a wink and a nod. What she suspected was going on wasnt a simple clerical mix-up or a couple of misplaced decimal points. No, this was the kind of skullduggery that left fingerprints all over the books and a trail of smoke that would be hard to ignore. The sheer scale of the manipulation was enough to make her wonder if the museum''s entire financial structure actually existed.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Whatever it was, it was not something that could be neatly resolved with a couple of hasty adjustments. Whoever was behind this knew exactly what they were doingand Karolen had no intention of letting them get away with it. From what she could tell, Director Nuroon was being a very naughty boy indeed. There was a familiar rush of pressure, like a deep breath held too long, and then Karolen stepped out of the portal, her boots hitting the cobblestones just outside the grand entrance to Soar Museum. To her left, a guard''s station stood and to the right, was a dilapidated smoker''s hut. Beneath its rusted eaves, five or six museum employees huddled together, trying to shield themselves from the relentless downpour whilst they sparked up. Karolen couldn''t help but smile at that. There was something deeply satisfying about the sight. Widespread, wholesale financial fraud, it seemed, was one thingan art form, almostbut even Grackle Nuroon had his limits when it came to Health and Safety legislation. A long queue had already formed in front of the museums grand doors, a throng of impatient bodies braving the rain, most of them apparently made up by the members of a school trip gone wild. A clutch of harried Supply Teachers stood at the front of the increasingly impatient horde, clutching clipboards as they triedand failedto maintain order. Without missing a beat, Karolen activated the camouflage function of her cloak, watching as the fabric shimmered and blended seamlessly with the background. The cacophony of the crowd of bored children faded into the distance as she slipped past them, unnoticed. The noise became a dull hum as she neared the guard at the gates. He was a giant of a man, but his focus was lax, his attention scattered, only half-engaged with the crowd. He stood in his uniform like a piece of furniture, imposing in stature but entirely ineffective in presence. His eyes flicked back and forth, but they never really settledmore concerned with the occasional flicker of movement than any real threat. The words Level 14 Unaffiliated Security 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 Museum Guardians. 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 Gangmasters 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 Auditor Mehin. You should be expecting me." "Are you deaf? Fuck off. Theres a queue." He jerked his thumb towards the school parties, his attention already back on his half-hearted duty. Karolen glanced over just in time to see one of the groups enthusiastically constructing a makeshift crucifix with whatever they could scrounge upsticks, bits of string, and a suspiciously large pile of discarded lunchboxes. They were in the process of 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," she said, "and I was asked to attend a meeting this morning with Director Nuroon. It may well be that this message has not made its way down to you, for which Im sure the Director will offer a most profuse apology when I mention it to him later." She let the implication linger for a few moments. "However, that doesnt exactly help you out right now, does it, sir? Because, as of one minute ago, you made the poor life choice to obstruct an Auditor in the course of their lawful business." She took a slow, deliberate step closer. "Im sure youre familiar with your responsibilitieshaving no doubt undergone thorough training in your role of standing still and looking menacing. What Im certain you are less familiar with, however, is the fact that your little obstruction is now classified as a Stage Nine offence. A serious one. The kind that carries all manner of unpleasant consequences." She let him consider her words for a moment before continuing. "These penalties are up to, and including, immediate incarceration for thirty years in the deepest, smelliest dungeon my office can find. And believe me," she added, "we tend to get very creative about such things when people get in our way.." 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," Karolen continued, "it''s first thing in the morning, and Im sure were all not quite at our best..." The dying screams of a teacherwhose cross had just been set ablaze by the kidsserved as an impromptu soundtrack to her broader point. "Now, if you would like to reconsider the advisability of your current positionstanding there, blocking my way and being generally obstructiveId be more than happy to start this exchange again. You know, in a polite manner that means we both probably come out of this alive." She waited a beat, her eyes locking onto his, her posture still, every inch of her the picture of controlled authority. "So, nod if you think that would be a simply splendid idea." A meaty neck bobbed enthusiastically up and down. "Excellent," Karolen said, extending her hand, watching as the big man recoiled just a fraction. After a beat, he hesitated, then awkwardly extended his own hand to meet hers in what could barely be called a shake. Karolen''s grip was firm, but the gesture was all business. She held his hand for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze never leaving his face. "I am Auditor Mehin," she said, "And I would very much like you to inform Director Nuroon that I have arrived and am ready to begin todays audit." "As impressive as your little show of dominance is, my dear, perhaps we can stop intimidating the help and get down to business?" Karolen whipped around, as the scratchy, insidious voice of Grackle Nuroon slithered into her ear. It was like the man had somehow materialised out of thin air. Her body reacted instinctivelyevery muscle tensed, and before her mind could even fully process the threat, she activated all of her defensive Skills. The air around her rippled in a quicksilver display of energy. A low hum filled the space, as her cloak shone, and her aura flared with sudden, raw power. Even the teenagersstill distracted by their little sacrificial slaughterpaused mid-swing, momentarily subdued in awe. The full arsenal of an Auditor was unveiled. Grackle Nuroon, though, merely stepped back with an almost theatrical slowness, as he raised a single, ironic eyebrow at her. Karolens attempt to blast him awayevery Skill she''d summoned in a rush of raw powerwashed over him like an errant breeze. His expression remained unchanged, the same thin, amused smirk playing on his lips as though he had all the time in the world to watch her flail. "I am sure my Secretary can find you a Mana Potion to replace all of that," he said, the disdain dripping from his words like venom from a fang. "But,would you perhaps like a moment to freshen up before we begin? I do find discussions tend to be much more profitable without the stink of impotent Skill usage clogging up one''s senses." He stood there, waiting as though daring her to react. Karolen refused to let him see even a flicker of irritation, but inside, she was seething. Grackle Nuroon was everything she had expected, his arrogance now a living, breathing thing between them. But she wouldnt give him the satisfaction of showing her discomfort. Not yet. 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 56 - Through the Looking Glass of Lies Even with a Skill that boosted her Stamina to a level that could have rivalled a marathon runner, Karolen found herself struggling to keep pace with the wiry little man ahead of her. Nuroon moved with surprising urgency, his steps quick and light, skipping effortlessly through the maze of hallways like a shadow weaving through the night. Each time she thought she had him back within her arm''s reach, he darted around another corner, pushing through doorways with a speed that defied his advanced age. Karolen did her best to track their pathconscious of the labyrinthine structure of the Museumbut every twist and turn felt like another knot in the tangled web of corridors. From her research, she felt like she knew the Museum like the back of her hand, but the way Nuroon moved, with such reckless abandon and purpose, made her question whether she''d be able to retrace her steps should he decide to put even more distance between them. The thought made her stomach tighten with real concern. If Nuroon picked up the pace much more, shed genuinely be lost. And she had no confidence she could navigate the maze of hallways and hidden rooms on her own. That thought - coupled with a pertinent memory of those unexplained vanishings of previous Auditors - 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," came the sarcastic drawl from above. Karolen paused, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She needed a moment to reign in the irritation that was quickly turning into something harder. This was supposed to be a measured investigation, not some chase through the bowels of a dusty old museum. But Nuroon had a way of making everything feel like a gamehis gameand Karolen was already sick of it. "Director Nuroon!" she called. It came out sharper than shed intended, but in that moment, she couldnt bring herself to feel sorry for it. Every second wasted chasing after him only stoked the fire of her bad temper. She wasnt in the mood for his games, not when she had a job to do. Especially this job. "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 of doing. To Karolen''s mind, there were far too many unanswered questions about the Museum Directors Skillset. All records shed sought about the previous Directora woman who had mysteriously vanished in a fire of uncertain originshad conveniently been destroyed. No one had ever bothered to look into it, and no one had dared to press the current occupant for any details on his own abilities either. It was an odd, glaring omission, but it fit the picture all too well. A man like Nuroon didnt appear to need to play by the usual rules; he made them up as he went along. The fact that no one had demanded a look at his Stat Sheet only confirmed that. This lack of transparency, this air of deliberate obfuscation, was precisely why every single person Karolen had consulted about this audit had told her, in no uncertain terms, to pack up and run. Well, it was too late for that now, wasnt it? How about we agree on something right out of the gate, Director Nuroon? Karolen said. Ill refer to you by your professional title, and you will afford me the same courtesy. Nuroon cocked his head, looking every bit the skeletal figure of a defeathered vulture. His smile stretched too wideand that was a smile Karolen could have easily gone her whole life without ever seeing again. "Ah, so you''re one of those young women?" One of what women, Director? Karolen asked as she started up the stairs. By the time she reached the top step and stood next to him, she realised with a jolt that she was looking down at him. It was strange, almost comical, how a man who commanded so much influence in the world could seem so physically small in her presence. Just one word from him, one whisper, was supposed to make or break livesbut here, in this moment, he felt as small and insignificant as the dust gathering in the corners of the museum. "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 give an outraged reply but then she 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 my time with you?" 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 shortly. It sounds like it might be best if we reschedule. How are you fixed for this time next year?" Karolen held Nuroon''s reptilian gaze. "No, not at all. I was merely musing aloud," she said. "You see, it''s a curious thing about my process: the poorer my working conditions, the slower I tend to work. Why," she added, peering into the tiny cupboard with studied indifference, "I could easily see this inspection stretching out to three, maybe even four weeks, given these 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. Karolens gaze swept over the almost magical grandeur of the gardens below, the neatly manicured trees and lush greenery stretching out in a verdant panorama. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. A tight knot of suspicion formed in her gut as she considered the glaring omission from the museum''s records. There was not a single mention of the gardenersor any maintenance costs for the upkeep of such an extravagant display. This was particularly telling, given the generous corporate Green grants available to businesses in Soar, an easy handout from the Mayors office, where any half-decent promise of sustainable living could win votes. Soars electorate would likely endorse a scrotum with a moustache painted on it if it came with vague assurances about eco-friendly initiatives. So, the fact that Nuroon hadnt gone to the trouble of securing such funds to cover the maintenance of his little personal jungle seemed downright suspicious. The museums lush gardens would be a costly asset to maintain, and yet here they were, flourishing without a single penny accounted for in the books. Where was the man finding the money? 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 Senior Preservationist, the member of staff charged with safeguarding and restoring the museums exhibits, both magical and mundane. Karolen knew her by reputation, and judging by the tight smile and brittle laugh Martha greeted her with, the knowledge was undoubtedly mutual. Marthas role in the workings of Soar Museum was crucialher hands had touched more priceless artefacts than most could even dream of, using both mana-based and traditional techniques to preserve the treasures. But Karolen could see it in her eyes: the tension, the nervous flick of a gaze that suggested she knew exactly why Karolen was here. If Soar Museum was the trove it claimed to be, then Martha would be the one responsible for protecting the vaults. But if, as Karolen suspected, the museum had far more relics on paper than it did in actual inventory, Culloden would be the first one standing in the firing line. Her professional life hung by a thread that was tied directly to the audit''s outcome, which made her presence here necessaryexpected, even. But that wasnt the case for the second visitor standing beside her. The older man, older by far, really didnt need to be there. He stood in the back, arms folded, looking less concerned about the audit and more about whether or not hed need to make room for a nap before the whole thing was over. His eyes were hidden beneath the shadow of a ridiculous fedora, but Karolen could feel his gaze on her. And something about that gave her the distinct impression that he was no accidental visitor. He was there for a reasonone that she hadnt yet pieced together. Kelvin Kregg, the museum''s Public Relations Bard, 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 around her findings 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, if it could even be called that, was more a forced march than anything resembling a guided experience. Director Nuroon was several paces ahead, his brisk strides punctuated by the occasional hiss of a comment about the exhibits. The words themselves seemed less like information and more like an effort to dismiss the displays with the same casual contempt he treated everything else. He barely gave her time to take in a full glance before he was off again, moving like a man trying to outrun something he feared, though Karolen couldn''t quite figure out what that might be. Beside her, Martha Culloden did her best to offer the sort of commentary that might temper Nuroons dismissive commentary. She murmured, her voice soft and almost apologetic, about the provenance of the items, where theyd been acquired from, what steps had been taken to preserve them. The woman was being professional enough, but there was something off about her behaviour, a sense of rehearsed placidity masking deeper unease. The woman was walking a fine lineclearly trying to prove her worth while staying out of Nuroons way, all too aware of the storm brewing around the museums finances. Then there was Kregg. The man whod slipped into the blind spot of her right shoulder, always just a half-step behind, always just present enough to make his presence known. He wasnt contributing anything of substance to the conversation, but, then again, he didnt need to. His occasional ''hmms'' of approval whenever they passed a particularly famous or impressive work of art felt more like a reminder that he was there. Karolen had no doubt that his participation in this little circus had a purpose far beyond simply playing the part of an innocent bystander. But it wasnt the chatter of Nuroon, Culloden, or Kregg that had her nerves stretched tight. No, it was the feeling that, with every turn they took down another narrow hallway, with every step they took deeper into the heart of the museum, she was being funneled into some preordained confrontation. There was something about the way the Director moved, the way Culloden seemed to shrink against the walls, and Kreggs deliberate positioning behind her that made Karolen feel like a prisoner. They were all closing in, the walls narrowing with each step, until the only way out was forward. "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. "The Great Hall," Nuroon announced, pushing the heavy door open with a theatrical flourish, his back arched with a kind of self-congratulatory pride, "home to the greatest collection of magical artefacts in the known world." He paused at the threshold, as if he were revealing some monumental truth. His hands spread wide, as if offering the very essence of history itself to her, and Karolen fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I flatter myself," the Director continued, "that if the Celestial Temple is the heart of modern Soar, then what lies beyond this door is where the history of our civilisationand perhaps even our futuremay be found." His gaze lingered on the grand expanse before them, and Karolen, despite herself, couldn''t help but be impressed. The room beyond the door was vast, cavernous in a way that could swallow a small army without a second thought. Shelves upon shelves of relics, each glinting under the dim, atmospheric light, beckoned with promises of power, secrets, and lost knowledge. But here was something too grandiose about it all. Something that didnt sit right. The room she was looking into felt like a mausoleum, not a vault of history. Nuroon seemed to bask in that atmosphere, as though he alone held the keys to the pastand maybe even the future, as he claimed. "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. What was in this room was what she was here to explore. "The Trustees haven''t been able to access the Great Hall in almost half a year," Liando Verlan had said. "It may well be that the reasons weve been given for rejecting our requests for supervisory visits are legitimate. Structural repairs, for instance. But theres a part of me that suspects the truth is more complication than that. We suspect that Grackle has unearthed something he does not wish us to see." Verlan was no fool; neither was Karolen, for that matter. Both of them knew that Nuroon had a way of making things disappearboth artefacts and the truthwhenever it suited his purposes. If he was keeping something hidden in the Great Hall, then it would be worth finding out what. "Structural repairs, sure," Verlan continued, "but I wonder repairs to the building or repairs to something hidden beneath it? Because from where I stand, it seems like the cracks might run a lot deeper than the stonework." The Captain of Industry 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 a sudden, unwelcome pressure on her back, and Karolen felt Kreggs large hand nudge her forward through the door. The man was so close, she could feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, his words dripping with forced joviality. "I hope you know what an honour this is, Auditor Mehin," Kregg said, far too loud in the narrow corridor. "Its a rare thing, indeed, for anyone to get access to the inner sanctum of Soar''s Museum. Why, Ive heard it said some people would kill just to get a peek at whats behind this door." The last part of his statement hung in the air a moment too long, the casual threat woven between the lines like a well-worn thread in his cheap suit. Karolen felt a flicker of irritation, but she masked it quickly. Shed learned a long time ago that underestimating people like Kregg only ever led to trouble. The implication wasnt lost on her. Further narrative commentary here on the nature of irony and the Law of Sod seems somewhat redundant. Chapter 57 - Of Gold, Flesh, and Stone "The collapse of the exhausted Dungeon on the outskirts of Soar has brought with it many opportunities," Director Nuroon said. "This isn''t the first time Archaeologists have stumbled upon an untapped goldmine, mind youunclaimed Loot Table rewards, ripe for the taking and the like. But," he paused, "this is the first time Ive had the capital to outbid every other museum on the continent and secure first refusal on whats been uncovered." He stopped, his eyes flicking briefly to Karolen as though she were just another fly in the ointment. "Its only fitting," he said, his gaze now sweeping the shadows of the vast chamber, "that the finest pieces come to the one who can truly appreciate them. Most of what we have unearthed is... mere scraps, really. But for those who understand the finer points of acquisition and curation?" He gave a short laugh. "Well, the treasures we have accumulated here have the potential to reshape the entire cultural landscape of Soar." Karolen couldnt help but think that, in Nuroons hands, those "treasures" had likely already been reshaped into something far more lucrative than anyone might guess. 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 delvers, 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 Auditor''s 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, Karolen had often lost herself in the rich, winding stories of Soars folklore. And the legends of dragonsancient, terrifying, and awe-inspiringhad always been her favourites. Shed lie on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, and imagine glittering hoards of treasure guarded by those same mighty creatures. In her mind, vast mounds of gold piled high, chests overflowing with priceless jewels, and rare artefacts from forgotten civilizations lay scattered about, haphazard yet magnificent, within the deep recesses of the dragons shadowy lairs. Now, standing in the heart of this vaulta place that seemed more akin to a myth than a realityKarolen couldn''t shake the feeling of dj vu. It felt almost as though the grandiose stories of her childhood were bleeding into the present, taking physical form in the space around her. Nuroon must have a small army of employees Skilled in spatial manipulation, because what she was seeing here was impossibly larger than any structure should be from the outside. The sheer scale of it was dizzying, an architectural contradiction that defied logic. The cavernous space before her stretched out like an endless sea of shelves and glass cases, each containing what could only be described as a mountain of the extraordinary. Curators moved in and out of her field of vision, huddled around crates and boxes that were piled high and labeled with a variety of inscriptions: Enchanted Cloth, Unsocketed Jewels, Growth Armoureach label a tantalising promise of some mystical, otherworldly prize. It was like stepping into one of her childhood dreams, except this time the dragons had been replaced by men in overalls and tight smiles, their hands carefully handling the relics of an age long past. 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 flicked his hands dismissively, as if the entire matter were beneath him. "Yes, yes, of course. Everything above board, I assure you." His voice was smooth, honeyed."And Ill be more than happy for you to sift through the receipts, if that will put your busy little mind at rest." He paused, turning towards the vast expanse of the vault, his arms sweeping out in a grand gesture. "But, just for a moment, my dear, allow your mind to rise above the gutter of numbers and formulae," he said. "Leave the mundane concerns of ledgers and balance sheets behind. Just... bask in the glory before you. Let your soul soar, if only for a second. You wont regret it" It was like he were some kind of high priest inviting her to join him in reverence of something far greater than any mortal concern. There was something off about it, thoughsomething artificial in the way he gestured to the gleaming treasures. It was too rehearsed, too polished, as if he were waiting for her to fall in line with his little performance. Karolen couldn''t help but feel that the only thing soaring here was Nuroons ego. Nuroon wasnt just playing to an audiencehe was orchestrating a symphony of illusion, and Karolen was far too aware to fall for it. Kregg appeared to have generated a little background music to come into being as the Director spoke, which actually 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 Senior Preservationist cleared her throat. "If I may, Auditor, I would note that it is not just the volume of material the museum has been able to secure from the collapsed Dungeon, but also the quality of unusual artefacts. Why, just yesterday we uncovered . . ." "Yes. Yes. Yes," Nuroon interrupted, sliding effortlessly into Karolen''s line of sight, cutting off Culloden mid-sentence. The shift in his tone was immediateimperious, dismissive, as though he couldnt bear to waste another second indulging in the pleasantries of bureaucracy. "We dont need to waste this young lady''s time with any of that, do we?" His gaze flicked back to Culloden with barely concealed annoyance before he turned to Karolen."Follow me, please." With that, he spun on his heel, a blur of motion as he made for the far left-hand side of the vault. Karolen, unwilling to let him out of her sight, followed closely, even as her eyes were drawn to a small cluster of Curators huddled around a massive stone sarcophagus. The instant Nuroons entered their space the Curators froze. The shift in their body language was unmistakablethree professionals, seasoned enough to handle ancient artefacts with delicate reverence, now paralysed with fear. They didnt acknowledge Karolen or anyone else in the room; instead, they stiffened under the weight of the Museum Directors presence. Their eyes flicked up to Nuroon as if they were caught in the gaze of some predatory beast, trapped, unwilling to move for fear of provoking something far worse than a reprimand. The sole woman of the three, a slight figure with a nervous habit of tugging at her sleeve, seemed to shrink even further into the shadows, while the two men stood stiffly, like statues. Nuroons smile was still there, but it had morphed into something that resembled the satisfaction of a hunter watching his prey squirm in the trap. ."Now, what have we here?" he barked, glaring at the man who was awkwardly trying to prise the lid free. This looks suspiciously like an exhibit that you were expressly forbidden from opening unsupervised.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The Level 14 Curator was wearing heavy overalls that must have been stained with sweat even 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. "We think it might be the pair to the one we uncovered yesterday, Director," the 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? Is she right?" The Senior Preservationist stepped forward and the female Curator stumbled backward with a yelp, her eyes wide in alarm as she scrambled to avoid being trampled underfoot. "Really, Isadora," Culloden snapped with barely contained irritation, "I was quite specific that no further explorations should occur without me being present!" She gave the younger woman a withering look, and Isadoras blush deepened. Marthas gaze snapped to the older man at the sarcophagus.."Preece, put that bloody thing back down!" she barked, her tone leaving no room for argument. The older man, flustered, did as he was told, fumbling with the heavy stone lid before letting it drop with a deafening crash. The sound of it reverberated through the vaulted space, causing several of the nearby Curators to jump in alarm. "Is there not one of you with any sense?" Culloden continued. Her eyes narrowed as they fell on the third member of the group, a pale, thin man in green-lensed spectacles,who had been standing in the background. His shoulders stiffened, and his hands twitched nervously at his sides, a hint of guilt flashing across his face at the sharpness of her reproach. "I''m surprised to see you involved in this, Harker" Culloden said, disappointment thick in her voice. Im sorry, Senior Preservationist. We just didnt think we should wait any longer. The scrolls were clear that time is of the essence when powering these things up. If this really is the pair for the Dreadnaught armour from yesterday then . . . Be silent! Grackle boomed. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. It was clear to Karolen that this wasnt just about what the sarcophagus contained; this was about something far more delicatesomething the Curators were desperately trying to keep hidden. Even those curators too far away to have seen him enter to stop what they were doing and turn around. And then the Director really lost his temper. Over the next few minutes, such was the invective that the Director unleashed on the three Curators 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 Curators left white-faced and stammering apologies. If the Auditor had any lingering doubts about the veracity of some of the HR reports she had come across, they were more than dispelled. However, it wasnt just the vile sting of the Directors verbal assault that struck Karolen the hardest. No, that was the reaction of Kreggand even more so, the unmistakable submission of Culloden. The gleam in Kreggs eyes as he savoured every moment of the scene played out before him . .. well, Karolen could practically hear the mans blood rushing to his face in perverse delight. He practically fed on it. It wasnt a surprise to her. Kregg had a reputation. One that had echoed through the murky alleyways of Soars social circles long before shed ever laid eyes on him. His name was a staple in the undercurrents of conversation, passed around with that knowing glint in the eyes of the people who had the stomach to listen. The gossipwhat little Karolen had managed to pick up through the crackswas a constant. Kreggs personal life wasnt exactly a carefully guarded secret. He was notorious for his GNWW label: Go Nowhere Without Witnesses. Three of her closest friends had recounted sordid tales were far too chilling for comfort. But it wasnt just Kregg. No, Cullodens reaction cut far deeper than Karolen could have expected. The Senior Preservationist, a woman whose professionalism Karolen admired, now stood there, visibly shrinking under the weight of the Directors mockery. Karolen expected better. In fact, if the Senior Preservationist 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 for the performance 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 Curator 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 lightKarolen assumed she had activated a Skilland 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 said. A couple of Curators scurried into action at once, pulling ropes and rigging from nowhere, their hands moving quickly as they wrapped them around the levitating lid, holding it in place as though it might spring free at any moment. "Do you have it?" Culloden asked. A small flicker of light pulsed around the lid, an aura of mana that seemed to hold it steady, just long enough for confirmation to be given and the rigging to be secured against the all. "Now, let us see what we have here," Culloden said in a tone Karolen had heard before, usually reserved for things that were meant to be cherished, protected, and preserved. "Isadora, would you care to do the honours?" The young woman responded as if on cue. She practically leapt into the sarcophaguslike a child eager to dive into the depths of something forbidden. Karolen, on the other hand, couldnt imagine anything less likely to interest her than crawling into a stone tomb, and there was something about Isadoras sudden enthusiasm that struck her as both uncanny and absurd. The sarcophagus was enormous, far too large for one person to stand upright within without being swallowed up by the sheer size of it. And sure enough, as Isadora dove in, she vanished completely from sight, her form obscured by the depths of the dark, hollow container. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sounds being the hushed breaths of the Curators and the faint rustling of fabric as they hovered anxiously around the edge. Karolen felt there was an odd finality to the moment, as if everyone were holding their breath in anticipation, waiting for whatever revelation lay hidden in the stone chamber. Then, after what felt like an eternity, a voice broke the stillness. Its... its not what I expected, Isadoras voice echoed from within, muffled by the stone carrying a sharp, almost indignant edge. Theres something... wrong with it. Karolens heart skipped a beat. Wrong. An odd atmosphere settled around the group, punctuated only by Isadora''s heavy breathing and - oddly - occasional squeals of pleasure. Whatever she was finding within the massive coffin was apparently 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 ifto pull Isadora out. The smell hit Karolen firsta 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 Director''s 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 Isadora''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 Curators 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 Isadora''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 Isadora''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 Isadora 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 58 - Memory Wiped, Guilt Intact For reasons Karolen couldnt quite put her finger on, she had found herself suddenly in charge of a large, milling mass of utterly bewildered Curatorssome with eyes wide, others with mouths gapingstumbling around, unsure whether to stare at the horrific scene or flee from it entirely. "Just get them out of here!" Nuroons voice was strained as he stared at his filthy hand in utter disbelief. He was looking at it as though it were someone elses. For a brief second, Karolen assumed those instructions were meant for either Culloden or Kregg, the two others standing nearbyafter all, they were the ones with the more immediate stake in the situation. But when neither of them budged, she felt the cold pressure of responsibility settle over her shoulders. The other Curators were panicking. Even seasoned professionals like these werent immune to the horror unfolding before them. Her instincts kicked in. "All right, listen up!" she barked, putting every ounce of command she could muster into her voice and moving into Big Sister mode. "Move it, people! The staffroom. Now! Quick, no time to waste!" It wasnt pretty. It wasnt dignified. But with the Curators staring at her like a herd of panicked sheep, it was the best she could do. Nuroon stood off to one side, still cradling his hand as if it were an alien object, too horrified to offer any further direction. If the scene hadn''t been so grim, she might have found some small satisfaction in watching Nuroon struggle to regain even a semblance of his usual authoritarian presence. But for now, the only thing that mattered was keeping the Curators from losing their heads entirely. Come on! Move! Now!" she repeated. And then, as if by magic, the Curators started to shuffle toward the door. It helped that, other than Preece and Harkerwho had somewhat of a ring-side seat to the horror that had unfoldednone 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, taken the lead toward the ''staffroom.'' Karolen couldnt help but notice, even amidst the lingering nausea and shock from what shed just witnessed, that the room before her seemed out of placefar too polished, far too grand for a mere functional museum staff space. The light that filtered through the giant windows glinted off furniture that could have been plucked from some forgotten aristocrats estaterich leather armchairs, mahogany tables, and impeccably arranged decor that whispered of wealth and power in subtle, almost insidious ways. She had seen plenty of the grim, utilitarian spaces that dotted the backrooms of various offices and institutions throughout Soarplaces that smelt of stale coffee and frayed uniformsbut this? This was something else entirely. The luxurious velvet curtains draped across the windows, the gold-rimmed glasses filled with a selection of well-aged liquor, the polished oak shelves lined with rare books and artifactsit looked more like the parlor of some exclusive Gentleman''s Club than a place for overworked, underpaid Curators to take their lunch break. Of course, Karolen''d never been invited to one of those clubs herselfshe wasnt the sort who made the cut for that particular circle. But shed worked for enough high-profile clients to know the type. The ones who liked to remind you, with a subtle tilt of their chin or an offhand comment, just how much money and influence they had. "Impressive, isnt it?" Preece mumbled, his voice still shaky, though his eyes were fixed with a strange, distant look. He seemed to have shaken off some of his earlier shock, though Karolen noticed the tremor in his hands as he reached for a glass of something amber-colored, perhaps hoping it would steady him. Karolen didnt answer immediately. She was too busy mentally cataloguing the absurdity of the situation. Here they were, surrounded by all the trappings of power and excess, while a fellow Curators mangled remains were still fresh in their minds. Yeah, its very nice, she finally said, her tone flat. Almost a bit too nice, don''t you think? Preeces eyes flicked up to her, and for a second, he seemed startled by her words. But then the fog in his mind seemed to lift, and he nodded, though it wasnt in agreement. It was more as if he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine. "Its relatively recent," he said, though Karolen could hear the unease creeping into his voice. "Since the Director secured enhanced funding. For the dig." She raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn''t comment further. As Karolen glanced around the room again, the sick feeling from before hadnt quite subsided. If anything, it had deepened, tangled up with her suspicion. There was something too neat about this place. Too well-crafted, too... perfect. As though someone was trying to give the impression that everything was under control, even as the cracks began to show. How had Grackle Nuroon found access to this much gold? But then what had just happened to the young, blonde Curator caught up with her, and she felt somewhat ashamed at the intrusive thought. The Curators, none of them with a level higher than the mid-teens, had gathered in a tight, nervous knot at the centre of the room. Their eyes flicked between Preece and Harker, the two men who had been closest to the scene, but neither seemed willing to share much, their silence only adding fuel to the simmering tension that hung in the air. A few muttered snippets of conversation and hesitant glances passed between them, but the unspoken truth was clear: none of them wanted to be the one to speak first. Karolen, who had been observing the dynamics of the room, could feel the pressure building. Her eyes flicked to the refreshment table, a welcome distraction, and with a forced cheerfulness she didnt feel, she stepped forward. I could do with a coffee, she said brightly, forcing a smile. I dont know about anyone else! The effect was immediate. The room, which had been murmuring in its own little world, suddenly snapped into focus. Every eye turned toward her, as though her voice had been a switch, flicking on the light and forcing the room to acknowledge her presence for the first time since shed entered. The Curators collective gaze seemed to weigh her, like they were sizing up something far less friendly than an Auditor in their midst. Coffee? I mean what? Who are you? said a squat, dark man with thick lips. He looked more like a bruiser than a museum employee. "What were you doing in the vault?" he added, the accusation hanging unspoken between the words. She could feel the temperature of the room shift, the suspicion hanging in the air like a fog. Shes the Auditor, stupid. Cant you read? All eyes swung upward, drawn to her stats now glowing above her head in unmistakable clarityher Level, Class, the power she wielded in this space. The room stilled like a frozen lake and the conversations died in an instant Karolen couldnt help but feel a slight twinge of satisfaction. It wasnt every day that she could halt a room full of people with nothing more than the display of her rank. But instead of the usual power trip, she found herself disarmed by the uncomfortable quiet that followed. These people didnt respect her authority. Not really. She was an outsider here, and even her position in the system couldnt erase the fact that she was now a witness to something uglyand perhaps dangerous. I actually 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.Stolen novel; please report. Until, that is, they reached the young man with the green spectacles, whose hands were shaking uncontrollably, his face ashen. He didnt look like a man who had just witnessed a tragedyhe looked like a man who had been irreversibly broken by it. "It melted her!" he suddenly shrieked, his voice reaching a pitch that made Karolen wince. "It was waiting for her in the sarcophagus! The second Isadora climbed in, it started to eat her!" There was a terrible, stunned silence that hung in the air for a moment. Then, as if they had all been holding their breath, the voices began to spill out from the clustered Curators. "Bard Kregg said it was an accident" "The lid fell on her. We all saw it happen. One moment it was floating, and the nextsplat." "You lot didnt tie it tightly enough. Nuroon will have your hide for this!" "It wasnt me who brought the ropes, was it? If anything" "Stop!" All turned to look at the older Curator, 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 Isadora 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 Curators let out a little burst of laughter, his voice strained, like someone trying too hard to sound casual. "Why should anyone need to testify?" "You do understand that one of your colleagues has been killed?" Karolen said. "Regardless of whether it was crushed to death or... by other means," she added, fighting the bile rising in her throat at the memory of Isadoras liquefied remains. "There will need to be an investigation. And if that doesnt sink in, Im happy to explain it to you again, slowly." There was a brief pause before the Curator, the one whod laughed, shifted uneasily on his feet. But he wasnt the one who spoke next. That fell to a different voice, a little too quick, a little too defensive. "Oh, I wouldn''t have thought so. Old Grackle wont stand for anyone sticking their nose into the workings of the museum. Especially not now," the woman said, almost flippantly, as though she was dismissing the very idea. "It''s bad enough that the Trustees have insisted on an audit at this crucial time. Just as weve finally unearthed . . ." 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 Curators 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?" one of the Curators asked, his voice edging toward panic. "I don''t know," Harker replied, "but there was! I could feel its presence in there. And it was waitingwaiting for Isadora to climb in before it struck!" "Don''t be ridiculous, Har," a woman snapped."As if anything would want to harm Isadora!" "But it wasn''t supposed to be Isadora who explored the sarcophagus, was it?" Harker said, his green-lensed glasses catching a faint gleam of the overhead light. "Culloden was scheduled to be the one to open it! We" He hesitated, then pressed on, his words tumbling over themselves. "We jumped the gun because Izzy 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 Senior Preservationist slipped inside. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, her voice oddly flat, Karolen thought, "as I am sure you have all discussed, Curator Isadora 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 Curators had seemed since the death had occurred. "But what of the exhibits, Senior Preservationist? What about the armour?" 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 Curator 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," Martha said.. "The Director is very grateful. As am I." Her tone carried just enough steel to keep any immediate objections at bay. The Senior Preservationist then approached Karolen with a faint smile. She placed a hand lightly on Karolen''s forearm, her touch a little too familiar for the moment. "We obviously cannot insist you clear your own memory of what you saw in the vault," she began, "but I have said that I will ask you to do so. As one woman to another." Karolen felt her mouth twist into a grimace of distaste at the appeal, the phrasing far too pointed and manipulative for her liking. She shook her head firmly. "I cannot think that would be appropriate in any circumstances," she replied. "Quite apart from my own professional obligations, there are broader considerations here." Cullodens hand lingered for a moment before retreating. The Preservationist looked almost hurt, though Karolen doubted the emotion ran deep. "The Investigators from Cuckoo House will need witnesses to what took place. It would not be right for them to hear only from you, Director Nuroon, and Bard Kregg, especially now that the other witnesses have wiped their memories." Cullodens lips thinned, her gaze flickering toward the group of Curators huddled across the room, most of whom were avoiding her eyes entirely. The decision to erase their recollections of the vault incident hadnt been theirsKarolen was sure of that. It was another layer of control, another neatly tied bow on whatever narrative Nuroon and his cronies were planning to present to the outside world. You must see the necessity, Culloden said quietly. The artefacts were dealing with here... theyre beyond anything most of the city can imagine. If word of them gets out, the consequences could be catastrophic for everyone. "Catastrophic for whom?" Karolen asked. Culloden opened her mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she took a step back, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. "Youll do what you feel is right, of course," she said, her voice brittle. "But I would caution against underestimating the Directors reach." "Im well aware of his reach," Karolen replied, her tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. "Thats why its all the more important I maintain a clear record of events. If Nuroon thought she could be swayed so easily, he had grossly underestimated her resolve. Whatever secrets this place held, Karolen intended to uncover themand not even a direct appeal to her sense of "sisterhood" was going to get in her way. "Oh, and please don''t misunderstand. It is not just junior colleagues who 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 Senior Preservationalist''s 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 Auditor turned to look into the eyes of the older Curator, 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 Curator, 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 59 - Echoes in the Eaves It was early morning, a long fourteendays since Curator Isadora''s death, and up in the far more cramped break room tucked into the eaves of the museum, Preece sat staring at his Sending Stone. He turned it over in his hand, its dull surface catching the faint, tired light that seeped through the frosted window. It was their customhis and his wifesto talk around this time every evening. But tonight, as he sat there with the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on him, he already knew where the conversation would lead. And he wasnt sure he was up for it right now. Preece turned the small white stone over again in his hand, his fingers tracing its smooth edges. His eyes scanned the room, hunting for some distraction, any excuse to put off yet another inevitable quarrel. But what he saw offered little in the way of refuge. Other than Harker, brooding silently against the window like some discontented gargoyle, the room was filled with faces he barely recognised, let alone felt inclined to strike up a chat with. And judging by their averted eyes and muttered exchanges, they had no interest in discussing anything as innocuous as the weather. With no excuses left to cling to, Preece let out a low, resigned sigh and pushed mana into the Sending Stone. A faint hum crackled to life in his palm, and, as always, Braife answered almost immediately. "Any news?" she asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to sound steady. "No," he replied, doing his best to bury the weariness under his words. "Nothing new since we last spoke." "But the Security Services are still there? In the museum?" "There are a couple of junior officers floating about," Preece said. "But none of them seem particularly keen on talking to us, to tell the truth. They''re just going through the motions now, like it''s all a formality." "So they''ll confirm it was an accident then?" "In the absence of any other evidence, what else can they do?" Because that was the key, wasnt it? No matter how much noise the Auditor had made about Isadora being dead before the sarcophagus lid had crushed her, there was nothing concrete to back it up. It was all just words, whispers in a building already filled with shadows and secrets. His thoughts flickered back to the day Inspector Wyst had arrived, all bluster and bravado. The man had filled the museum''s reception like a hurricane in a tea shop, booming orders and puffing out his chest as if sheer volume alone could untangle the mystery. But for all his noise, Wyst had brought no answersjust the same hollow reassurances that this was nothing more than a tragic accident. Nothing to see here. Move along. He had not taken the situation as presented to him all that well. "What the hell do you mean you all wiped your memories!" Preece had flinched, but he wasnt alone. The entire staff rippled under the force of Inspector Wysts roar. If Arkola themself had been perched at the top of the Celestial Temple, they''d likely have heard it. Preece assumed the vitriol was aimed squarely at Director Nuroon, but at that volume, it hardly mattered. Everyone in the vicinity was getting scorched. "I would ask you to lower your voice, Inspector," Nuroon had replied. Then, with one hand resting lightly behind Wysts back, hed tried to steer the man toward the sanctuary of his office, a smile carved onto his face like it was chiseled from marble. But Wyst wasnt having it. He shrugged off Nuroons guiding hand with the same ease he might flick a bug from his coat and spun to face the assembled staff. His glare was volcanic, hot enough to make even the walls sweat. "Are you all trying to get locked up for obstruction of justice?" hed yelled. "What on earth possessed you? You don''t witness a girl''s death and then immediately wipe everything you did for the last twenty-four hours! Who the hell do you think you people are? Youre not gods. Youre not above the law. I''ll have the lot of you up on charges for this!" There it was, out in the open now. Preece glanced toward Harker, who looked like he might actually faint. Even Cullodens practiced calm seemed to falter, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of a nearby table. But Nuroon? He didnt so much as blink. His hands clasped lightly in front of him, his expression so composed it was almost obscene. "Inspector," Nuroon said evenly, "I assure you, there was no malice in the decision to utilise Cleansing the Canvas. It was a matter of professional necessity, given the volatile nature of the artefacts we were handling. Surely you can appreciate that safeguarding the museums" "Safeguarding the museums what?" Wyst thundered, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Its reputation? Its funding? Because you sure as hell werent safeguarding her, were you? That girl is dead, Nuroon, and your lot just erased any chance we had of figuring out what really happened!" Preece had tried to melt into the background, but the room had no shadows deep enough to hide in from the Inspectors wrath. His gaze had swept over them, a storm cloud looking for a lightning rod. And when it had landed on him, Preece felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. 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 event. And that, as far as Preece could tell, set the tone for the entire investigation. Auditor Karolen might as well have been shouting into a void with her tale of "a sarcophagus that eats people." No one seemed remotely inclined to take her seriously, let alone acknowledge her accusations of what she clearly suspected was a clumsy, heavy-handed cover-up. Inspector Wyst, once the roaring bull stomping through the museums china shop, had deflated faster than a poorly cast Inflate spell. His team, predictably, followed his lead, their initial energy fading into the dull, disinterested rhythm of people going through the motions. They made all the right noisesasking questions, jotting notesbut their eyes betrayed them. This was just another tick on a checklist, another task to half-heartedly finish before moving on to less politically sensitive things.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The Security Services agent whod spoken to Preece hadnt even bothered with the pretense of taking the situation seriously. If anything, their disinterest bordered on outright disdain. Every word out of their mouth dripped with the implication that this entire investigation was a waste of time. The official museum linedismissively branding Karolens claims as "the ravings of a lunatic Auditor with an axe to grind"seemed to have been accepted wholesale, and no one appeared interested in questioning it. Preece, for his part, kept his head down. He wasnt about to volunteer anything that might make him the next target of Nuroons icy glare or the Security Services'' apathy. Whatever had really happened to Isadora, it was clear to him that no one in power wanted to dig too deeply. "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 carefully considered his response. He had always prided himself on being deliberate, and now, with Inspector Wysts impatient eyes boring into him, that deliberation felt more crucial than ever. As far as he could tell, he was the only Curator who hadnt followed through on the command to perform Cleansing the Canvas when the Senior Preservationist had requested it. He still wasnt entirely sure why he hadnt. If anything, the nightmares that had plagued him since Isadoras gruesome deathterrible, vivid flashes of her final momentsmade him long for the oblivion the spell would have brought. But even in that moment back in the staffroom, hed hesitated. Something had snagged at the edges of his conscience, sharp enough to keep him from reciting the incantation. The death of his well, what had Isadora been to him? She wasnt exactly a friend. An acquaintance? A colleague? Whatever shed been, Preece had feltknew, eventhat her death shouldnt be erased, shouldnt be blurred into the background of the museums carefully curated facade. It wasnt right. It wasnt like he was lying about it, either. No one had asked him directly whether hed gone through with the memory-wipe. No one had questioned him about what he might have seen or remembered. It said more about the almost cultlike authority Nuroon wielded over his staff that, as far as Preece could tell, he was the only one who had refused the order. His voice, when he finally spoke, came out even and measured, giving nothing away. She was enthusiastic about her work, he said. Always ready to dive into something headfirst. You know the typeexcited about every little discovery, always trying to find the story behind it. A bit too eager for her own good, maybe. He let the words hang in the air, watching as Wyst scribbled them into his notebook.. 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 Auditor Karolen had reported was accurate and that there was more to the death of Isadora 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. Isadora, 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 keep working in a place that''s so patently dangerous!" his wife snapped, her wheedling tone dragging him out of his spiraling thoughts and back to the present. "It''s a museum, Bray," Preece replied. "Not exactly the front lines of a Forlorn Hope. Let''s try to keep a little perspective, shall we?" "It''s a museum where the girl you were fucking died!" she shot back. "So don''t you dare act like Im making a fuss over nothing!" Preece flinched, a telltale flush creeping up his neck as he tightened his grip on the Sending Stone. There it was, laid bare in her usual tactless fashionthe accusation shed been dancing around for weeks now, finally out in the open. "That''s not fair, Bray," he said after a long pause. "You know it wasnt like that." "Do I?" she countered, her tone icy. "Because from where Im sitting, it looks like you''re putting an awful lot of effort into mourning someone you keep insisting was ''just a colleague.''" A few of the other Curators 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 Isadora 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." "I just think none of this would be an issue if you just went and worked for Daddy." Ah, there it was. That spectre of unspoken recriminations hovered over every conversation theyd had for months. If only Preece would stop being so damn stubborn and just play the dutiful little soldier, none of this unpleasantness would have happenedor so his wife seemed to believe. She was clinging to that narrative with a tenacity that bordered on the pathological. So wedded was she to this viewpoint that Preece was fairly certain Braife thought Curator Isadora might still be alive if hed simply prostituted his soul to her fathers ridiculous Second-Hand Horse empire. In her mind, Isadoras death wasnt just a tragedy; it was a divine judgmenta celestial reprimand for his refusal to shuffle papers and haggle over the price of nags. The idea was absurd, but then, so was much of Braifes worldview. The conversation petered out shortly after that, both of them too drained to land any more blows. Preece promised theyd talk at the same time tomorrow. "And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," he muttered under his breath. Around him, the break room fell silent as several heads turned his way, their faces puzzled by the sudden theatrical declaration. He ignored them, pocketed the Sending Stone, and leaned back in his chair, letting the weight of the day settle onto his shoulders. A buzzing sound indicated that break was over, and the Curators began to file out and back down the stairs 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 considered pushing the issuelaying it all out, dragging the ugly truths into the light, and seeing if anything could be salvaged from the mess. But his "chat" with Braife had already soured his mood, leaving his nerves frayed and his patience worn thin. The words he might have said dried up in his throat, leaving him with nothing but a bitter taste and a lingering sense of unease. Instead, he settled for placing a hand on Harkers shoulder, a gesture that was meant to be reassuring but felt hollow even as he did it. "Take care," he mumbled, knowing full well the sentiment would ring as empty as it felt. Harker didnt respond, his pale, sickly expression frozen in a grimace of silent torment. Preece hesitated for the briefest of moments, caught between the urge to stay and the pull of the other Curators, who were already moving on. Finally, he turned and left, his footsteps heavy as he followed the others out of the room. In the days to come, that moment would return to him, unbidden and unrelenting. Harkers facedrawn, colourless, and etched with an agony he hadnt dared voicewould haunt Preece in the quiet hours of the night. He would replay the scene over and over in his mind, wondering how much of the horror that followed could have been avoided if hed just stayed, just spoken, just listened. But by then, it would be too late. Far too late. Chapter 60 - A Dark and Stormy Night 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 Curator. 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 Unaffiliated Security - 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 surrendered to the next that Porthern was startled awake by the crackling hum of the Portal Stone opposite the museum flaring to life. The sound echoed through the stillness of the night, pulling him from his uneasy doze. He frowned, leaning forward slightly to peer through the rain-slicked darkness. At this hour? And in this weather? Whoever it was, theyd have to be either desperate or mad. Most likely both. When no figure materialised from the glowing gateway, his curiosity overcame his reluctance. With a muttered curse about the cold, he grabbed another jacket and trudged across the slick cobblestones toward the stone. The harsh light it emitted threw spikey shadows onto the museums fa?ade, making the otherwise quiet scene feel faintly menacing. Porthern stood in front of the portal, hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the flickering energy ripple across its surface. Minutes dragged by, each one stretching longer than the last, but still, no one emerged. The air seemed to hum with poised tension, but otherwise, there was nothingno sound, no movement. Just him, the rain, and the strange, silent glow of the Portal Stone. He racked his brain, trying to remember the protocols for a dormant activation. He was sure there had been some tedious training on this, back when hed started, but for minimum wage and no hazard pay, Porthern couldnt be expected to keep track of every little regulation. He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. Maybe he should just head back inside and wake someone more senior? Let them deal with it. He had just turned on his heel, rain dripping from his hood, when he froze. A faint soundbarely more than a whisperreached his ears. He spun back toward the portal, half expecting to see some drenched and bedraggled traveler stepping through at last. But it wasnt the portal. It was Martha Culloden."What are you doing?" she asked. Her appearance had been so sudden that it nearly sent him sprawling. Cullodens tone carried just enough irritation to remind him that she wasnt the sort of person who tolerated dithering from subordinates. Porthern straightened, brushing off his jacket as if the rain had somehow soaked through more thoroughly because of her disapproval. "I thought someone had activated the portal, Senior Preservationist," he said. "But... nothings come through. Thought Id... check, you know, in case it was something important." Cullodens gaze flicked to the shimmering stone.. "And did you find anything?" "Not yet, maam," Porthern replied, his voice faltering slightly under her scrutiny. He hesitated, then added, "I was about to call for backup when you came along." The Senior Preservationist 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. "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 Unaffiliated Security 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 Estate Caretaker 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. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. 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 from Levick 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 Senior Preservationist. "Weird," Porthern murmured before pulling his drenched coat around himself and sitting back down. * It was a little after the second bell of the morning 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, Deputy Chief Curator 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 Curator 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 nightor in the morning, he guessedthere 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. "Preece, 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 Public Relations Bard 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 half a bell later, in the dark hours when the city held its breath, one of the towering stained-glass windows in the Chapel of Rest shattered inward with a deafening roar. No one heard it. The wind had battered against it relentlessly, night after night, as though trying to force its way inside. Tonight, it finally succeeded. The gale tore through the chapel like a vengeful spirit, howling and feral. Hundreds of books were hurled from their shelves, their pages flapping wildly like the wings of startled birds. Sheaves of paper caught in the maelstrom, spinning upwards in a violent, chaotic dance before scattering like leaves on the cold stone floor. The door to a cupboard, left ajar by its last, hurried visitor, slammed shut with a resounding thud, the noise reverberating through the empty, cavernous space. It echoed briefly before being swallowed whole by the relentless roar of the wind. And yet, no alarm was raised. No hurried footsteps came running to investigate. The gale, the shattered glass, the scattered remnants of knowledgeit all went unnoticed. Within the labyrinthine corridors of Soar Museum, life carried on as though the Chapel of Rest remained untouched, its sanctity unbroken. But something had shifted, a tremor in the unseen fabric of the place. It lingered, heavy and unseen, as if the wind had left more than chaos in its wake. A subtle yet palpable sense of foreboding settled over the museum, though none within its walls yet realized it. * The sun hung low, a molten coin rising out of the horizon, as Grackle Nuroon strode past the slumped figure of the sleeping Unaffiliated Security guard. His eyes barely flicked to the man, registering his presence only as one might notice a piece of misplaced furniture. Challenges were for lesser mortals, and Nuroon had long grown accustomed to the unspoken rule that his arrival required no fanfare. No interruptions. If the guard''s stillness and heavy layers conveyed anything, it was the appropriate deference of silenceno idle chatter, no prying questions, just mute acknowledgment of the important figure who walked these grounds. He swept through the gates without a word, his steps as light as his mood was sour. Waiting just inside, of course, was Estate Caretaker Levick. Levick, that perennial thorn in his side. For a moment, Nuroon allowed himself the indulgence of imagining the caretaker reduced to a smouldering pile of ash, a neat little bonfire lighting the grounds he so obsessively maintained. "I warned you about that fucking door!" the squat man bellowed, barely waiting for Nuroon to take off his coat. "Im sure you did, Trei. Im sure you did, Nuroon said. If only there were someone like, oh, I dont know, an Estate Caretaker who could address such things. Imagine itsomeone with access to a veritable arsenal of Skills, finely honed for the maintenance of aberrant doors and cracked windows. Why, if theyd crossed their Level 50 threshold, thatd be even better, wouldnt it? Truly, a gift from the gods. Now, he added, leaning in ever so slightly, where do you think we might find someone like that? "Fuck you, Grackle!" "Was there anything in particular, Estate Caretaker? "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 Estate Caretaker. Casting a rather sticky spell on a door was almost calculated to raise his ire. Deciding to take this up with herhe always liked ensuring the shit rolled firmly downhillNuroon slid his chair back under his desk and strode briskly toward the Senior Preservationists office. The prospect of delivering a sharp reprimand always brought a certain vigor to his step. When he reached her door, it was unlocked. That much didnt surprise him. Culloden often left it ajar, a misplaced display of openness or perhaps arrogance. But what did surprise him was the fact that she wasnt there when he pushed it open. Not nearly as much, however, as the sight of the cooling corpse sprawled across the floor. Curator Harkers body was a tableau of horror. His face, unshielded by its usual green spectacles, bore an expression of sheer agony, his wide-open eyes frozen in a silent, pleading scream. The rest of himwhat remained of itwas unrecognisable. The flesh seemed to have melted away, leaving glistening patches of exposed bone and a viscous sludge that soaked into the carpet. Nuroon took a step closer, his lip curling as the stench of decay and something far fouler struck him. The sight, though nauseating, tickled at the edges of his memory. Hed seen something like this beforehadnt he? A thought scratched at the back of his mind but refused to fully surface. Well, he murmured, stepping back and pulling the door shut with a measured calm that belied the scene inside. He twisted the lock, the soft click breaking the heavy silence. "This," he said to no one in particular, brushing invisible dust from his hands as he turned on his heel, "might be a touch trickier to make go away." Chapter 61 - “Fuck me no fucks” "The Deathcaller is here, sir," a uniformed junior piped up, sticking his head around the door and delivering a jaunty thumbs-up that grated on every last one of Inspector Jana Lowe''s nerves. Lowe didnt bother responding, just fixed the kid with a withering glare that sent him scuttling back into the hall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply through his teeth. The scene itself was enough to sour anyones mooda shitshow that would linger in the back of his mind long after the formaldehyde stench faded. But that wasnt all. It was the arrival of the Deathcaller, of all people, that truly set his teeth on edge. Of the many denizens of Soar Lowe would have preferred to work with, Lant sat comfortably at the very bottom of the list. He surveyed the scene again with tired, bloodshot eyes, the knot of tension at the base of his skull tightening. The room was swarming with a gaggle of young officers, each looking greener than the last, fumbling with equipment, jotting notes, and doing their best to look competent under his glare. They werent bad kids. Not really. But Lowe couldnt shake the feeling that they were playing at being investigators, their eagerness bordering on recklessness. Maybe it was the gulf of years between them and himselftwenty years, at least, and every one of them weighed heavier in moments like these. Or maybe it was the creeping exhaustion that came from knowing exactly what kind of circus the Deathcallers presence would turn this into. Either way, Lowes mood was foul enough to curdle milk. "Great," he muttered under his breath, his tone drenched in sarcasm. "Penarth Lant. Just what this nightmare needs. The cherry on top." He knew he shouldnt complain. The roil of emotions twisting in his gut was unbecoming of someone in his position. He should have been gratefulthanking his lucky stars, or whatever celestial body might tolerate a glance in his directionto be back in the good graces of Soars Security Services. Gainful employment in this city wasnt exactly handed out like sweeties, and the fact that hed managed to claw his way back in after everything? That was no small feat. Lowe rubbed at his temple, trying to will away the headache that was building behind his eyes. Sure, he was back on the payroll, wearing the badge, going through the motionsbut the hollowness in his chest told him it wasnt the same. Not really. And yet, and yet, and yet . . . "What the fuck did you expect, you moody wanker?" Commander Pernille Staffen had asked him, glaring up 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 had 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. However, 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 uncompromising grandmotherly severity wrapped in a no-nonsense shawl of authority. She moved like an apocalypse in sensible shoes, her reputation for taking no shit preceding her like the ominous roll of thunder. If you had any doubts about what you saw being exactly what you got with this Level 46 Guardian of the Wall, her choice of patron god would clear that up fast. Blurian the Unimpressed didnt tolerate ambiguity. His doctrine was as straightforward as Pernille herselfunyielding, unapologetic, and deeply skeptical of anyone claiming to know better. In Pernille, Blurian had found the ideal champion, and in return, she carried his ethos of not being at home for any of your shit like a badge of honour: steadfast, focused, and utterly intolerant of shenanigans. "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 had 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 you are making that 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." "Well, I''m sorry about that. But I''m not sure how . . . "This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. "Youve managed it twice, Janatwice! The kind of colossal clusterfucks that most people dont just fail to come back from; they dont even try. First, there was all that unpleasantness last year," Pernille said, "And I can tell you right now, there are plenty who think you got off lightly losing your Class over that particular fuck-up." Lowe opened his mouth to protestbig mistake. Pernilles hand slammed down on her desk with a crack. "Shut the fuck up and listen!" she barked, her glare pinning him to his seat. "Blurian gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason, so use them accordingly. Im not saying I agree with all those panty-wetters crying foul over what happened. But if you think anyone but a vanishingly small minority has your back after the clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks, youre delusional. Do you get me?" Lowe nodded stiffly. "But oh no," she continued. "One life-changing disaster wasnt enough for the great Jana Lowe, was it? No. That absolutely wasnt enough for you.. You had to go and bring down a fucking Sentinel of Justice as your encore performance, didnt you!" She leaned back in her chair, her eyes boring into him. "Do you have any idea how impressive that is, Lowe? It takes a special kind of screw-up to get the literal avatar of law to eat shit in front of the entire city." "Commander Cenorth was killed in the line of duty . . . " "Fuck me no fucks, Lowe. We both know what happened at the top of the Celestial Temple, and I''d ask you not to insult my massive throbbing fucking brain by pretending otherwise." Lowe wasnt entirely sure how he was supposed to respond to that. Instead, he held up the file hed been given and gave it a little wave, like a man drowning in paperwork trying to signal for a lifeboat. "I get all of that, but this case has to be linked to the death last month. Wyst should be" Wyst? Pernille cut him off with a bark of laughter.Inspector Wyst was warned off the case so hard I had to send him on a months sabbatical. You shouldve seen him. A grown man sobbing into his coffee. Wah, theyre going to kill my family, wah. It was pathetic. That gave Lowe pause. "Warned off?" he asked. I thought he just screwed 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 as she jumped up to perch on her desk, legs swinging free. "Dont get me wrong. Wyst could screw up boiling water, but this was different. This wasnt just bumbling incompetence. Someone leaned on him. Hard. Lowe felt a chill creep up his spine. Wyst mightve been an idiot, but he wasnt the type to crumble under pressurenot unless the pressure was very specific and very personal. "And you think whoever leaned on him is tied to this?" Pernille shrugged, her expression carefully neutral. "I think the worlds full of people who dont like messy questions being asked about very tidy secrets. And if theres one thing this case is bound to be, its messy. She gestured at the file in his hand. "So buckle up, Lowe. Youre the lucky bastard who gets to step into the shitstorm Wyst ran screaming from. Try not to fuck it up worse than he did. Seriously? Thats all I get? 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, boy, does the Mayor 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 drew a deep breath, summoning every ounce of composure he had left for one last plea. "Commander, there arent even any witnesses to the first death! The whole damn museum wiped their memories! What exactly do you expect me to do?" Pernilles expression hardened, shedding any veneer of affable irritation like a discarded coat. Her gaze bored into him, and Lowe suddenly understood why so many violent offenders had seen her face as the last thing they ever did. They didnt call her the Iron Fist for nothing. I am not a stupid woman, Inspector Lowe, she said.. "The words above your head might say Level 25, but if I were to petition to examine your stats, Id wager Id find a very different story." Lowe opened his mouth to protest, but Pernille silenced him with a raised hand that could have stopped a runaway carriage. "Shove it," she snapped. "I dont want to hear it. Youre allowed your secrets, Inspector. Until I decide I need to know more. Do I need to know more?" Slowly, deliberately, he 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." There hadnt been much more to say after that. The Deathcaller, sir?" Lowe''s thoughts reluctantly snapped back from the unpleasant memory of his meeting with Pernille to the gruesome reality of the scene before him. Or, more precisely, the scene beneath him. He grimaced as his gaze fell upon the remains of what, he had been assured, was once Curator Harker. The young man''s body was no longer a body at alljust a puddle of liquefied flesh and viscous fluids spreading across an expensive carpet that, despite its craftsmanship, would surely never recover. What bones hadnt fully dissolved jutted out at unnatural angles, protruding like ghastly signposts. The stench was overpowering. Not just the reek of decayalthough there was plenty of thatbut something else. Something vile clung to the back of Lowes throat like guilt. He fought the rising nausea, his hand twitching toward his pocket where a vial of anti-sickness tonic rested, just in case. Harkers faceor what was left of itwas still disturbingly recognisable. That almost made it worse. The tatters of his skin hung in loose shreds, ligaments and muscle tissue blending into the sickening soup pooling beneath him. Lowe had seen his fair share of horror shows in his time, but this? This wasnt just death. It was an obliteration of humanity itself, an insult to the natural order. 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 62 - A Slime Too Far We really must stop meeting like this! To be honest, I would rather we didnt meet at all, Penarth. But you know how it goes: people will keep killing each other. Although, this particular corpse 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 Deathcaller said, kneeling over the liquified remains of the Curator. 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 View 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 Deathcaller 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?"Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "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 Deathcaller 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 tissuesskin, muscle, and non-vital organsgradually 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 Senior Preservationist whose office this was left the museum grounds around midnight. Of course, she''s apparently 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 63 - A Museum That Devours Although it felt like he had only taken a few steps away from the crime scene, Lowe appeared to be already lost amongst the museum''s winding corridors. It struck him that there was something rather perverse about Soar''s key repository of knowledge being quite so impossible to navigate. Still, then again, anyone who knew Grackle Nuroon would surely introduce the word ''perverse'' into the conversation at the earliest possible opportunity. Determined not to need to call for help and alert his men to his difficulty, Lowe chose to wander onward, his polished boots - Mylaf had developed a special paste that she applied and buffed off each morning - disturbing the thick layer of dust that blanketed the stone floors. Did the museum not employ any Cleaners? Lowe wondered. Of course, he recognised the hypocrisy here as he himself had been perfectly comfortable living in utter filth before . . . acquiring a Drudge with Legendary powers during his last case. However, it felt like Soar Museum should possess slightly higher hygiene standards than a down-on-his-luck disgraced detective. Riffing on a similar theme, shafts of weak, dusty light filtered through high, grimy windows, casting shadows that seemed to reach for him as he passed. It created the illusion of movement in the corner of his eye as if he were being followed. Yes. An illusion. That was all it was. Lowe paused, trying for a moment to regain his bearings. Really, this was all rather stupid. He must only be yards from all sorts of other people, so why did he have this odd feeling of complete isolation? With just a trace of embarrassment at having to resort to his using a Skill, he activated Grid View, seeking out the memory of being led from the entrance of the museum to the Senior Preservationists office and its attendant dead body. This corridor was not one of the ones he had been escorted down. Swearing, Lowe turned around and tried to retrace his steps back to Penarth Lant, one eye on his progress and the other on the images on display in Grid View. Somehow, the museum''s layout seemed to defy the constraints of logic and space, passages doubling back on themselves and leading him into increasingly unfamiliar territory. Lowe paused at a junction, glancing down each of the four possible routes available to him. He was sure he had not been here before. Grid View was apparently being interfered with by something in a way he did not think was supposed to be possible. Well, wasn''t that just a treat? Looking down each option in turn, Lowe couldn''t make out anything that seemed familiar. The branching corridors stretched out like the insidious tentacles of some aquatic monster, each one promising only more confusion and entrapment. "Fuck''s sake," he muttered, looking back at the way he had come. The last thing he needed was it getting back to Cuckoo House that, minutes after arrival, he became lost at a crime scene. That would be the final nail in a heavily studded reputational coffin. Choosing a path at random, the one on his right, Lowe started walking - almost jogging - his footsteps echoing in the silence, a growing unease at his predicament gnawing at him. The corridor he had chosen was lined with tall display cases, their glass fronts cracked as if someone - or something - had sought to break in. Or out. Well, wasn''t that a lovely thought that would not fester at all? Inside each cabinet, the bizarre and the grotesque vied for his attention: a mummified cat, its shrivelled body contorted in eternal agony; a collection of rusted surgical tools, still stained with the remnants of use and an array of eerie, faceless dolls, their porcelain heads cracked and eyeless sockets staring blankly. A shiver ran down Lowe''s spine, and not just from the cold. Was someone following him? He turned abruptly, scanning the dancing shadows for any sign of actual movement, but found nothing. The museum was silent, save for the faint creaking of the old building settling around him. Where the fuck was everyone! Turning back around, the sensation of being watched persisted, a prickling at the back of his neck that refused to be ignored. It had been a while since he had activated Slugger - Arebella had been clear that she would prefer it if he could find more effective methods of conflict resolution - but he did so now. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Immediately, the increased weight in his fists calmed his trembling nerves. As Staffen had hinted at earlier, the label above his head might say Level 25, but anyone - or anything - that leapt out at him from the darkness would quickly discover that, thanks to the practical application of Essence Transmutation Theory, he packed a punch equivalent to a Level 50. Hands swinging with a comforting heaviness at his side, Lowe pressed on, noticing that the musty smell was growing more pungent as if he were descending into the museum''s bowels rather than moving towards the exit. It must be his imagination, but the narrow corridor seemed to be closing in on him, the walls leaning inward as though the building sought to swallow him whole. Lowes breath came shallow and rapid. He glanced back again, expecting to see some remorseless hunter pursuing, but only emptiness was stretching into darkness. Then, he rounded a corner and found himself in a small, circular chamber. The ceiling rose high above to become lost in darkness, and the walls were lined with strange tapestries, their colours faded and designs obscured by layers of dust. In the centre of the room stood a pedestal upon which a single, lit candle rested. For some reason, the sight of it sent a chill through him, an inexplicable sense of foreboding that rooted him to the spot. Lowe took a moment to steady himself before stepping forward. The candle, though innocuous, seemed to pulse with a quiet menace. He shivered, the coolness of the room seeping into his bones as his eyes traced the faint patterns etched into the pedestal. If it was in a language spoken in Soar, it certainly was not one he recognised. He crouched down, his fingers brushing the cold stone base of the pedestal. As he did, a sticky substance clung to his fingertips. He brought his hand closer for inspection and recoiled slightlya viscous, dark slime similar to what he had seen covering the body of the Curator. Then, Lowe''s mind was on other things as the burn from the necrotic slime started to consume his fingers. He stood up abruptly, hastily wiping his fingers on a handkerchief. Roll with the Punches activated as Lowe''s hand literally began to melt before his eyes, and he manually pushed a trickle of manaand then a veritable river of the stuffinto the Skill to overwhelm the damage. The power of this shit was something else! The candle, the slime, the eerie, expectant silence . . . Determined to find a way to make sense of all this, Lowe activated Grid View again, hoping to overlay his memory with his current location. But the interference persisted, the images flickering and distorted, offering no clear path. Frustration mingled with unease as he deactivated the Skill. Lowe''s eyes scanned the room, landing this time on the colourful tapestries lining the walls. Moving closer to one, he noticed a tear in the fabric, a narrow slit that had gone unnoticed at first glance. Peering through, he saw more of the necrotic slime smeared on the wall behind it. He stepped back, but this was not the right atmosphere for revelatory moments of stunning insight. He needed to move, to find his way out of this disorienting maze before the creeping dread overwhelmed him. However, as Lowe turned to leave, the faint sound of rustling fabric reached his ears again, more pronounced this time, like a whisper of something brushing against the stone walls. His heart pounding in his chest, Lowe quickened his pace away from the chamber, the sense of being pursued becoming almost tangible. The corridor outside stretched before him, lined with the same macabre exhibits that had greeted him earlier. As he walked, he noticed more signstiny, almost imperceptible patches of necrotic slime smeared on the walls and floor. It felt that they formed a path, guiding him forward, and the realisation sent a shiver through him. Was whoever had killed the Curator leading him somewhere? And if so, did he have any other choice but to follow? The patches of necrotic slime became more frequent, their viscous presence now almost covering the walls and floor, and Lowe needed to walk carefully to avoid stepping in it. Sensing his fists were about to explode with the gathered power of Slugger, Lowe dismissed the Skill and then resummoned it immediately. The drain on his mana was substantial, and he felt a flutter of unease at what would happen should Roll with the Punches be needed and the well be dry . . . Suddenly, a low, sad noise reverberated through the very walls. It was a sound of pain and despair, but before Lowe could react, a presence manifested behind him. He span, throwing out an enhanced punch, but his attack landed on nothing. Lowe took a step back, raising his fists in a defensive posture. His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the creature he knew must be there. The mournful sound intensified into a deep rumble that shook dust from the roof. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but his legs felt rooted to the spot. Then it was in front of him. Lowe threw out two massive blows with Slugger, striking something solid but with no visible sign of impact. No creature revealed itself following being hit by the equivalent of a Level 50. What the fuck was this thing? Lowe stumbled back as the noise shifted, becoming softer, almost pleading. It was a resonant agony, and Lowe tried to focus on its meaning - to listen - but the moment''s terror made it impossible to think clearly. Then the presence moved again; the sense of it closing in around him was overwhelming. Lowe threw out another blast of Slugger, draining his mana dry before complete desperation overtook him. Lowe turned and ran, his footsteps echoing hollowly as he fled down the corridor. But as he did, he noticed somethingmarks on the walls, smeared in the same dark slime. The marks were crude, almost like writing, forming a pattern that beckoned him closer. He stumbled into another corridor, the low, sad sound following him, a constant reminder of the unseen presence. It grew louder, more insistent as if urging him to understand. But the terror was too great, the oppressive weight too much to bear. As he stumbled out of the corridor and ran mindlessly, Lowe could still hear the faint echoes of the creatures cries. The clue as to what had happened to the Curator were there, somewhere in the darkness, waiting to be deciphered. But for now, Lowe could only run, driven by the desperate need to escape the unseen thing that stalked him through the twisted halls of the Soar Museum. Chapter 64 - Promises in Blood "Are you quite alright, sir?" Lowe looked up at the solid form of the young man in the uniform of a Security Service Constable. 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 Constable''s 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 Constable 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 Constable. 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 proffered 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?"Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. "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." 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 Curator and more at the disruption to the museum''s operation. "What was the cause of you being in the Senior Preservationalist''s 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 Senior Preservationist 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 Curator 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 65 - Wrestling with a Spider "Tell me, are you capable of speaking to someone in a way that doesn''t lead to a bounty being taken out on your head, little man?" "In my defence, it is Grackle Nuroon." "Good point, well made," Latham glaring at the Waitress, who was proving to be a little slow in bringing him his third plate of sandwiches of the morning. "Are you curing your own fucking meat back there or something? What''s the fucking hold up!" Being shouted at by a giant Temple Warder had not been on the poor girl''s ''to-do'' list when she woke up this morning, and she turned an even whiter shade of pale. "Let me just go and check on it for you," she said, backing away from their corner table. "Your coffees are on the house!" she added, triggering her Complimentary Skill, which she felt was certainly earning its mana this day. "You know, some people would think it was the height of bad manners to give minimum-gold servers such a hard time," Lowe said, shielding his own sandwich from Latham''s predatory gaze. "And are any of those judgemental fuckers sat at this table?" the big man asked, teeth-baring. "Nope. Not at all. In fact, if I may add, fuck that undernourished, overworked and clearly underappreciated young lady. I''m sure she absolutely deserves you giving her a hard time. The bitch." Latham sighed. "I know, I know. I''m just not myself when I''m hungry." "You don''t say!" A blur in a uniform was suddenly at their side, dropping several plates piled high with steaming food in front of Latham before scurrying away. "You see, all she needed was the right encouragement." Lowe leaned back in his chair, watching his friend eat. It was funny, he thought, but he did genuinely think of Latham as a friend. He hadn''t expected them to stay in touch once the fuss died down around what had occurred in the Celestial Temple, but he''d been pleasantly surprised. It helped that Hel and Latham were an item, especially since the Wind Tyrant and Arebella had struck up a firm friendship of their own. It had become a Thirrupsday tradition for the four of them to go out and paint Soar, if not red, then a charming shade of off-pink. Lowe wasn''t the type of person who had a best friend. The fact that the last candidate for that position had been actively using him to further a rise to power had left a mark. However, something about Latham encouraged Lowe to begin seeing him that way. "Come on then, out with it. Explain to Daddy how you''ve fucked things up with your customary incompetence again and need me to save the day." Although, Lowe thought, it was still early days . . . "Well, first of all, ''Daddy'' isn''t going to happen. But I''m pretty sure Hel will find it hilarious when I mention it to her." Suddenly, their Waitress wasn''t the only person looking extremely pale. "Now, having put that to bed, as it were, do you actually want to hear more about the case, or are you going to be a dick?" "I''m more than capable of being both," Latham said, demolishing the first of the newly arrived plate of sandwiches and moving to the second. "However, in exchange for your silence on my little nickname faux pas, I will refrain from colour commentary on your woes for the foreseeable." "Fair enough. So, despite what everyone is trying to pretend, it''s clear to me the two deaths are linked. The fucking Deathcaller won''t go out on a limb and formally say the first dead Curator was liquified by necrotic slime before being crushed, but I don''t have any doubts. Bella''s friends with the Auditor who saw the whole thing, and to hear her tell it, the girl was screaming and melting before the stone came tumbling down. He went on to recite the rest of the facts of both the Curators deaths as he knew them. Latham listened, nodding along until Lowe had finished. So let me get this straight. You either have two epically convoluted suicides, one or two bizarre accidents, the first death being murder, but the wrong victim killed, or two distinct murders with two intended victims. Oh, and the Senior Preservationalist, who is either a third victim or the perpetrator of one - or both - murders, has gone missing.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Lowe nodded. "Sounds about right." Latham took his time on his final sandwich, carefully chewing it over as he thought. "And Nuroon wants to cover the whole thing up?" "Yep." "Let him." Those two words were so unexpected that Lowe was sure he must have misheard. "I''m sorry, what?" "I said, ''Let him.'' That is some murky shit, and you don''t want any part of it." "There are two dead Curators . . . " Latham leant forward, his voice suddenly lacking any of its customary humour. "Grackle Nuroon is - " Latham paused, casting his eyes around the coffee shop for listeners. The Waitress, misunderstanding the searching glare, hurriedly dived back into the kitchen to hunt for more food- "not to be messed with. And I say this as someone who has to deal with fucking avatars on a daily basis." "He''s the Director of Soar Museum. I hardly think his threat level is on par with what we went through in the Temple. I mean, what''s he going to do? Lecture me to death?" Latham''s laugh had no joy in it. "If that''s what you think, little man, you need to drop everything right now. Grackle Nuroon is not to be trifled with." The Temple Warder grimaced at Lowe''s sceptical expression and edged his chair closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. You think you know what youre getting into, tangling with Grackle Nuroon, but you dont. That spider fucker doesnt do anything in the open. You''ve never heard of Mayor Tolliver, have you? Latham paused, the name hanging in the air like a death sentence. Lowe shook his head. "No idea. Must be before my time, Grandaddy." Latham cocked his head to one side, wincing. "Fuck you. Look, just listen to what I''m saying. Tolliver had a reputation as solid as iron. Brilliant, ambitious, with connections you can only dream about. But Tolliver had one flawhe believed he was powerful enough to take what he wanted, even if it meant crossing Grackle Nuroon. A simple land dispute, thats all it was. Tolliver wanted to annex a parcel near the city, land that the Soar Museum had been eyeing for years. It was perfect for Tollivers estate expansion, and he thought Nuroon was just another dusty old man, more concerned with relics than real power. Lathams lip curled into a bitter smile. Tolliver pushed his claim through the Council, confident his allies would see it passed. But he didnt know that Nuroon had been preparing for this moment long before Tolliver even set his sights on that land. You see, Nuroon isnt a man who reacts. He anticipates, manipulates, and then, when the time is right, he executes. Latham leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a near hiss. The Director started by quietly undermining Tollivers support base. He dripped poison into the ears of Council members, sowing seeds of doubt and distrust. Subtle rumours about Tollivers financial dealings began to surfacenothing too overt, just enough to make his backers nervous. Whispers of unpaid debts, of deals that might not be as clean as they seemed. Within weeks, Tollivers staunchest friends began to distance themselves, not publicly, but in those little ways that matter. Invitations rescinded, meetings postponed indefinitely. And Tolliver, confident in his power base, never saw it coming. Lathams eyes darkened, his tone taking on a grim intensity. But Nuroon wasnt satisfied with just isolating Tolliver. He had a lesson to teachan example to make. Tollivers wife, Lucinda, was a socialite adored by all. She had some sort of unusual Class that changed water into wine. You can imagine what a hit that made her at parties. Well, Nuroon had her patronages audited by the Treasury, and lo and behold, irregularities were discovered in the charitable funds she managed. Suddenly, Lucinda was under investigation for embezzlement, her name dragged through the courts and the gossip circles alike. She was innocent, of course, but that didnt matter. The stain on her reputation was enough to ruin her. She killed herself in the end. Latham paused, wetting his lips. But it didnt stop there. Tollivers eldest son was a bright young man destined for a career in the Security Service. Nuroon made sure that a scandalous cheating allegation surfaced at his academycompletely fabricated but damning enough to see him expelled in disgrace. Every door that had once been open to him slammed shut, his future annihilated before it even began. His body was found in the river - no one looked into that death too carefully. Lathams voice took on a steely edge, his eyes locked on Lowe''s. What happened in the Temple was brute force and ignorance. And, the gods help us, but you seem to have a talent for weathering that sort of shitshow. But Nuroon didnt need to draw a sword or challenge Tolliver to a duel. He used the systems Tolliver had once wielded with confidence against him. Within a year, Tolliver was ruined. His reputation in tatters, his family dead, and his fortune gone. The final blow came when Tolliver was quietly removed from the Councilnot by a vote, but by a whisper campaign so insidious that it was already done by the time he realized what was happening. He was outmanoeuvred, outclassed, and utterly destroyed. Lathams expression hardened a grim finality in his words. And all the while, Nuroon never once raised his voice, never showed a hint of anger. He simply... erased Tolliver. By the end, Tolliver was a ghost, a man whose name no one dared speak for fear of attracting Nuroons gaze. So, if you think you can take on Grackle Nuroon, think again. The man doesnt fight. He simply waits, watches, and when the moment is right, he ensures you dont just loseyou cease to exist. Chapter 66 - The Weight of Bullshit and Blood 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 Curators. Oh, and if he were lucky, maybe he''d get a lead on where the fucking Senior Preservationist 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 hadthe one where Nuroon all but told him to fuck off with his banal questions and stick to the nice, tidy corners of Soar that didnt ruffle any featherswas still a raw wound in Lowes mind. It had been the kind of conversation where every word had put his teeth on edge. Nuroon hadnt just warned him off; hed 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 Directors 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 nos to every request. Even the Deathcaller 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 sandwichesseriously, where did the Temple Warder put it all?his Sending Stone was buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out, expecting the usualsome 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 Executive P.A., a polished raptor 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 museums libraryunder 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 couldnt 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. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. 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 hadnt been easy to take, but she wasnt about to let Lowe add to the burden. 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 Berserker 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 together." Lowe''s angry frustration drained out of him like a gutter run-off. He squeaked an apology, the sound so pitiful he almost didnt recognise it as his own voice. "That''s better," Staffen said. "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 Curators. It really ain''t more fucking difficult than that. I couldnt 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 didnt 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, itd 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 Street Vendor asked, eyeing Lowe like a snake 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 hadnt 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 67 - Whispers in the Wreckage Lowe was not sure what he had expected from Soar Museum''s library. Certainly, his most recent experiences ''behind the scenes'' of the massive building had not been pleasant: the ramshackle, dusty corridors and bizarre exhibits had left a lingering effect on Lowealthough he was willing to accept that might have been more to do with the impact of the necrotic slime. However, he could well imagine Nuroon allowing thousands of books to build up in giant, mouldering piles just because he could. Nevertheless, he was pleasantly surprised. The library was a large, high-ceilinged room on the ground floor. Apart from one wall, which opened out onto the green space of the courtyard beyond, the other three had row upon row of books from the floor to the ceiling. As Lowe watched, the titles shimmered every few seconds, new ones appearing to replace the old. Some sort of version of a bag of holding, he presumed. He wondered if that was a built-in enchantment or if a captive Librarian was strapped to a rack somewhere in the Museum''s bowels and was being forced to revolve the stock. The very centre of the room was bare, but it was furnished with a giant banqueting table behind which, on one side, were five ornate leather armchairs. A little group of conspirators sat in these, whose heads turned in one movement at Lowe''s entrance. Then, the silence ended abruptly, and the pantomime began. He had already met one of the men beforeKelvin Kregg, the Bardand the tall, thin man stood and moved forward with a professional smile. Lowe did not respond in kind. Even without Arebella giving him the lowdown on a man whose hands were apparently the very definition of ''wandering'', there was just something about someone whose life was the definition of illusory which set Lowe''s teeth on edge. Even as he had that thought, Lowe felt a little mental tug of warmth towards Kregg. "Mr Kregg, I would ask that you please refrain from using any of your Skills on me. If you were not aware, it is an offence to seek to ensourcel a member of the Security Services going about their business." If Kregg was embarrassed at being caught in an act which was, at best, thunderously rude, his smiling face did not show it. He gave a wink, and then Lowe felt the slight pressure on his mind fade, and his dislike of the man increased a hundredfold. "Can''t blame a guy for trying," he smirked. "Actually," Lowe replied, fixing the man with a glare, "I can. Fair warning, you try that again, and it''ll be a while before your hands wander anywhere." "I am sure you are not threatening my client with physical violence," the second of the men in the room said, standing to approach and shake Lowe''s hand damply. The little figure had a pinched, hollow face with bug eyes that were now frowning with the confusion of a dog that had been shown an especially difficult card trick. His flaxen hair lay in piles on his shoulder and down his back, and it took every ounce of control Lowe had not to reach out and give it a good yank. "Is it a threat if I absolutely promise I''ll do it?" Lowe asked, withdrawing his hand and ostentatiously wiping it dry on the leg of his trousers. "And you are?" "Felicitous Gral, at your service. The Museum has retained me to ensure that no . . . misunderstandings occur during their employees''s interactions with the Security Services." "In which case, you might want to ensure your clients do not ''misunderstand'' the penalties for attempting mental manipulation on an officer in the course of his duties. I will be punching him in the face if he tries that bollocks again." A middle-aged woman in the third of the chairs sighed and waved a hand in frustration. "Really, can we dispense with the dick measuring? I am sure all three of you have simply imposing members that any young lady would gladly get her hands wrapped around. However, could we get to the reason we have all been summoned here? Some of us have other things we would rather be doing." Lowe recognised Liando Verlan, the Chair of the Museum''s Board and nodded respectfully. "Apologies, ma''am. I just find it helpful for everyone to know where they stand on such things." "You''ll be standing there without any teeth if you ''ma''am'' me again," she snapped back, but there was a hint of a smile in her voice. If what Lowe had heard about Kregg was bad, then the opposite was true of the Captain of Industry. Immensely tough but scrupulously fair was the word on the street. Looking at her now, Lowe could believe it. "My apologies!" he said, turning his attention to the fourth and final member of the little group. "And you are?" "Trei Levick," the small, round man replied, showing no sign of getting up in greeting. "And I definitely have things I should be getting on with. The mess you spooks have caused around this place beggars belief." Lowe nodded, hiding his frustration. He had asked for a meeting with the relevant staff of the Museum, and in response, he had been given access to the Estate Caretaker, their PR manager, the Chair of the Museum Board and a fucking lawyer. He doubted anyone in this room had anything helpful to tell him about the circumstances that had caused the deaths of two young Curators. "Shall we get started?" Gral said, moving to sit back down behind the enormous table. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. It struck Lowe that the furniture had been configured so he would be forced to stand in front of the interviewees like a naughty schoolboy in the Headmaster''s office. Sure, there was a spare chair for him, but if he sat in that - on the extreme left of the group - he wouldn''t be able to see anyone other than the lawyer when he asked his questions. "It is very nice to meet you in the flesh, Inspector, Gral continued. "I have heard so much about your checkered career. Let us hope that your insistence on continuing to look into this matter when the solution is so manifest does not lead to another . . . sanction." Lowe was pleased to see Verlan roll her eyes at that. It appeared he was not the only one irked by the strange little man. "You do not believe there is anything else to uncover here?" he asked. Gral gave an odd little shrug as if his shoulders were not adequately connected to his spine. "When I hear hooves, Inspector, I think horses, not Minotaurs. What do you actually have here? A Curator crushed to death by a falling exhibit. Awful, awful thing to happen and the girl''s family have been very generously compensated. However, other than a rather hysterical Auditor who seems to be having a very public nervous breakdown about the whole thing -" Lowe noted that Verlan shuffled uncomfortably at that description. She had employed Karolen to look into the Museum''s affairs after all -"there are no witnesses that anything untoward took place. Your own colleague closed the case. An Inspector Wyst? Astute man, I thought." "Scared man, certainly," Lowe said. A faint pressure had settled into the middle of his forehead as if a storm was coming. He glanced at Kregg, wondering if the Bard was trying another Skill-enforced mental push, but if the slimy man was trying something, there was no obvious sign. "Scared. Sensible. You say ''potato'', and I say ''living long enough to see retirement.'' The critical point is that, in the absence of any new evidence, I will be instructing my clients to say nothing whatsoever to you about the death of . . . that young lady." Gral snapped his fingers when reaching for Isadora''s name. The casualness ramped up Lowe''s irritation to another level. "Do you have anything new to share about that nasty occurence?" Frowning under the weight of his growing headache, Lowe was sharper than he intended in his reply. "It''s pretty fucking hard to gather new evidence when everyone seems determined not to talk about what happened!" Trei Verlick snorted at that. "It''s almost like that was Nuroon''s plan, ain''t it? Why do you think everyone in the Great Hall wiped their memories!" Gral turned to the Estate Manager and made a strange growling noise. It was such an odd thing to do, Lowe almost laughed at the incongruity. By the sick look on Verlick''s face, though, he didn''t find it amusing at all. Gral turned back to Lowe, his giant eyes unblinking. "That brings us to the latest . . . event. To my understanding, you have a dead body in the Senior Preservationists office, the woman herself is reported to have been seen acting strangely around the time of the murder and then, of course, she has fled the scene. Far be it for me to tell you your business, sir, but is this not the definition of an open and shut case?" The pressure in Lowe''s head was almost too much to bear. He raised a hand and massaged the bridge of his nose. No. Not to me. There was a silence. Kregg appeared to find it embarrassing and cleared his throat noisily. Well, pardon us if we''re not wild about that. We have a museum to run here, and we need you Security types offsite. You''re scaring the patrons." "I would have thought, with two unexplained deaths occurring within a month, everyone within the environs of the Museum would feel much better having us about. Everyone without a guilty conscience, of course." Kregg, after carefully ensuring Verlan couldn''t see him from her vantage point, gave Lowe the bird in reply. Gral continued, his voice stripped of any emotion. "As far as the Museum is concerned, Inspector. Neither death is unexplainedan unfortunate accident followed by the aftermath of . . . I don''t know. It could well have been a love affair gone wrong, could it not? I fail to see any link between the two. And I - and the Museum more generally - am concerned that resources that could be used to locate the murderer, Martha Culloden, are being wasted gawping at our exhibits and intimidating the staff. Essentially, Director Nuroon would like me to ask: ''Is there not something else you all should be doing?''" Lowe did his best but struggled to focus on the man''s words; his head felt like it was about to explode. Desperate, he manually pushed as much mana as possible to Roll with the Punches. The Skill soaked up all the energy offered and returned for more, making Lowe blanch and channel even more its way. He was no stranger to traumatic injuries, but ever since his recent, unexpected ranking up, he had never come close to running out of mana to feed his healing Skill. But he was pretty close right now. And what the fuck was it healing anyway? Then his vision blurred at the edges, each pulse of his heart sending shockwaves through his skull. Sweat beaded on Lowe''s forehead, trickling down his temples as he clenched his jaw, trying to keep the pain at bay. But it was relentless, digging claws into his brain. Roll with the Punches wasn''t touching it! In fact, it felt like all his mana was being fed into something elsesomething darker, something that felt like it shouldn''t be there. The cooling warmth he associated with the activity of his Skill twisted, turned cold, and then hot again, a burning, searing heat that lanced through his mind. With a gasp, Lowe suddenly clutched at his temples and slipped to the floor. His vision darkened, and the room seemed to warp and twist around him, the walls breathing in and out like some grotesque, living thing. The faces of the four people in front of him distorted into monstrous faces, dripping with . . . was that necrotic slime. Lowe''s skull felt like it was splitting open, a thousand jagged fractures tearing through bone and tissue. He could feel his brain, swollen with the pressure, push against the inside of his skull, threatening to burst through. Blood trickled from his nose, a crimson rivulet running over his lips. And then, with a sickening lurch, Roll with the Punches twisted in his Core and . . . branched out. A new Skill erupted into existence, birthed through his agony and smashing through all the blocks imposed on him. Mental Fortress. The name rang out in his mind, but - right now - it brought him no comfort. Lowe''s body convulsed, his back arching as the new Skill anchored itself within his Core, breaking through the Council''s enforced lock. His vision was suddenly back, but it was tinted red. He could feel the walls of his new passive Skill slamming into place, protecting him from what on Soar had been attacking him. The headache was gone, but a deep, throbbing emptiness, a hollow ache, was in its place. Lowe''s hands trembled as he wiped the blood from his nose, his fingers slick with it as he stumbled back to his feet, his legs weak, barely able to support his weight. There would be a time to consider what had just happened, but that wasn''t right now. He glared at the four horrified expressions facing him. "Okay, so which of you fuckers just tried to mind control me?" Chapter 68 - The Truth Twists Twice "And what happened next?" Arabella 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 Estate Caretaker 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," Arabella 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. Arabella 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 mortallike 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 Drudge 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 Arabella''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," Arabella 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 Veritas Assessor?" 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, hed 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. Its 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. Youre a big boy, Lowe, and Im 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 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, dont get me wrong. If someone had managed to gain control of that walnut you call a brain, Id be pissed off. I dont 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 madeThis tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. What do you mean if? Lowe had interrupted, his voice rising. Interrupt me again, and youll 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 Soarfour beings who have no registered mind control Skills whatsoever, I should notehad attempted to own your brain, the fact they couldnt 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? Arabellas voice cut through his reverie, sharp and demanding. To my certain knowledge, there are no registered Skills in Soar thatll let you lie without me knowing. Thats pretty much the whole basis of my departments 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. Arabellas mouth opened to retort, but the words seemed to die on her tongue. Lowe could almost see the moment the implications of Mylafs statement hit her. Of course hes 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! Arabella 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, its fascinating that youve broken through your Council blocking not once but twice in a few months. The University will want to study that. And thats 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, Im not going to be telling anyone about this Skill. But 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 theyre 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 youve somehow got the stats of a Level 50, Mylaf added casually, taking another bite of her cake as if she hadnt just dropped a bombshell into the conversation. Lowe and Arabella 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. Dont worry. Its not like Im going to tell anyone, is it? But if theres one thing I know, its stats, she said, waving her cake around for emphasis. And unless Ive suddenly got an awful lot better at baking in the last few monthsand my Skills are already Legendary, so we can pretty much park thatit would seem to me your numbers have gone through the roof recently. Youve been making all sorts of deductive leaps beyond my experience for someone of your stated Level. Why, youve even taken to putting your dirty clothes in the hamper Ive left for you rather than leaving them on the floor next to it. Thats at least male 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. Its not that I wanted to keep it from you. Its just Least said soonest mendest and all that. Mylaf smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. Its fine, Mr Lowe. I just wanted you to know that I know, and I wont tell anyone. No more needs to be said about it. Arabella sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, as she leaned back in her chair. Okay, look, lets park the wider implications for a moment. You''ve developed a new Mental Fortress 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, isnt that an interesting question? Chapter 69 - The Bards Swan Song Kelvin Kregg was feeling pretty pleased with himself. Of course, this was not an unfamiliar emotion for the Public Relations Bard, 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 passerbys gaze lingered on him, their eyes drawn irresistibly to his commanding presence. Of course, most peoples eyes slid right off him like grease, but if there was one thing a Public Relations Bard 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 didnt 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 manaa smell that had a knack for clinging to the back of your throat long after youd 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 Beauty Queen whod 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 Public Relations Bard, 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 gods 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, Soarwhere 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 wouldnt 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.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. 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 theyd sought to explain to him that, because his appreciation was never able to extend beyond the surfacea paintings value, in his eyes, was determined more by the artists 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. 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 wouldnt be? He was a catcha 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 couldnt 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 didnt 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 Street Musician, a wiry young man playing a tune that was either very avant-garde or very badit 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 musicians feet, but then thought better of it. Hed once fancied himself a patron of the arts but, over time, had decided that most of the arts werent worth patronising. No, he had a more worthy focus for his attention now. Kreggs 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 museums 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 didnt 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 allboth 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 70 - No Song Left to Sing "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 Drudge, 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 offers 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 Veritas Assessor in her line of work. "Oh, I''m sure I can come up with something to occupy the long, dark hours," the Wind Tyrant 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 Nightmare Reaver 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 wasnt 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 Public Relations Bard 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.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. "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 Curators . . . " 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. Hes not our guy. What about the missing Senior Preservationist?" "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 Lowes eyes, there was no humour in her expression at all. I know you think youre 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 dont think Ive ever seen anything like it. And Ive 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 hadnt moved from the spot on the bed where hed 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 Kreggs heart leapt into his throat. He tried to move, to bolt upright, but his fractured limbs wouldnt 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 Kreggs breath hitched in his throat, recognition dawning in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a strangled croak. I didnt 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 Kreggs 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 Kreggs 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 figures 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 figures 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. Kreggs 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. Kreggs 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 71 - Dead Men Don’t Charm Mental Fortress was having all sorts of impacts on Lowe''s quality of life. Sure, twenty-four bells was a pretty small sample size from which to draw a conclusion, but he couldn''t ignore the fact his day-to-day existence was clearly going through some pretty significant changes since gaining the Skill. First up, for a passive ability, it was an absolute mana-hog. At a stroke, half of Lowe''s available pool was being constantly drawn away to reinforce the massive walls that had sprung up around his mind. Not that he was complaining, of course - even in just a day, he was already experiencing huge benefits from its protection - but without all the recent under-the-table boosts to his Intellect and Wisdom, he wouldn''t have a drop to spare for anything else. Because of said improvements, he''d moved away from partaking of Mylaf''s mana''s based consumables, but as soon as his MP dipped below 50% that evening, he''d asked her to focus on producing goodies that could help counteract that. It seemed that slurping down on a delightful banana and kiwi smoothie that gave him a flat 1000 mana on demand was thus just going to be a price he''d have to pay. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered whether Mental Fortress would be - what he was choosing to describe as - a Rank 2 Skill. It wasn''t just the insane mana demands - though there was no way anyone sub-Level 60 (or without a pet Legendary consumable producer) could even consider it as an option - but he had yet to come across anything that could so much as a put a dent into its defences. And that was the second massive change in his life. Because, suddenly, not a single mental Skill in Soar worked on him. None of them. Not the subtle brush of Munchies! from the guy hawking toasted nuts from a cart on the corner of his street. Not the Sinner''s Remorse from the Preacher bellowing about the benefits of worshipping one god or another from the front of the Celestial Temple. And not the overpowering sense of "look on my works ye worms and despair" that poured from every mighty fucker that passed him on the street. It was a remarkably liberating feeling to suddenly see the world of the Soar without any of the illusions whatsoever. "Is this how you feel all the time? To be able to see through all the lies?" he asked Arebella, as he escorted her to work the following morning. She had played her face at his White Knight routine but was snuggled happily against his arm as they approached the Tower of Law. "Not really," she said. "My Skills are all active and need to be focused on a target. From how you describe it, you''re pretty much experiencing the unvarnished nature of the world all the time." Arebella stopped and turned to face him. "I imagine it''s not actually a lot of fun, right?" That was kind of an understatement. Standing in the middle of the street, the world roiling around him, it felt like every single citizen of Soar was actively assaulting him. On the plus side, Mental Fortress was levelling up like a hamster in a wheel. On the other, though, it gave him a pretty bleak impression of the rest of humanity. He''d had no idea that the world was such a succession of lies, damned lies and showtunes. But now none of them affected him, it was making everything feel a touch . . . drab. They continued walking, Lowe trying not to be distracted by all the incidental strikes against his mind pinging off his shields. He was looking forward to catching up with Kregg this morning - the goon squad should be picking him up about now - and watching that smug fucker trying to Charm him with his weak-ass little Skills would be pretty entertaining. Although not as much as pushing his teeth down his throat. He hadn''t been able to sleep after reading the Public Relation Bard''s diary. "Well, this is me," Arebella said, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Unless you think something terrible is going to happen to me between here and my office door?" Lowe glanced up at the hulking presences of the Justicars guarding the entrance to the Tower of Law. He had it on pretty decent authority that they were not to be messed with - although Latham was clear he could take any two of them in a pinch - so he was pretty confident nothing Nuroon-inspired was likely to befall Arebella during work hours.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "Nah, it''s alright. I''m happy to leave you in the capable hands of these two. Hel will pick you up, though." "And you''re okay leaving me with someone who can, quite literally, sweep me off my feet?" "Hey, if you want to trade me in for a spicer model, I won''t make a big deal out of it. But you have to let me watch, okay?" Arebella batted him softly on the arm and started running up the steps. "Don''t let anything happen to my best girl, though, you hear? Or you''ll have me to answer to," Lowe called to the guards. One the Justicars, the shorter of the two - although, of course, these things were entirely relative. He was still bigger than most bears - put a sneer on his face and pulsed out a wave of Intimidation. The Skill crashed into Lowe''s Mental Fortress and evaporated away to nothing. He gave a cheeky little wink back. This didn''t do very much for cross-judiciary relations. "What the fuck are you winking at?" the Justicar said, stepping forward, pushing more Intimidation Lowe''s way. "Jana, this isn''t helpful. I work here!" Arebella said, turning around, hands on hips. "You hear what the lady said, gentlemen. Thus, in respect of her wishes, I wont be kicking your arses today. But take care of her, do you hear? Sighing, Arebella returned to walking up the stairs, muttering under her breath. As if he needed anything else to make him unjustifiably cocky. * Fortunately, though, Lowe still had people in his life capable of bringing him down to size. His boss, for example. How did someone as fucking dozy as you end up in a position of responsibility? Im sorry! Yes, well, apology not fucking accepted. I wasnt apologising, boss. I was expressing my confusion at all the shouting the minute I walk in the door!. Dozy. Fucker. Staffen leaned down and retrieved something from under her desk, which she then tossed to Lowe. Know what that is? Lowe caught the transparent bag of something gelatinous and squishy. Clear evidence as to why Im never coming to dinner at your house. I mean, what the fuck Commander? Is this your lunch? Hardly. Thats Kelvin Kregg. Lowe dropped the bag to the floor, where it landed with a heavy squelch. I dont understand. No. And thats because you are a . . . Staffen gestured with her hand for Lowe to supply the answer. A dozy fucker, boss? Precisely. Because, call me a bluff, old traditionalist, but when one of my Investigators comes into possession of evidence of epic sexual misconduct, I expect him to take care of business properly. After what I''ve read this morning, no one would care if that fucker had taken a long walk off a short tower, but liquifying him with necrotic slime is the sort of thing to cause comment. What? I didnt do this, boss! Staffen sniffed and leaned back in her chair. You saying this wasnt you? Of course not! Since when did I get a reputation for this sort of batshittery? Staffen looked at Lowe silently, questing out with First Impression. It wasnt - strictly speaking - one of her more powerful Skills, but shed always found it useful when getting a quick read as to whether someone was telling her the truth or not. She frowned as it bounced straight off Lowe. She tried again. Tell it to me straight, Inspector, did you kill him?" Even before Lowe emphatically shook his head, Staffen''s Skill had failed for a second time. Which was pretty unusual. A long and successful career as a Guardian of the Wall had given her access to considerable resources - most of which she had reinvested in her build. In fact, one of the reasons why Soar''s Mayor had been so keen to recall her to active service after the Commander Cenorth debacle was that - like or hate her - no one could deny Pernille Staffen was a monstrous powerhouse. Thus, having a Classless Level 25 bat away one of her techniques was fairly noteworthyand she guessed it gave her an excuse to bring out the big guns. "Inspector Lowe, do you deny any involvement in the murder of Kelvin Kregg?" she said, triggering Confession is Good for the Soul, her Legendary threshold reward from Blurian. Her patron god famously didn''t fuck around with niceties, and using this had been known to make hardened Level 50 Juggernauts break down in tears, spilling all their misdemeanours back to being toddlers. At the very least, the man in front of her should immediately start gibbering. At the worst, he''d probably fully stroke out, but she figured Lowe could take a little stay in the hospital after all the hassle he''d been causing her in the last few days. That he simply pulled a face and shrugged back at her was . . . unexpected. "Absolutely. He''s no good to me dead, is he?!" Lowe bent down and picked up the bag of goo. "Is this really all that was left of him?" Trying to hide her astonishment at this turn of events, Staffen looked away and shuffled papers around on her desk. "Yep. His front door was open, the place was trashed, blood everywhere, and this was all that lying on his bed. He''d been completely melted." "Just like the Curators?" "I don''t know, Inspector Lowe. But it would be simply lovely if you were to get the fuck out of here and ask that sort of question back at the museum. You know, before even more of their fucking staff are murdered?" Lowe, sensing the dismissal, stood, leaving what remained of Kregg on the arm of his seat. "And you are happy if I push it quite hard with the Director? He was pretty punchy when I last spoke to him." Staffen fixed Lowe with her best glare - irritated that he barely seemed to quail under its pressure. "Somehow, Inspector, I think you''ll cope." Lowe had barely set foot out of her office, before she was activating a Sending Stone - her own, personal one, not the one Cuckoo House provided - and speaking to someone with whom she had not connected for some time. "It''s me. Yes, sorry. I know it''s been a while. Yes. I know. I know. And I''m sorry. But can we put that aside for a moment. I need to run something by you. Can you meet me in the unusual place? Excellent. Yes, I''ll make it worth your while. Particularly if you bring everything you have on Essence Transmutation Theory." Chapter 72 - What the Curator saw Lowe''s afternoon at Soar Museum had been far from fruitful. The atmosphere, already tense after the deaths of two Curators and the vanishing of their Senior Preservationist, had taken a . . . turn following the recent, and rather spectacular, melting of Kelvin Kregg. By which was meant, of course, that the dusty corridors of exhibits now thrummed with a bizarre and almost festive air. In the shadow of that man''s death, the museum had found itself in the grip of a strange, electric joya sort of unrestrained celebration. There was talk, he noted in passing, of an open bar at the funeral. Classy. Lowe, taking a brief break from a succession of largely unprofitable interviews, wandered into the museum''s inner courtyard. He activated Grid View as he did so, flicking through the memories of the morning like a tired gambler rifling through losing bets. "I didn''t do it, but I''d shake the hand of whoever did." Over and over and over again. It struck him that it was more than a little unproductive to have had a man like Kregg in charge of public relations. Perhaps the museums Board hadnt noticed that having a PR lead who could double as a textbook example of a serial predator was, at best, counterintuitive. Surely, there was someone else in Soarsomeone not involved in bullying, abuse, and wide-scale harassmentwho could''ve done the job? But no, Kregg had been Nuroon''s choice. And that, in and of itself, was interesting, was it not? "Can I have a word, Inspector?" Lowe was pulled from his musings by a polite cough behind him. He turned, seeing a Curator hed spoken to the day before. Preece. A relic of a man, far too old to be among the fresh-faced recruits that populated the museum. More than that, Preece had the look of someone whod once been important. Lowe wondered at his story. "Of course," Lowe replied, though his tone was hardly encouraging. "Although, if you''re about to tell me how glad you are that Kreggs dead, can it wait a few minutes? Im finding the outright joy a touch wearing. And believe me, considering I read that fucker''s diary, Im as surprised at that as the next person." Preece''s face twitched as if caught between a grimace and a smile, then settled on an expression Lowe hadnt seen in yearsone that belonged to a different era, when emotions were bottled up, not vomited at every opportunity. It had looked as though the man might actually cry for a moment, but then he steeled himself, the flicker of vulnerability passing as quickly as it had appeared. "I was glad when he died." Lowe paused, his hand halfway to Preeces shoulder, and then thought better of it. The gesture might have been appropriate for a distraught young kid. To a teary peer, it felt . . . arch. Instead, he let his hand drop and studied the older man. Far too old to still be a Curator, surely? All of the others he had spoken to were in their early twenties. This guy was probably older than Lowe himself. "Mate, you''re hardly unique in that. Im amazed no ones choreographed a ''ding dong the handsy tosser is dead'' dance routine, to be honest. Trust me, theres no need to get upset about it." Preeces face crumpled again, then cleared as if hed decided something. "No, not Kregg. I doubt even his mother will mourn his passing. Im talking about Isadora." Lowe took a moment to shift gears. Isadora. The first Curator to die. Hed read the reports, though they hadnt been exceptionally detailedInspector Wyst had seen to that. Still, he remembered the basics: Isadora had been well-liked, or so it was said. But then again, people tended to remember the dead more fondly than they ever did the living. Looking at the storm of emotions swirling on Preece''s face, there was really only one question worth asking. "Curator Preece, is this a confession? Did you kill her?" "No, sir." "What about Curator Harker? Or Mr Kregg?" "No, sir." Lowe ground his teeth. This was like pulling teeth. "Okay. So why dont you tell me whats on your mind?" Preece hesitated, then, with a sigh, began to unravel his pathetic story. It hadnt seemed like stealing at the time. It had seemed like a miracle. Money was tight, especially since his career change, his wife was making all sorts of unreasonable demands, and most of his meagre salary was gone as soon as it came in. Then, at the end of an especially long shift, hed returned to his room and found one of the exhibits from the Ctholnic Exhibition in his pocket. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. It was just a small piece of polished stone. He must have absentmindedly put it there whilst cleaning the larger display. He didn''t know why, but he''d dropped into a pawn shop on the way home and had been astonished at the amount of gold that had been pressed hastily into his hand. That had been enough to get his wife off his back for a bit. "And how long ago was this?" Lowe thought he could see where this might be going. "Just over two months ago." "And how did Curator Isadora know you had taken the stone?" "She said that shed seen me on the street after our shift and happened to follow me into the pawnshop. Looking back, I''m not sure she didn''t plant the fucking thing on me in the first place, but I was too surprised at the time to know what to think. She''d bought the stone and replaced it, would you believe!" Lowe raised an eyebrow. "When did she first bring it up with you?" "A sevenday later." So the Curator had waited to reveal what she knew. Lowe wondered why. If she had dropped the stone in Preeces pocketobviously interested in seeing what hed doit suggested she might not have been the ''good girl'' Wysts reports painted her as. More so if shed then followed Preece home to see what hed do with his good fortune. And why hadnt she tackled him about it at once? "Was she blackmailing you?" Preece didnt answer, which, Lowe thought, was an answer all on its own. "Okay. So she was. What did she ask you to do?" Preece shuffled around, glancing back at the museum buildings as if they might offer him some protection. "It wasnt just me, you understand? Isadora was . . . she was good at getting people to do what she wanted. Harker will tell you . . . would tell you, I guess." Harker. The second Curator to have been melted with necrotic slime. Curiouser and curiouser. Instinctively, he believed what Preece was telling him, however why hadnt the man shared any of this with Inspector Wyst? Was there something about the later murders that had shaken it free? That had made him anxious to share this morning? Lowe wondered what the final straw waswas Preece fearing he might be next, or was something else at play? Lowe brought to mind what he had read about Curator Isadora in Wystssomewhat limitedreport. By all accounts, she had been a popular employee. No one had said anything about her being some sort of mastermind, a secret puppeteer controlling the museums staff from the shadows. If what Preece was hinting at here was accurate, Isadora had been a dangerous young woman. And bad things tended to happen to bad people. Waiting for a sevenday to reveal her knowledge of what Preece had done - until she could be reasonably sure that the money had been spent - was hardly what you did by accident. The girl had left Preece with no option but to do what she asked. He could scarcely claim then that he had given in to a sudden impulse, felt terrible about it and intended to return the money. It was a calculated move, one that spoke of a mind far more ruthless than her colleagues had described. "And Harker?" Lowe pressed, feeling the weight of the unanswered questions sprouting up all around them. Preece glanced around again, as if someone might be listening in. As well they might, Lowe thought. This was hardly the right setting for this sort of questioning, but he sensed Preece''s resolve to confess might not survive a trip to Cuckoo House. "She had something on him, too. I dont know what, but it was enough to make him do whatever she wanted. I think . . . I think she enjoyed it. The power. Isadora had this way of looking at you, like she knew exactly what you were thinking, and that she could crush you if she wanted. But the thing is, Harker wasn''t relieved when she was dead. It was like things had got worse. The night before . . . he died, he was falling apart. So much so, if you''d told me he''d killed himself, I would have believed it." "Yeah, not so much," Lowe said drily. "No one chooses to go out like that." The silence stretched between them. Preece was rattled, more so than Lowe had initially realised. With its corridors filled with artefacts of long-dead cultures, the museum seemed an odd place for such a sinister game to play out. But perhaps that was the pointIsadora had used the dust and decay as her cover, hiding whatever game she was up to behind the veneer of a dutiful employee. A Curator of secrets, as much as exhibits. "What about Kregg?" Lowe asked finally, curious to see where the thread might lead. Preece looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. "I dont know. She didnt need to blackmail him, not really. He . . . he was infatuated with her. Did whatever she asked, like a puppy following its master." Now, that was interesting. Kregg, the museums resident sexual predator, reduced to a lovesick fool by a woman more than half his age. Lowe could almost see itthe pathetic image of a man like Kregg bending over backwards to please someone who likely saw him as nothing more than a useful tool. Lowe shook his head slightly, a gesture more to himself than to Preece. This wasnt just about petty theft or even murderit was about control. And if there was one thing Lowe now understood about necrotic slime, it was that it was all about the control. It sounded like Isadora had been playing the museums staff like a finely tuned instrument, each note perfectly in place. But in the end, someone had cut the strings. "And Culloden? Was she involved in any of this? Did Isadora have anything on her?" Preece shook his head. "No, I don''t know anything about that." Lowe''s voice took on a harder edge. "Why didnt you tell Wyst any of this?" The man looked up, his eyes full of a weariness that seemed to come from a deeper place than just the events of the last few weeks. "Because I was scared, Inspector. Scared of what might happen if I did. Scared that she might still have some hold over me, even from beyond the grave." Preece gave a sad, resigned shrug, then turned to leave, his footsteps echoing across the courtyard. Lowe watched him go, his mind turning over the pieces of the puzzle that had just been handed to him. Isadoras shadow stretched longer than hed anticipated, her influence lingering in the museum like a ghost that refused to be laid to rest. He would have to dig deeper, but he had more than enough to chew on for now. Chapter 73 - Where the Walls Bleed 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 Curator 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 oversaw things 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 Estate Manager supervising a small group of Apprentice Labourers 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 Estate Manager 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 Apprentice Labourers 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 Masons 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 Verlicks 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 Apprentice Labourers watched, slack-jawed, as the stones they had placed settled back on the ground. Verlick spun around, his eyes narrowed. Im not your nanny, and this isnt a sandbox. Youre here to learn, so try fucking doing it the wall 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 torso, 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?"Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The apprentice dropped the brick in fright, narrowly missing the Estate Manager''s foot, but Verlick didnt even flinch. Instead, he activated Reinforced Foundations, sending a pulse of energy through the ground beneath the wall, stabilising the earth. Thats how its 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 Apprentice Labourers moved slower than molasses on a winters day, but they moved. Verlick turned back to Lowe but kept a sharp eye on their work, his Supervisors 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, youre here to build, not demolish. If I have to undo your mess again, Ill 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 Curators 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 Apprentice Labourers 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 Curator 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 Estate Manager at Soar Museum for the best part of twenty years. Nothing the Curators 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 Curator 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 74 - One Gone, Five Watching 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 Apprentice Labourers. "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 Estate Manager 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 and 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 conversation 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 dont make senseor, worse, things that do. Get in, then, he growled, dont dawdle. This isnt a fucking sightseeing tour. As the Estate Manager 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 instrumentsbrass compasses, astrolabes, and things that looked like they were probably used to explore something more like internal biologyglimmered faintly in the light. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. As Lowe leaned in, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the reflection, a shadow that wasnt 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. Verlick snorted. Dont 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 massacrefigures 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. Its 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 didnt 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 cant find a way to explain, Verlick said, 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 hed rather be anywhere else. Our Dreadnaughts. Or whats 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 entirelyarmoured 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 wasnt 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. Ones gone, Lowe said, more to himself than to Verlick. Aye, Verlick replied, his tone clipped. Awhile back now. And if youve got half a brain in that head of yours, youll start worrying about where its gone and what its planning. As I told the last Inspector, these things dont just wander off for some fresh air. Lowe couldnt 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 waitingpatiently, ominouslyfor its return. Chapter 75 - Streets Like Blades 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 scruplesa lady of the night whod 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 justlike 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 chestSoar mightve been the kind of woman who could make you forget yourself, but Lowe wasnt about to let her get back under his skin.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. 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 youd 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 musica 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 Sirens 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 wasnt a city to offer easy solace; shed 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 whod seen it all before and wasnt impressed. The cracks in their facades were evident in the mana lightwrinkles in the skin of a city that had long since stopped caring about appearances. Soar didnt 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. Skill: Mental Fortress available to progress to Rank 2 Do you wish to Proceed? 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. Do you wish to Proceed? "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. Rank 2 Skill: Mental Fortress allows selection of one of the following options:
  1. Reflective Barricade: Any mental assault directed at the Fortress is reflected back at the attacker, magnified by the strength of [Lowe''s] Willpower.
  2. 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.
  3. 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 76 - The Minds Edge "Yeah, there''s no fucking way you''re coming in here." Lowe tilted his head back, taking in the Temple Warder who loomed over him like a thundercloud given flesh. She wasnt quite ''Latham-big,'' but neither was she likely to be mistaken for a garden gnome. Her arms were crossed over her chest, biceps flexing against the confines of her uniform in a way that suggested they had their own opinions about his presence. "Why not?" he asked, managing to sound only mildly put out. "''Why not,'' he says," drawled the second Warder, leaning lazily against his halberd. He was older and his belly had long since declared independence from the rest of his physique. "What possible justification could there be for you being on the ''no entry'' list?" Lowe considered this. Off the top of his head, he could think of at least half a dozen reasons why he might not be the Celestial Temple''s favourite visitor. There was the murder of Gianna d''Avec, the late High Priestess of Gravalka case that, while technically solved, had left enough scorched earth behind to grow suspicion for a generation. Then there was that misunderstanding with the Harbinger of Oulian, which had ended in both literal and metaphorical fireworks. And, of course, the less said about his dealings with the Avatar of Blurian, the better. Still, he was pretty sure hed racked up enough goodwill with at least one of Soars gods during all of that to avoid outright excommunication. Or so he had thought. However, he was saved from further debate by the sudden, looming presence of Warder Latham appearing in the Temple doorway. "It''s okay, Ferok. I''ll take it from here." It was childish, but Lowe felt a little burst of pleasure as the other two Warders visibly quailed in Latham''s presence. Yeah, you better run, he thought as they retreated into the main building. That''s my mate, that is. "What the fuck are you doing here, little man?" It seemed the Warder was less delighted to see him than might have been hoped. "I told you to steer clear of this place until some of the bad feeling dies down." Lowe tried a ''what did I do'' gesture. "I stopped by your house first, but Hel said you were on the night shift. And it does seem pretty harsh to say I''m banned from this place!" "We''re still sweeping up the dematerialised ashes of supplicants murdered during your last visit. I''m not sure ''harsh'' is entirely justified." "Hang on. All of the deaths were hardly my fault!" "Little man, how about I explain this to you via the method of analogy? Say, for example, a man is being pursued by a ravenous tiger - a tiger, let''s make clear, that this man has gone out of his way to piss off royally - and, in the process of his escape, he leads said angry big cat into a crowded room whereby all of the occupants are torn to pieces allowing the man to escape. Now, how do you think the friends and relatives of the rendered and consumed will likely feel towards that man the next time he rocks up for a chinwag?" "Okay, so you have a point." "Indeed. I have a point. Come on, let''s see if we can get out of fireball range before a lower floor avatar decides to make a name for themselves." * Over eighteen muffins, ten bacon sandwiches and a vat of coffee, Lowe filled his friend in on developments, mainly focusing on what Verlick had shown him of the Dreadnaughts and the subsequent ''ranking up'' of his Mental Fortress. "Never heard of it," the Warder said, motioning for the Waitress to refresh his plates. "No," Lowe said, dropping yet another gold coin on the table. "By the way, at what stage did we decide it was my responsibility to pick up your tab?" "Oh, I don''t know. Probably somewhere in between the third or fourth time I saved your life? Or, it might have been around when you asked my ladyfriend - a very expensive and highly sought-after mercenary - to beat up a Public Relations Bard for you. A Bard who, it should be noted, has since been murdered, bringing all kinds of undesired heat her way. It''s likely to be one of them, I''d have thought." "Ladyfriend? What are you, an eighty-year-old maiden aunt?" "Fuck you, Lowe." They sat together in comfortable silence for a moment whilst Latham consumed his way through the last of the food. "How is your ''ladyfriend'', by the way? If it puts minds at ease, I haven''t seen any sign of her presence in Kregg''s apartment. And he was too badly melted for anything she did to him to show up to the Deathcaller. She obviously got in and out clean." "Well, some of us are professionals, little man, and others -" Latham looked around, searching for the Waitress who reappeared at a run with a new plate of pastries -"Ah, excellent!" "Others are . . . " "Largely only good for picking up the bill. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Your increasingly broken build. Talk me through again how this Skill initially appeared."A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Lowe did so, adding in what Hel beat out of Kregg. "Fucking necrotic slime. Can''t stand the stuff," the Warder said, swallowing a croissant whole. "No, I can''t say I''m much of a fan either." "Okay, so what do you have? Three deaths at the museum, a member of staff who went missing at the time of the second murder and necrotic slime everywhere." "And a missing nasty that got loose from its cage a few months before any of this happened," Lowe added. "And you''ve not only got a new Skill out of the whole thing, but it''s ''ranked up'' too. You know, as far as I can tell, if we''re looking at who benefits from this whole thing, you''re the only person coming out ahead. A less self-assured man might think he was being manipulated in some way . . . " Lowe shifted uncomfortably at that. His mind returned to the case that had first brought him into contact with Latham - he''d been used by the powers that be there, too. "Come on then," Latham said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Lets have a look at these rank up options." Lowe shared the notification with the Temple Warder, who leaned forward, his broad face tightening into a frown as he read. The silence stretched long enough to grow roots. "Do you need me to explain any of the longer words?" Lowe asked. "Fuck you, Lowe." "Just trying to be helpful." Latham dismissed the notification with a huff and leaned back. His expression grew thoughtful, a rare stillness settling over him. "Ive not come across anything like this before." Lowe opened his mouth to speak, but the Warder silenced him with a sharp gesture, his palm out like a barricade. "The appearance of a new Skill itself is strange enough. People dont just spontaneously gain Skills by tinkering with the ones theyve already got. But this has happened to you twice now, in less than a year." Lowe nodded, recalling the first time. Medic! had manifested after Hel''s friend had been hurt dragged him out of captivity, bleeding like a butcher''s apron. Hed barely thought about it at the time, but Medic! had branched from Roll with the Punches, hadn''t it? "If I were laying down gold on this," Latham continued, "Id bet its tied to you being Classless. Without a pre-set roadmap to follow, your progression seems a bit more . . . flexible." "Flexible?" Lowe repeated. "You know, stretchable. Like a blob," Latham said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. "Without a rigid mould to force your Skills into, your progression has more room towhats the wordshift? Reshape itself? Its like youre working with an amorphous ball of potential instead of a standard, cookie-cutter build." "And in this analogy, Im a blob, am I?" "A blob with potential. Dont knock it." Having spent more time than he might have hoped looking at melted, amorphous blobs of late, Lowe couldn''t help but think Latham''s choice of words was somewhat arch. "And you''ve never heard of anyone else doing this before?" "Little man, with the best will in the world, the life-expediency of Soar''s Classless is about as long as it takes to say ''XP Farming.'' If your old boss hadn''t been pushing to keep you around until you were a useful card to play, I doubt you''d have survived a week. Guys in your situation usually don''t live long enough to get a chance to manifest new Skills this way." Memories of the immediate aftermath of his Classtration tried to rise to the surface of Lowe''s mind, but he pushed them down. Now was, very much, not the time. "So, what, I might be able to develop more Skills?" Latham shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling like tectonic plates shifting. "No idea. Not a fucking clue, to be honest. But you''ve pulled it off twice now, and in quick succession. So, yeah, its not unreasonable to think it could happen again. Just dont let it go to your head." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his tone growing pointed. "The rest of us? Weve got Class perks and patron gods tossing Skills at us like its our nameday. You? Youre out here brewing up your own bespoke abilities from scratch, cobbling together what the rest of us get handed on a gilded platter. Sure, its impressivecool, evenbut dont start thinking youre going to make me lose sleep over the rise of some terrifying new powerhouse. Not yet, anyway." Lowe nodded at that. He would need to generate a whole host of Skills this way even to get close to the range of he had had at his disposal before . . . the incident. "But the rank up?" he asked, tentatively, oddly disappointed about the news thus far. "Ah, now that is more interesting. What''s your thinking on which to choose?" "I like the idea of the Reflective Barrier. As far as I can tell, just by opening my front door, I''m under constant mental assault. It would be nice to give a little back." Latham was shaking his head. "Oh, diddums! Are all the nasty men and women trying to influence your mind? Poor you. It''s almost like you''re living in a fucking modern age of grifters, charlatans and hustlers. What do you think will happen if you rank up with this bad boy?" "I don''t know, maybe people will learn to stop forcing their thoughts inside other people''s heads?" "Fucking hell, little man! Were you always this wet behind the ears?" Lowe was about to reply, but Latham raised his voice and continued. "I''ve got about nine - no, it''s ten - mental passives running right now. Most of them are versions of a common or garden ''I will fuck you up'' intimidation Skill, but there are a couple of others doing more subtle information gathering about the world around me. What do you think would happen if you start mentally slapping me about over coffee?" "I''d hurt you?" Lowe suggested. "Like fuck you would. Even with all the under-the-table bollocks you''ve got going on, I''m still so far above your level you should be licking my shoes for me deigning to speak to you without ripping your fucking arm off. No. You fucking wouldn''t hurt me. All that would happen is that, eventually, I''d realise what the irritating buzzing in my ears was and, if I was in a good mood, I might just restrict myself to putting you into a coma." Latham leant forward as he said that, which made Lowe realise that Level ?? didn''t just need mental passives to be intimidating. Yeah, Reflective Barriers tempting. Real tempting. But lets face it, youd end up turning Soar into a war zone every time someone gave you the hard sell. Thats fine for the little fishblow up a few con artists brains, put the fear of whatever into street-level griftersbut the big players? He tilted his head.Youd have your guts for garters before the ink dried on the incident reports. Lowe nodded, swirling the dregs of his drink and setting it down with a soft clink. So, not Reflective Barrier. That leaves two options. Which do you like? The Warders grin widened into something that was almost feral. He tapped the notification floating between them. Now, this is where it gets interesting Chapter 77 - Reflections in a Cracked Shield Latham surveyed the empty plates on the table. He was still working his way through what seemed like the last stack of buttered crumpets the Waitress had brought, and though his fingers were slick with grease, his expression was suddenly serious. Across from him, Lowe nursed a lukewarm cup of tea, untouched for a while now. The chatter of the coffee shop around themclinking cups, murmured conversations, the hiss of the steam wandprovided an oddly serene backdrop to the tension bubbling between them. If it wasn''t for the panic of their server, it might even have been restful. "The obvious choice," Latham continued between bites, his voice almost lost in the low hum of the room, "is Thought Amplification. You''ve got, especially for a Classless, pretty high Intelligence and Willpowerenough to make most people nervous. That upgrade can only add to it. In your job, with that freaky memory power of yours, it''d make you pretty fucking astute." Lowe raised an eyebrow, sensing the direction of the conversation as one might anticipate an approaching fist. "I''m sensing a ''but'' coming here" Latham paused, his giant hand reaching out to cradle a half-empty cup of coffee. He stared into it like a Diviner peering into the dregs of an ill-omened future. For a moment, Lowe wondered what the man was thinking. Whether the sudden introspection was due to the weight of his words or the sheer volume of food he''d consumed, Lowe couldnt tell. Finally, Latham looked up, his eyes sharp with an intensity that belied his casual tone. "For me, it''s all too perfect. I think you''re being played." Lowe blinked, the straightforward declaration taking him off guard. "What do you mean?" "Look, little man," Latham began, "I dont know a better way to put this, but everything you''ve told me thus far feels a bit too fucking coincidental for my liking. You''re on a case knee-deep in necrotic bloody slimeoceans of the stuff washing about, right? And thenoh, how convenientyour OP healing Skill suddenly evolves to block out mental attacks. Thats pretty fucking situationally useful, dont you think?" Lowe couldn''t argue with the logic. It was like Soar was handing him precisely what he needed, right when he needed it. "Okay" "And then," Latham continued, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as if the walls themselves had ears, "not only do you end up with this ridiculous new Skill that largely negates any and all mental attacks, but it then, almost immediately, ranks upwhich again, if anyone is keeping score, is more colossal bullshitand offers you three stupidly useful new upgrade abilities. And let''s not forget, the Council has expressly limited you to three Skills. So, not only have you broken through that barrier twice, but your newest fucking Skill can now become even more powerful." Lowe felt a pit forming in his stomach. The way Latham laid it all out made it sound pretty unlikely. "What are you saying?" "Im saying, little man," Latham replied, "that for someone who, famously, does not have a patron god, you''re getting offered some pretty nifty toys lately. And that brings me back to Thought Amplification." The Waitress appeared next to him, replacing his cup, which Latham downed in one gulp, his Adam''s apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Its the perfect upgrade for you, particularly in the middle of a case thats proving to be a bit of a stumper. Choose that, and Ill put my left ball on you being able to pick your way through whatever tangled web Grackle Nuroon is spinning down at the museum." "Sounds pretty good to me," Lowe said cautiously. "Yeah, it does, doesnt it? So why dont you be a good little pawn, pick it, and get on with doing the bidding of whoever is fucking dangling useful baubles in front of you?" Latham''s bluntness landed like a punch to the gut. And Lowe had plenty of context of that occurance to feel like the simile had merit. He let those words sink in, the implication gnawing at the back of his mind. "You think Im being manipulated?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Latham nodded, his expression grim. "Dont get me wrong, Thought Amplification would be a massively beneficial enhancement for you. Its just . . . too usefultoo coincidentally usefulright now. You get what Im saying, little man? This is Soar. No good deed goes unpunished, and no gift is entirely without strings." Lowe leaned back in his chair, the worn leather creaking under his weight. He took a deep breath, letting his eyes wander around the room as he processed Lathams words. The coffee shop was full of life, oblivious to the existential quandary unfolding at their table. The world of Soar outside the fogged-up windows carried on as usual, blissfully unaware of the cosmic chess game Latham suggested he was a piece in. He thought back over the last few days. Since being assigned to the museum case, his luck had indeed been uncanny. The appearance of Mental Fortress had the potential to be a game-changera seismic leap forward for him. Complete protection against mental attacks was invaluable, particularly in a city as treacherous as Soar. And now, to be offered Thought Amplification on top of that? Something that could push his mental faculties to new heights . . . It was everything he could ask for. It would make him formidable again, maybe even close to what he had been before the Classtration. But Latham''s words hung in the air like, coincidentally, the bitter scent of burnt coffee. The Waitress was back, swapping out cups and plates. Watching her low-level panic at being in the presence of such a powerful being, Lowe recognised her feelings of helplessness. He knew what it felt like to have everything stripped away, to be left with nothing but the hollow shell of what he once was. Despite all the gains he had made recently, the wounds of losing his Class had never fully healed, and the thought of going through it again was almost too much to bear. "I''m not going to belabour the point here, Jana," Latham said, his voice softer now, tinged with an uncharacteristic note of concern. "Ill say this once and leave it up to you. Youve had everything taken from you once, and most people dont bounce back from that. I doubt I would. But you did, and youre still here. I respect that. But Im worried that by hook or by crook, youre having all sorts of new goodies given to you that are just ripe for being taken off you at the worst possible moment. Do you remember what I told you in the Dungeon?" Lowe didnt need to trigger Grid View to recall the words. They were etched into his memory, a mantra repeated in the darkest hours. "Skills are temporary; Stats are forever." "Damn straight," Latham said, nodding with approval. "Youre a Level 25 with the stats of a Level 50. And youve achieved that without being artificially boosted by any god-given Skills. Thats solid, and itll only get better. And, crucially, they can never take it from you. You could be called in front of the Council tomorrow, and they could strip you of all your Skills, and youd still be in a decent place." Lowe wasnt so sure about that. "Without Roll with the Punches . . ." "Fuck it," Latham interjected, waving away the concern as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Its a nice healing Skill, but by the time youre Level 30with the various Threshold Bonuses you''ll pick up on the wayyoull have enough Progress Points to move at least Strength and maybe Constitution to Rank 2. At that point, youll be tanky enough that just with normal HP regeneration, youll make that Skill pretty redundant on a day-to-day basis. Sure, you''d still need it if I decided to kick your arse, but not against anyone close to a normal Level. So yeah, Thought Amplification would be awesome for you, butgiven enough timeit wont do anything for you that you wont be able to do yourself." The words were meant to be reassuring, but they had the opposite effect. Lowes thoughts drifted back to his post-Classtration cell, the cold emptiness of it, the way the world had felt like it was collapsing around him. Losing all but three of his Skills had been like losing a part of himself, and the idea that it could happen againthat his new powers could be ripped away just as he was beginning to feel whole againwas terrifying. "So Shared Bulwark then?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. "Put it another way," Latham said, standing up from the table and stretching his massive frame, "Ive always wondered what a few of the gods look like without all their glamours in place. Think of it as just scratching one of my itches as payback for all the times Ive saved your life!" Lowe watched as Latham prepared to leave, the Temple Warder''s presence as imposing as ever, even amid a crowded coffee shop. He knew that Latham was speaking from a place of genuine concern, but that didnt make the decision any easier. He felt the weight of it pressing down on him like an unseen hand, the choice between power and safety, between risking everything for the chance to be more than he was or playing it safe and potentially living with the regret of never knowing what could have been. As Latham pushed open the door and stepped out into the misty Soar afternoon, Lowe moved to follow him, not noticing - as he was deep in thought - the various eyes that tracked his progress and the hands that dropped into pockets to retrieve Sending Stones. Chapter 78 - No Glow, No Mercy "You going to do anything about all the gold blinking lights, little man?" Latham asked as the two of them made their way through Soar streets. "I mean, I''m no hot-shot Security Service Inspector, but I imagine there are probably all sorts of downsides to being quite so fucking noticeable." Lowe raised his hands, grimacing at the glowing manifestation of a still-yet-to-be-chosen Skill. "I don''t know how to switch it off without choosing the Skill, and I don''t want to do that yet." Latham sighed theatrically. "I''m going to get a migraine today, aren''t I?" "Look, not that I don''t appreciate all the help, but don''t you have some sort of day job you should be doing?" "No. Not at all. Temple Warders are famously louche, what with Soar''s gods being so chill and all." "In that case, please don''t let me keep you . . ." Latham reached down and cuffed Lowe on the back of the head. The blinking lights seemed to increase in intensity at the impact. "Look, ask me no questions, and I''ll tell you no lies. I am unwilling to either confirm or deny that a certain interested party would like me to ensure you don''t end up as a blob of liquifying goo." "A god has commanded you to protect me again? Fucking hell, Latham, I''m not sure about that! It didn''t work out so well for me last time, did it?" "Well, fuck you very much, little man. I have a distinct memory of going balls to the wall for you against an Advanced Class motherfucker. Maybe I won''t bother next time." Lowe shook his head. Or he may have been ducking in advance of another, teeth-jarring clout. It was undoubtedly one of the two. "I meant more that the gods taking an involvement in my life was hardly beneficial for my general wellbeing. Your protection was, of course, much appreciated. And you did get a ladyfriend out of it all, didn''t you?" "Okay, okay. No need to emote all over me." Latham suddenly stopped, turning around to face back the way they had just come. "I''m sure you all are just coming this way as a coincidence, right?" he bellowed down the street. There was a pause, as if the mass of bodies trailing them were momentarily stunned by the power of the giant''s voice, then people started to, slowly, pass by them. Lowe made to continue walking, but Latham reached out and grabbed him, holding him still. "We''ll let all these pass by, I think. Can you try to do something about the fucking glow? It''d be easier to move you covertly around Soar without, you know, you acting like a bloody lighthouse." "Are we being followed?" Lowe asked, trying to twist in Latham''s grip and look behind them. "No idea. I don''t have any sort of counterespionage Skills. Temple Warders are more your classic ''punch you in the face, ask questions later'' builds. But it never hurts to make them think you might do, though." "The ''them'' being . . . ?" "No fucking idea. But there''s been three murders and a disappearance at Grackle Nuroon''s museum, and you''re insisting on sticking your beak in. I don''t think I''m going to go out on a limb by assuming you''re being followed. Which, coincidentally, is much easier to do with you flashing gold. Sort it out, little man." Latham raised his voice again and pointed, entirely randomly, back up the street. "Come on, hurry up! I fucking see you skulking back there!" Lowe left Latham to his intimidation of random commuters and focused on the notifications that had sprung up around his new Skill. He wasn''t sure what was making him reluctant to choose one of the three options to evolve Mental Fortress. Any of them would be a significant improvement and, after Latham''s advice, he felt sure that the third was the most obvious thing to select. However, Lowe was bothered by the Temple Warder''s commentary around the coincidental nature of the way these upgrades had come about. Before the loss of his Class, Skills had come thick and fast to Lowe. He knew there might be a bit of rose-tinted glasses thinking going on, but looking back, it had felt like barely a week had passed without him passing some Threshold or other or picking up a useful reward for a well-done job. Indeed, he had been so overloaded with abilities that, when they were taken from him, he was sure there were a few he''d never actually used. Thus, the experience of suddenly developing new Skills was - rather than an alien feeling - rather like coming home. Latham''s advice that his good fortune might be all part of a plot he had become swept up into was profoundly disappointing. He knew it was a silly reaction, but - just for a little while - it had felt like he was back to business as usual. But no, Latham had punctured that dream. It seemed Lowe was back to being a pawn, and someone was throwing baubles his way to make him more useful in whatever game they were playing. And it wasn''t a role he was interested in taking up. He was not, he realised, going to pick an upgrade. At least, not yet. Fuck his hidden benefactor. The only time any of the powers-that-be in Soar wanted anything to do with him was when they planned on making his life harder than it needed to be. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. So, no, he wasn''t going to do what they wanted. But he did need to stop the glowing that indicated he had recently Skilled up. Latham was right; it was pretty noticeable. Do you wish to proceed? "No. Not yet. Can I pause the upgrade?" Lowe hazarded, feeling a touch foolish for speaking aloud to an unseen presence. There was a pause. Upgrade to Skill: Mental Fortress is to be rejected? "No. Well, I''m not sure. Maybe. I just don''t want to do it yet." Confirm rejection of upgrade to Skill: Mental Fortress? Well, no one could accuse his notification of lacking a single-minded focus. "What would happen if I rejected the upgrade?" "Just in case you were wondering, the addition of ''talking to yourself like a loon'' is adding to your noticeability quotient," Latham growled. "Any chance you could pick a lane?" "Hang on, I''m trying to sort out the glowing!" Restriction Breaker Title active. Redistribution of Skill: Mental Fortress upgrade possible. Do you wish to proceed? "Latham? It''s letting me ''redistribute'' the upgrade rather than accepting one of those three options. Should I go for it?" "Little man, I have no idea what ''it'' is, much less what ''redistribution'' might mean. Why, what are you thinking?" "Not sure I am." For several long moments, Lowe hesitated. There was being an independent maverick, refusing help from shadowy sources, and then there was not only looking a gift horse in the mouth but climbing all the way down its throat and setting up home in its stomach. Somebody wanted to give him a shiny evolution to Mental Fortress, and he was planning to not only reject it but also strip it down for parts? That seemed a tad ungrateful, no? But, then again, no one asked him if he wanted it in the first place. "Yes, I wish to proceed." This led to a flurry of activity in his notifications Upgrade to Skill: Mental Fortress rejected. Boost of equivalent gains to focus on both primary and secondary attributes active:
  1. Primary Attributes:
  1. Secondary Attributes:
  1. Special Stat Buffs:
Lowe staggered as the change took place. Latham reached out and steadied him. "Well, the glowing has stopped. You did it then?" "I think so." "Fuck me. I hope it was worth it!" Lowe shared his stat screen with the Temple Warder Name: Jana Lowe Level: 25 Class: ***Removed*** Primary Attributes: - Strength: 120 - Dexterity: 90 - Intelligence: 295 (+30) - Wisdom: 238 (+20) - Charisma: 60 - Constitution: 75 Secondary Attributes: - Perception: 95 (+15) - Willpower: 99 (+25) - Luck:** 63 (+5) 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 32
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 27
Records events with perfect recall of details. - Mana Cost: 50% of total MP. - Cooldown: None.
  1. Slugger(Active) - Rare - Level 23
Next melee attack deals triple damage. - Cooldown: 10 minutes.
  1. Medic!(Active) - Rare - Level 12
Heal a companion at a 2:1 MP to HP ratio. - Cooldown: None.
  1. Mental Fortress(Passive) - Legendary - Level 50 (Rank Up Rejected - balanced stat bonuses granted in place of upgrade.)
*** Skill slots 4 and upwards are blocked as per Council decree *** Latham whistled. "Yeah, that''ll do, little man. That''ll do." Chapter 79 - What They Left Behind It turned out that having a glowering Temple Warder standing behind you when you were conducting interviews significantly increased the quality of answers museum employees were prepared to give. Whereas before, there had been a sullen, resentful taciturnity in response to his questions, the various Curators, Gallery Attendants, and Conservation Technicians Lowe reinterviewed now had all manner of observations to offer. None of it was especially helpful to his investigation, but at least they had opened up somewhat. What can I say, little man? Im a nice guy. People instinctively feel the need to tell me things. Lowe wasn''t sure about that. Although it might well have been the Warders winning personality loosening tongues a touch, he wasn''t sure that told the whole story. Or maybe it was the Warder''s habit of drawing his sword and looking at it affectionately when there was some hesitancy in their answers. Either way, his presence was proving to be effective. The Warder''s narrowed eyes could sweet-talk a confession out of a rock if it didnt crack from the pressure first. When they had returned to Soar Museum, Lowe had passed off Lathams presence as a "consultant" to the disinterested Level 14 Unaffiliated Security at the front gate. Mind you, as the spotty youth manning the post didnt even lift his head from his scroll, Lowe didn''t think the subterfuge was worth it. He thought the lad barely looked old enough to be trusted with a whetstone, let alone security for an entire museum. He would have expectedthree murders and a vanishing inthere would be a ramping up of protective measures. Maybe a ward or two, at least an angry guard dog with a taste for intruders. Instead, they were greeted with a wave so indifferent it could have been a light breeze. Lowe wasnt sure if that lack of concern was a good sign. Perhaps Nuroon had nothing to hide, or maybe it was just another display of the Director''s overbearing arrogance. A man with too much to hide often compensates by acting like theres nothing to find. Thats the thing about arrogant menthey always think theyre clever enough to keep everyone else in the dark. Three bells of interviews later, Lowe was feeling the weight of tedium pressing down on him. As helpful as the museum employees were now being, none of what they had to tell him was particularly useful. And under Latham''s glare, they were now enthusiastic in their unhelpfulness, a feat of human nature Lowe had never quite appreciated until this moment. Fear was a fantastic motivator, but it didnt necessarily improve quality. Lowe had been interested in testing his newly allocated stat boostsnothing like a murder investigation to put those to usebut so far, nothing glaringly new had popped up. It was all the same script: "We dont know anything. We saw nothing. It mustve been Martha Culloden." It was like being trapped in a room with a malfunctioning echo charm. If any of them had thoughts as to why a hitherto meek and mild Senior Preservationist - a middle-aged woman with no history of serial sociopathy - had suddenly gone off on a whole-scale slaughter-fest, none of them felt able to offer it. What about Harker? Did he seem off the night he died? Lowe asked, for the umpteenth time, over and over again, hoping for a shift in the wind. No, sir, Curator Harker seemed his usual self, came the predictable, dreary replies, multiplied across a variety of faces as dull as their answers. When the last of the scheduled interviewees had left, Lowe had turned to the Warder. They must save their creativity for exhibit displays. Sounds like Nuroon has them well drilled.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Latham gave a smile at that. Short of asking them outright if they thought Harker might have known his murderer, you couldnt have put it much plainer. They had every opportunity to offer alternative theories, but they seem pretty settled that this woman is the big bad. They don''t know why, of course, but they seem happy to throw her - on mass - to the sharks. No one who works here has got ideas of their own? At least theyre consistent with the various timelines, Lowe said. I dont for a moment believe Martha Culloden is behind all this, but... well, all the evidence does suggest shes the most likely suspect. And she''s been off grid ever sinceduring which time someone whacked Kregg. It''s not going to be easy to convince anyone she isn''t at the heart of this. Especially now she''s gone missing herself. Convenient, really. Convenient doesnt murder people, Latham replied. But it sure makes for an easy case for the powers-that-be to wrap everything up nice and tight. Nothing to see here. Just a little workplace snafu. Still, its odd. No one heres even remotely interested in why the blasted woman might have gone on a killing spree. Most folk who go around massacring their colleagues at least have some sort of personal vendetta to work out. Here, theyre shrugging it off like its a blip in payroll. And why necrotic slime? There are easier ways to earn XP if that''s what is at the heart of it all. And why wipe out Kregg after the other two? Lowe leaned back in his chair, frowning at the thought. Im sure someone here must know more than theyre saying, but with the memory wipe around the events that led to Isadoras death and the way everyones closed ranks around Harkers death, its like were looking at shadows on a foggy night. If it weren''t for Preece and Verlick hinting that something more is happening, I''d think we needed to close the whole thing down. And I''m not sure their motives in speaking to me are all that pure, either. Latham raised an eyebrow. So were chasing ghosts again, are we?" Lowe smiled at the big man''s use of ''we'' in that sentence. He hadn''t realised how much he had missed having the Temple Warder about to bounce ideas off. Throughout his career, he''d never put too much truck with working with partners, but he was beginning to see the point. And it wasn''t just not having to worry that someone was going to randomly kick his arse. It was nice to be able to speak aloud and have someone answer. Not ghosts, exactly, he replied, but I''m certainly wondering how much the missing Dreadnaught might be involved. Lowe stood and began pacing the small room, pulling threads and snatches of statements from Grid View as he did so. He felt doing this was a little easier since his upgrades. It still wasn''t quite to the level of insight he was able to reach before his Classtration, but he was definitely within touching distance. A broad smile broke out on his face at that thought. Yeah, fuck you, Council of grey faces. How do you like me now? Okay. Lets break this all down a little. Weve got three deaths, but something is telling me the first is the key. Considering all the upgrades I''ve recently had, I''m comfortable going with my gut here. The death of Isadora is the only one anyone has tried to do anything to properly hide. The night she vanished, Harker was left as a blob of rotting flesh in Cullodens office. And then Kregg was murdered in his own room just after hed spiked me with necrotic slime. Someone wants us to read more into those events than I think is there. Lets put those two aside for the moment. I think well need to reconstruct what happened around Curator Isadoras death if we want any hope of shaking something loose about why the later murders were needed. You never know; maybe reconstructing what happened a month back will break through someone''s memory wipe. Ive heard that such things can happen. Well, with that boost to your Luck, little man, you never know. Lowe grinned again, though it was a touch thin this time. Hed rather not rely on Luck to solve murder cases. If he had little trust for gods, he had even less for a stat that seemed to have little or no impact on his daily existence. We can start with what Wyst pulled together about the day the sarcophagus was opened, along with Lants notes on the injuries to the girl. Its not exactly an ideal way to reconstruct a scene, but its a start. Hey, as long as you dont end up with another corpse to add to the exhibit, I suppose itll be worth it. Latham opened the door for Lowe, checking the corridor beyond. It was empty. The museum was quiet in a way that only places filled with the past can beechoing with the silence of things long gone. And maybe, just maybe, the sound of someone preparing their next step to keep their crimes hidden from notice. This bloody place does seem to be touched with ill luck, Latham added, but I doubt the killer will have another go while were around. That, as it turned out, was a remarkably unprophetic remark. Chapter 80 - Silent Witnesses Karolen tilted her head, tryingyet againto get a read on the somewhat crumpled man issuing orders in front of her. In the unforgiving light of the earning morning sun, Lowe had the look of a man who had lived too many lives on too little sleep. He seemed to generate his own cloud of weariness, like hed been born tired and just kept going out of sheer spite. And, beyond that, he just looked liked he needed a good wash. Arebella always maintained that her boyfriend had "hidden depths," but Karolen had never seen it. Maybe it was because Arebella had a soft spot for men who looked like they might collapse under the weight of their melancholy, or perhaps it was a quirk of her friends unending optimism. After all, this was the same Arebella who had once believed in the redeeming qualities of a Necromancer with "a lovely smile." For someone with a Class that could see unfailingly to the truth, her friend had terrible taste in men. Ever since their first day together at school, Arebella had the reputation of taking home every waif and stray shed encountered, like a walking Guild for Broken People. Their little friendship group had hoped she''d eventually outgrow it before getting her heartbroken. However, she''d graduated from lost kittens and birds with broken wings to full-grown men who seemed to attract trouble like flies to honeycase in point: Jana Lowe. "And this was how it looked when you came into the Great Hall, was it?" Lowe said, turning to face her, eyebrows raised like punctuation marks at the end of a question he wasnt sure he believed. Karolen didnt immediately answer. Not because she didnt know what to sayoh, she had plenty to saybut because she was currently weighing the merits of slapping him versus just walking out and pretending this whole charade was not happening. For one, her firm was less than thrilled shed been pulled off her latest assignment to attend this little farce. Reliving a scene that had been, to say the least, a professional embarrassment wasn''t high on her list of things to do today. Actually, it wasnt even on the list. It wasnt anywhere near the list. It was somewhere far beyond the horizon of lists, in the dark realm of "things best forgotten." Whilst none of the Partners had been gauche enough to outright suggest accusing Director Nuroon of complicity in a massive cover-up was unwise, it was clear the prevailing opinion leaned towards not accusing ones clients of murder if it could at all be helped. They hadnt even let her finish her audit. The excuse? Trauma. Because apparently, when one witnesses something truly horrifying, the best course of action is to shove the inconvenient employee into a quiet corner and hope the problem sorts itself out. Especially if said witness was a terribly fragile member of the female persuasion. Shed been patronisingly replaced before shed even had the chance to file her initial findings. As if that wasnt insult enough, the Museums accounts had been accepted without alteration, and no further audit was scheduled. To top it all off, Liando Verlan had blocked her Sending Stone. When the Chair of the Museum Trustees starts ghosting you, its a fairly solid sign that everyone involved wants to forget the whole sordid affair. It was the kind of thing that would give anyone the urge to throw in the towelor, in Karolens case, the urge to throw a punch at a childhood friend''s reignited flame. So yes, she felt quite justified in not immediately answering Lowes question. She had a rapidly growing suspicion that whatever Lowe was up to here, it wasnt going to end well for her. Or anyone, for that matter. "Auditor Mehin?" Lowe prompted, his voice dry enough to suck the moisture from the air. Karloen triggered one of her memory skills, pulling up a mental image of the layout of the Great Hall as it had been that day. The problem with memory skills, though, is theyre often too accurate. Every detail was etched in her mind: the smell of ancient stone, the cold draft that never quite left the room, the eerie silence just before everything went wrong. As the only person present who hadnt wiped their memory, she could understand why Arebellas boyfriend had insisted she be here. But that didnt mean she had to like it. Not at all. She scanned the room, her eyes flicking to the older man standing next to a sarcophagus, flanked by two Security Service personnel playing the parts of the dead Curators. Although now she thought of it, maybe someone else could be more reliable in their recall . . .If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Not quite," Karloen said, pointing to the sarcophagus lid suspended in the air, covered in ropes that looked a bit too flimsy for the job. In fact, the whole thing looked more like an elaborate prank than a reenactment of a tragedy. "That wasnt like that when we arrived. The Curators had only just broken the seal." Lowe frowned and turned to Felicitous Gral, performing the dual position of legal advisor and stand-in Grackle Nuroon in todays charade, as the Director had called it earlier. Gral, true to form, was managing to play both roles with the minimum amount of effort. If there was a Threshold reward for looking bored while being professionally insufferable, Gral wouldve had more Progress Points than anyone in Soar. "The report I have says the lid was already in the air when the Director and Auditor Mehin entered the Great Hall," Lowe said. Gral barely moved, managing to shrug without disturbing even his tie. "I am working from the same report, Inspector. Let me remind you, I was not here. Andthe young lady apartno one who was present can remember what occurred. Whether the lid was already in the air or not seems a peculiarly pointless thing to become hung up on, as it were. Especially as, within moments, it will be crashing to the ground with . . . unfortunate side effects." "Unfortunate side effects," Karolen said to herself. Right. Thats what they were calling it these days. The way Gral said it, youd think someone had accidentally spilt tea on a carpet rather than . . . well, a violent death. Lowe frowned and indicated that the lid should be lowered onto the sarcophagus. "This is a reenactment. The whole point is that we actually re-enact what took place, not just live out whatever version of the truth Nuroon sold to his insurers. So, the lid was in place?" Karolen nodded. "Yes, the, erm, older gentleman there was just prising it open when the Director noticed. The other two Curators were stood on either side. Thats when the Director, myself, Bard Kregg, and the Senior Preservationist arrived." "And where was everyone else?" Lowe asked, pacing as if he wanted to shake the truth out of someone. Anyone. Karolen closed her eyes, getting a sense of the room as it had been. Unlike what she understood from Arebella about Lowes Grid View, she didnt have an instant visual recall of events, but more of a spatial awareness, a sense of how resources had been allocated. "Most of the others here were on the outskirts of the Hall. They were not really paying attention to the exhibit. At least, not until the Director began shouting." "A rather loaded term, my dear," Gral interrupted, clearing his throat in an expensive way. "I think it would be better to note that the Director was eager to ensure Health and Safety protocols were followed. Indeed, had Director Nuroon arrived earlier, any loss of life might likely have been avoided." "Even though the lid was down and only raised in his presence?" Lowe asked, eyes sparkling mischievously for the first time that morning. In that, Karolen caught a glimmer of wit there, the kind that made her understand what Arebella saw in him. Gral smiled thinly in response. "A minor detail, Inspector." "Okay," Lowe clapped his hands together, shooing the various Curators to the edges of the Hall like a ringmaster herding reluctant circus animals. "So, this is the scene. We have you three attempting to open the sarcophagus, no one else is particularly interested, and then the big cheeses enter on their grand tour. What happened next?" "The Director was... unhappy to see the seal being broken." "Without appropriate safety procedures in place, no doubt," Gral muttered, more to himself than anyone else. For some reason, the lawyers tone rubbed Karolen the wrong way, irritating her into saying more than she''d planned. "Actually, after his initial anger, he seemed more interested than annoyed. After bawling out the three Curators, he wanted to see what theyd found. That was when the other woman" "Senior Preservationist Culloden, who is currently on the run from the Security Services on suspicion of the murder of Curator Harker and Public Relations Bard Kregg?" Gral asked, his tone mild, almost bored. "Yes. Her. Well, she used a Skill to raise the lid, at which stage the ropes were used to secure it." "Oh. Martha Culloden raised the stone, did she?" Gral raised an eyebrow. "Well, that is most interesting. Inspector, do you not find it intriguing that a woman now suspected of two murders was the one who raised the stone? A stone which, I should remind you, would soon crash down and crush a poor Curator to her death. This doesn''t sound like an accident to me." Lowes frown deepened, clearly unimpressed with Grals theatrics. "Perhaps, but" "And," Gral continued as though Lowe hadnt spoken, "was it not the Senior Preservationist who insisted all museum employees wipe their memories via Clean the Canvas, Ms Mehin?" Karolen bit back her annoyance at his failure to use her title. "Yes, she was the one who told the Curators it was expected, but she was only delivering the Director''s orders." "Although, of course, we only have her word for that, dont we?" Grals smile was infuriatingly smug. "You didnt hear the Director tell her that, did you?" Karolen shook her head slightly, wishing she could disappear into the floor. "My apologies for belabouring the point, Ms Mehin," Gral pressed on, "but can you confirm that it was Martha Culloden whose Skill raised the sarcophagus stone, that she ordered Curator Isadora to climb inside, shortly beforewhat?her Skill failed, bringing the lid crashing down on the poor girl, and then commanded all museum employees to wipe their memories to cover up her crime?" It was at this point Karolen lost her temper. "I think youre forgetting the part where the girl was melted to death before the lid fell!" Things were quiet for a bit after that. Chapter 81 - What the Armour Consumes Lowe didnt know why, but hed never quite hit it off with any of Arebellas friends. Well, that wasnt 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 lifeback when he was young and foolishwhen he hadnt 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 personality these days. He sensed he could search his Grid View for the rest of his life but still never found it. Karolen wasnt quite the scariest of the packat least shed acknowledged his existence since his Classtrationbut even if he hadnt known the devastating carnage a pissed-off Auditor was capable of, he still wouldnt 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 Curator Isadora had met her untimely end. So, reluctantly, Lowe had called in a few favourshe preferred to think of it that way, rather than admitting hed asked his girlfriend to help him outand had thus found himself met by a very irate Auditor at the gates of Soar Museum on this bright and shining morning. However, now, standing in the chilly, echoing expanse of the Great Hall, Lowe was glad he had. For his part, Gral seemed determined to turn Karolens 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 thats 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. Are you calling me a liar? Karolen said back.. No, not at all. Grals 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 Im sure youre well aware. Ive read several studies that suggest high-stress situations can distort the perception of reality? Right, because, of course, us silly little girls tend to overreact in high-stress situations! Lowe winced. He didnt 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. There were surely easier ways to sabotage this re-enactment than annoying an Auditor primed to explode. Gral continued in using his conversational shovel. I would never imply such a thing, Ms. Mehin. Im 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. Karolens eyes flashed at that. No one else remembers the event because someone had everyone wipe their memories. Convenient, isnt it? Lets 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. Thats an exceptionally colourful description, my dear, but not one supported by the official autopsy conducted by Deathcaller Lant. Lowe felt the tension crackle like an Elemental Mage at a light show. Karolen wasnt just angryshe was livid, and Grals 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 Curator was melted. Now, if we explore that, it is an intriguing word choice. Are you talking about some form of magical reaction? Or perhaps You werent there. You didnt 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 everyones 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 couldnt blame him. If the Auditor got any angrier, hed 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 didnt wipe my memory, Preeces 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! Karolens voice raised several octaves. Gral, for once, said nothing, though Lowe could see the faintest flicker of surprise on the lawyers face. I . . . I didnt 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 didnt go through with it.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. 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. The fact that there was someone else who had managed to avoid the memory wipe, who had info on the first death changed everything. 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 couldnt bring myself to forget. Not when . . . not after what I saw. Lowe watched Karolens 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 Curator hesitated, his gaze flicking between Lowe, Karolen, and Gral, before settling back on Karolen. I . . . I saw Isadora. 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 couldnt help himself. And did you see what ate her? Preeces 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 didnt you come forward with this information sooner? Why wait until now to make this revelation? Preeces gaze flicked to Gral, and for the first time, Lowe saw something else in his expressionguilt. I didnt want to remember, Preece admitted. But then I found that I couldnt forget. The confession hung in the air like the heavy scent of something rotten, and Lowe didnt miss the flicker of fear that darted through the mans eyes. It wasnt just that he hadnt wiped his memorythere 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 couldnt 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 didnt want to remember, yet you chose not to go through with the wipe. Thats a rather significant decision to make, dont 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 peoplehow to find a way to get them talkingand she wasnt about to let Gral bully the Curator into silence. Whatever Preece had seen, it was more than just Isadoras death. She triggered a Skill that kept its target calm. This was always useful during especially difficult audits. Curator, you dont have to protect anyone anymore. If you know something, its time to tell us. You saw what happened to Isadora 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. Lowes breath caught in his throat. Armour? That was new. His Grid View flickered, trying to make sense of the new information, but the connections didnt 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 wasnt 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 dont think she told the Director, though. Lowes pulse quickened, but it was the Auditor who spoke first. What was inside? Preece looked at the floor, his voice shaking. A Dreadnaughts armour. Gral''s expression hardened, obviously wishing the Director was here to deal with these revelations. Youre saying that you and these other Curators, the ones that have died, opened a sarcophagus containing the armour of 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 didnt know what it was at first. It was Martha . . . Senior Preservationist Culloden who told us it was important. She was very excited." And the Curator who died? Lowe''s voice was sharp, cutting through the rising dread in the room. What happened to her? Preeces 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 Isadora made contact, something happened. The armour... reacted. It expanded, covering her in some sort of slime and began feeding. So, Isadora didnt die from the stone falling on her. She was already dead before that? There was a sense of finality to Karolens 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 Isadora was dead long before it crushed her. The armour . . . 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 Isadoras 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 Isadora died. But I don''t know what happened to him. It could have been the armour, I suppose." Grals 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 the armour 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 didnt tell us, but I could tell. She was excited. She wanted us to wake them up. Lowe exchanged a glance with Karolen. This wasnt 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. Karolens gaze shifted, her eyes narrowing. No idea. But we need to find out. Chapter 82 - Control the Pieces, Ignore the Noise 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 shed miscalculated with that damn audit. His smirk came and then it was gone. Like an assassin''s blade in the press of a busy street. Had Verlan really thought shed be rid of him with such a simple gambit? That sending an Auditor 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 Auditor had overplayed her hand all but accusing him of complicity in that Curator''s death - she''d neutralised herself. That was Verlans 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 loyaltyif 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 sixthChair 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! Hed 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 hisevery 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 menthey 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 messan annoyance, more than anythinga distraction from his actual work. But what did it matter? Dead Curators and missing Preservationists were hardly worth losing sleep over. They were replaceable. Names on a ledger, dust in the wind. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. And as for Kregg . . . Nuroons lip curled. Well, he was perhaps more of a loss. Hed hated the man from the moment theyd met. Smarmy, lecherous, always whispering in the ears of anyone who would listen. The Public Relations Bard was a predator, and Nuroon knew it. Hed 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. Kreggs death left a hole in his operations, and that, at this precise moment, was . . . irritating. The man had been a useful shield, and Nuroon didnt like feeling exposed. He wouldnt admit it, not even to himself, but there was a part of him that felt uneasy without the Bards 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 ghostsvoices from the corridors, from rooms he couldnt see. Lowes 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 wasnt 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 didnt 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 didnt 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. Hed built his career on that understanding. You didnt have to be the strongest or the smartestjust the one who knew how to move the pieces. And hed moved plenty over the years. Trustees, donors, politicians . . . they were all just pieces. Some were useful, some werent. 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 hadnt said anything directlyyetbut he could sense it. Smell it, like rot beneath fresh paint. Theyd 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, theyd 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. Hed have to move fast. Hed need a replacement for Kregg, someone who could keep the lid on the whole affair while the dust settled. And hed need to deal with Lowe. His thoughts drifted back to the murders. It wasnt just Kregg, of course. Two others had died, Curators who had worked closely with the absent Senior Preservationist. Lowe had latched onto that connection, insisting she was the key to the whole mess. Nuroon didnt buy it. Culloden was eccentric, obsessive even, but she wasnt a killer. He didnt 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 wasnt essential to the museums 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 artefactsdemanding 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; hed 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, hed 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 didnt 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 83 - The Shifting of Soar Latham wasnt 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 didnt 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 didnt 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 didnt 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 Lathams feet, the stone of the cobbles vibrating with a low, ominous groan. His eyes snapped to the gates of the museum. It wasnt just shakingit 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 attentiona ripple of dark energy more violent than even the tempest she was travelling in. Hels dipped lower, eyes locking onto the source. Soar Museum. It wasnt just shaking; it was bleeding. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Walls rippled, twisted, and then burst - literally burst - open. A scream of stone and earth tore through the air, deafening even from her altitude. Hels 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 museums 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 didnt 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. Shed 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 stonesometimes 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 wasnt 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 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 didnt 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. Im 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 Arkolas 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 84 - Dungeon Etiquette "Don''t move!" Lowe slowly returned to consciousness at the sound of that voice. He thought he recognised it, but it was pretty early in the whole ''waking up'' process to be sure. Still, he was long enough in the tooth to recognise that following such a command was usually good business sense. It got him punched in the mouth much less, for example. Nevertheless, on this occasion, he did not think it was delivered as an order that would be backed up with physical violence if he failed to listen, so much as an urgent warning of which it would be sensible to take heed. What had happened? He was at the museum, wasn''t he? They had been running through a re-enactment of what had occurred the day Curator Isadora had been killed. Yes. That was right. Arebella''s friend was just giving the smarmy lawyer what for with both barrels when . . . something had changed. Doing his best to stay perfectly still, Lowe''s eyes darted around him. Yes, he was still in the Great Hall of the museum. Well, a version of the Great Hall that had been redecorated by a madman with a fire and brimstone fetish. Had there been an explosion? Lowe didn''t think there could have been. His mana pool was full, which suggested that Roll with the Punches hadn''t been needed to stick him back together again. But there was an awful lot of devastation lying around . . . "I think we''re the first to wake up," the voice said again. It came from behind Lowe, so he couldn''t see the speaker without turning around. However, now that he was a touch more with it, he thought he had recognised the speaker. "Preece, is that you? Are you okay?" "Yep," the Curator confirmed. "Living the dream." "What''s going on?" "Well, I have two theories," Preece continued. "The first is that I''m still in bed and, for whatever reason, my psyche has decided to inflict a particularly specific nightmare on me." "Okay, well, as I''m pretty sure I''m not a figment of your imagination, shall we put a pin in that one? What''s your other thought?" "That a Dungeon has spontaneously formed around us, and it''s sat there, waiting for us to move and trigger it so that the fucking giant spider hovering just above us can swoop down and feast on our still shrieking corpses." There was a pause. "So, I''m rooting for this being a nightmare then." "Me too, Mr Lowe. Me too." * Lowe didn''t have an awful lot of experience in Dungeons. In fact, other than being boosted through the one in Soar''s undercity, he had no context whatsoever for what was occurring. He did remember, though, that Latham had made a big deal about not doing anything to trigger the Dungeon to begin before they were ready. Unfortunately, in the last few minutes, it seemed that several other members of the re-enactment group hadn''t got that memo . . . "Interesting," Preece said once all the frenzy of activity had come to an abrupt end. "I mean, sure. If you find visceral, appalling death ''interesting'', then that was really, really, really interesting. Mind you, if that''s your reaction to what has just happened to a bunch of your colleagues, I''m going to be moving you quite a bit higher in the murder suspect pool . . . " "No, what I mean is that it is interesting is that all those guys running for the exit seemed to do so within their own instance. The Dungeon didn''t start for us." "And that''s unusual?" "Very. This Dungeon isn''t treating all of us as being in one giant party. It''s creating separate versions of itself for a fresh run each time someone starts it. I mean, I''ve heard that''s possible, but I''ve never seen it happen. Mind you, I''ve never witnessed a Dungeon spontaneously generate before, so I think my expertise is pretty limited here."This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "I don''t know about that, mate; you''re seeming pretty fucking well informed from where I''m stood." There was a scream as the two members of the Security Services, who''d figured they wanted out of this situation and fast, met a grisly end in the Hall''s shadows. Lowe winced. Staffen was going to have his guts for garters over losing those two. Providing, of course, he made it out of here with his guts intact. That wasn''t seeming too likely right now. "Wasn''t always a Curator, sir." Well, that answered a few questions Lowe had about the older man: his only being Level 14 if he''d reset his Class made much more sense. "Do a lot of delving in your time, Preece?" "Sure. Some people might even have described me as pretty hot stuff, once upon a time. Wife didn''t like it, though. After I got all torn up by Werewolf, she made me promise I''d never make another run and that I''d find a safer job. To tell the truth, I wasn''t missing it too much until about half a bell ago. Now, though, all my old gear and Skills would be just the ticket." A soft ping echoed in Lowe''s mind, and a Party Up? notification appeared in the corner of his vision. "You sure?" he asked the man behind him. "Honestly, I don''t think I have much choice. Ideally, you''d be closer to my Level, but you''re the only person who hasn''t completely lost their head thus far. I mean that metaphorically, of course. A whole bunch of folks have literally lost their heads. And, well, beggars can''t be choosers. From what I can tell, each newly formed instance is benchmarked to the highest-powered person in each group. Which, again, is pretty damn unusual. I''ve got no chance against anything your Level, but as I have literally no offensive Skills, I''m not overburdened with options against anything I could theoretically fight. So, if I''m getting out of here, I''m going to need to do it behind someone else. But then again, you''re Classless, aren''t you? You got anything that''s likely to be useful, or are we basically doomed?" Lowe paused before answering. He didn''t love the idea of lying to a guy being pretty upfront about his own position, but Latham had been clear that he shouldn''t share anything about his unusual stats. "I''ve got a decent self-heal, and I can punch pretty hard. Oh, and I''ve got a flawless memory: when we get out of here, I can relive all this for you, beat for beat, whenever you want. So we have that to look forward to. You seriously got nothing that will help in a fight?" "Curators aren''t known for their DPS. If - when - I get to Level 20, I was hoping to pick up something useful from my Threshold rewards, but right now, I''m going to be no help at all." "But you''ve done a lot of Dungeons?" "Oh, yes." "Okay," Lowe said, accepting the party invite. "Consider yourself selected as my Dungeon Consultant. Your job is to plot our way out of here. I''ll take the hits and do my best to keep us safe. Deal?" "Deal." The chime of the Party forming was overshadowed by a new voice coming from Lowe''s right. "So is this Party-thing going to be a sausage-fest, or is there room for a member of the weaker sex?" "Auditor Mehin? Are you okay?" "Peachy. You know there''s a massive spider right above us, right?" "Yeah," Lowe said. "It won''t do anything until the Dungeon starts. So, don''t move." "Okay. Well, that''s not at all terrifying. Are we in a Dungeon? How did that happen?" "If I were a betting man - which considering my appalling luck, I very much am not - I''d suggest that someone working here might have grave robbed the Core from that exhausted Dungeon on the edge of the city and then done something colossally silly with it. Probably involving necrotic slime and Dreadnaughts. Sound about right Curator Preece?" There was a brief silence. "I think you''ll have to take that up with Director Nuroon, sir." Lowe blew out his cheeks. "I might just do that. Fuck. Okay," he pushed the party notification to Karolen. "Look, the bad guys in here are coded to match Level. From what I know about Auditiors, you''re probably the only one of us who has a chance of actually fighting their way out of here on their own terms. However, if you want company and don''t mind punching up . . ." Karolen let the notification blink for a few moments. Lowe wasn''t wrong in his assumption about her capabilities; she doubted there would be much in a Level 20 Dungeon - even such an unusual one as this - that she couldn''t handle on a solo run. However, running it as a member of a Level 25 Party would have far better XP rewards and considering her sudden loss of favour with her firm''s Partners, this might not be a bad thing. Oh, and if she joined up, she wouldn''t have to tell Arebella she''d left her boyfriend to die . . . "Okay, I''m in." Karolen accepted the invite, seeing the Level of the Spider above them change to a Level 25 as she did so. "So, what do we do?" "Well, for that, I''m going to defer to our Dungeon Consultant. You have a plan for how we deal with that, Preece?" For the first time since awakening in the Dungeon, Lowe thought he heard a trace of grim happiness in the man''s voice. "Actually, I rather think that I do." Chapter 85 - 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 hed stayed in bed with Arebella this morning. The creature was massive, its many eyes glinting in the sickly light of the transformed Great Hall. Lowes 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 weve 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, Ive 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 dont want to startle it before were 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 Lowes 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 arm. 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 Auditor moved so quickly she would have streaked past lightning and left it for dust. As she charged, in her hand manifested a glowing Balancebladea 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 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 didnt 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. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. 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 Auditor 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 threadboth literally and metaphorically. The spiders 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 hed imagined. Karolen, Lowe grunted, without wishing to rush you . . . " Im working on it! she snapped, driving her blade into the spiders 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 spiders 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. Youre 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 Karolens eyes narrowed. Youve been awake this whole time? Gral smiled smoothly, ignoring the blood and ichor on the floor. Oh, Ive been observing. And I must say, youre 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 Ill 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. Hes Level 33 . . . If we keep him in the group, the Dungeons going to scale. Gral smiled, his eyes glinting. Well, then. It looks like were about to have some real fun, doesnt it? Chapter 86 - 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 Lowes hesitation and gave him a significant look. She appeared to have any number of those at her disposal. Youre 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. Grals 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. Grals eyes flicked toward Karolen, then Preece, before settling on Lowe. Director Nuroon had known 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 couldnt resist dabbling. Its 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 camean old crook who had been manipulating the citys 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? Grals eyes sparkled with something that might have been amusement. Maybe. Me, Ms Mehin? Oh, Im just a humble legal advisor. My role was simple: ensure the museum didnt face any liability if things went . . . sideways. Of course, I wasnt expecting a Dungeon to spontaneously form around me, but well, thats life, isnt it? Full of surprises. Karolen snorted, shaking her head. Surprises. Sure. Youre 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 wasnt 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? Grals 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 himthey always think they can control things that are far beyond their comprehension. There was something in Grals 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? Grals smile disappeared entirely. Now? Hes likely trapped in here with the rest of us. Though I doubt hes feeling the same level of regret as you. Men like Nuroon rarely see their own actions as the cause of their downfall. Hell 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.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Lowe swore under his breath. So the emergence of this Dungeon wasnt just a random event. It was the result of Nuroons 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, theres no easy way of putting this. Its sentient. Its not just some rediscovered artefact of power. Its alive. And, as far as I understand these things, its been feeding on the museums 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 its awake, its very much in control. Every moment we spend in here, its learning more about us. Adapting. This particular Dungeon isnt just a collection of traps and monstersits an organism. A predator. And right now? I rather suspect that were 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. Were screwed. So whats your plan, Gral? If youre so smart, how do we get out? Grals grin returned, though this time it was more subdued. Ah, thats the tricky part. You see, the Dungeons core is located deep within the museumbelow even the lower levels. Its 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 armour of the Dreadnaught. It came from the exhausted Dungeon too, didnt it?" Preece nodded. Yes. The armour 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? Grals eyes gleamed, taking over from Preece. Well, this is where I suspect everything began to get a touch out of hand. You see the first armour was entirely passive, it appears that the second armour was a little more important. It was made to house the soul of a very particular warrior Dreadnaught. In the wrong handsor the right handsthe Director posited it could have unimaginable power. Unfortunately, through activating the armour 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 armour 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. Grals smile twisted. But it turns out the Core and the armour 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 shapes twisting into even more unnatural forms. Lowe might be wrong, but it almost felt like they formed into grinning, expectant faces. Karolen grimaced 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 Dungeons influence. We need to move. The Dungeons changing again. If we stay here, I rather suspect well 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 Im beginning to think were well beyond the safe part of this journey. He turned to Karolen. What do you think? She shrugged, her gaze never leaving Gral. Were in trouble either way. Ive done some delving, but nothing serious. If the Curator 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. Lets 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. Its getting worse. I don''t want to be the voice of doom here, but the deeper we go, Id suggest the more it will change. Ive never seen anything so... aggressive. Welcome to Soar, Karolen muttered, stepping in behind the Inspector in a defensive position. Lowe couldnt 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 hed ever seen anything more representative for life in this city, he couldn''t recall it. Welcome to Soar, indeed. Chapter 87 - 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 alivewatching, 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 Curator said, looking down at the headless corpse of a Level 12 Contract Cleaner, "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." Lowes 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 hadnt 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 wallsthey werent like this before. Theyre... evolving. Dungeons feed on fear and death, Preece said. This one is brand new, and it''s hungry. And it knows were 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 wasnt 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 Auditor''s squinted ahead, and then pointed. Look. The floor. Its uneven. Lowe followed her gaze, and sure enough, a section of the floor ahead seemed to dip slightlya subtle shift in the stone that was barely noticeable. Barely, but not enough for the sharp eyes of a Level 20 Auditor 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 wont 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. Lowes 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. II didnt see it You almost got wiped! Lowe snapped, his voice sharp with adrenaline. Pay attention! Just stick close and dont wander off. I cant 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. 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. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. 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 isnt 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. Lowes gut - or it could just have been recent, appalling experience - told him whatever was behind this door wasnt 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 Balanceblade 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 museums 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 Lowes attention immediately was the sight of what lay scattered across the floor. Gear. Weapons, armour, supplieseverything they could have possibly needed for the rest of their journey. It was all there, strewn haphazardly across the ground as if dropped by someoneor somethingin a hurry. Well, that seems fortunate . . . Preece said. Karolen stepped forward cautiously, scanning the room for any signs of danger. I dont 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 armourLevel 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 sworda well-crafted, Level 25 blade that practically hummed with latent power. He reached for it, feeling its weight in his hand. Careful, Karolen warned. Dont touch anything that feels . . . off. It''s weird, but this actually feels the opposite, Lowe said, inspecting the blade. It wasnt 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. Its a Curators Staff. Itll 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, isnt it? Almost as if the Dungeon is offering us a gift. Lowe didnt trust the bounty, but the way he saw it, they didnt 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. Its 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 size 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 didnt hesitate. Take it! It won''t be able to follow us down there. They veered off into the side tunnel, the sound of the creatures 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 88 - Fire 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 and considering Gral was the highest level of any of them - and was the reason their pursuer was quite so powerful - this 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 ass 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''m not being funny, though, I think 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 Temple Warder had followed a fairly benign difficulty curve. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. 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. 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 tunneljust 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 doesnt involve heroic self-sacrifice," Gral muttered 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 wasan 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 to Preece, who fumbled it like it was a live demonic imp. Lowe! What" "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 tunnels too small for us, then it''s damned well going to be too small for it. And well make sure its 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 Lowes 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 pull it in. It''s stupid. Predictable, right, Preece? All I need to do is trigger it into berserk mode, and then" "Itll just fight blindly," Karolen finished, her eyes gleaming as the plan came together. "Trapped in a bottleneck. Youre going to light it up, arent 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 muttered, 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?" The creature howled again, this time louder, its head starting to wedge 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. "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, wedging itself millimetres from Lowes face. "Now, Preece!" Lowe shouted, ducking back. With a regretful sigh, Preece lobbed the bottle at the feet. Lowe felt the liquid wash under him and was already striking the flint against the side of the tunnel. Sparks caught the liquid. There was a moment of sickening silence as the fiery alcohol met flesh. Then, the explosion ripped through the tunnel. Both the Corrupt Fenrir and Lowe howled, in fury as fire spread across them, igniting necrotic tissue and skin like dry tinder. Its claws flailed, smacking against Lowe in a frenzy, trying to force itself back, but it was too late. The creature''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 foullike burnt meat and rotting carcassesbut 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." "Youre welcome," Lowe replied "Youre insane," Preece added, but there was admiration in his tone. "Insanitys just another word for creative problem-solving. Now," he continued. "In the interests of preserving our Auditor''s blushes, I don''t suppose any of you happen to have any clothes in my size?" Chapter 89 - No Reward Comes Free "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 Curator, 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 Curator''s 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 ass." 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."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. "Right." Lowe had never heard this before, but both the Auditor and Gral were nodding sagely along. "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 we''re all 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 challengers. 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 Curator after all. So, a Remnant of Memory is a fragment of knowledge left behind by previous challengers. 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 might be a touch rude. "I can either ''unlock secret passages that arent 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. Remnants of Essence offer temporary, unpredictable boosts or changes to physical or magical capabilities that last for a limited duration during the Dungeon delve. You may consume one Remnant of Essence in order to create the following effects. 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 clearerand not just about the Dungeon. There was a lot more to figure out. Like how in Soar theyd ended up here in the first place, and who had been pulling the strings. Chapter 90 - Fragments of Genius 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 hed taken the sort of blow to the head that Roll with the Punches couldnt 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 dAvec 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 Drudge 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. Hed known, intellectually, that hed missed his perfect memory and the ability to revisit events in his mind at will, but until hed 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 hadnt quite returned him to what he had been before. Nevertheless, those changes supplemented by Mylafs 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 hed forgotten he had ever possessed. Half-formed, idle thoughts about the deaths of Curators Isadora 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. Whats 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 wasnt 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, hed 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 theyd escaped, had other things to concern him.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. 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 hed first been called into his bosss 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 hed not even been aware was being told. Keywords of conversations were cross-checked, lies flagged, and indisputable 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, wasnt 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 Curator 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 couldnt quite seem to see it. It was quite a vibe to have your own psyche stick the dunces hat on you and push you to the corner . . . Standing over Curator Harkers liquified remains. Deathcaller Lant being his normal, joyous self. Then Lowe slips out of Cullodens 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. Lant. 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 wasnt 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 Harkers 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 Harkers body. Nor had Lant done anything vindictive to put a dent in Lowes 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 Lowes 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 91 - No Way In Lathams 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 didnt register. At least, not anymore. In fact, he hadnt felt anything from his hands for the last half a bell, not since the red mist descended and hed started to launch blow after blow. Feeling better yet? Latham didnt answer, throwing another massive punch against the glowing shield. However, just like all of those hed 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 Temple Warder had summoned and drinking it in. Realising hed 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 didnt 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. Shed 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 wouldnt be long before someone official took charge of the situation. Yeah. You keep at it. Im sure one more punch should do it. If theres one thing Ive learned over the years, its that esoteric magic responds really well to brute force. At least Im trying to get us in. Youre 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? Thats working out so well for you, isnt it? Hel gave him a long look. I didnt say I had any answers. Im 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 didnt like being kept away from the centre of the action any more than he did. And wasnt 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 didnt 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 didnt stop to think about how long Lowe had been in there. How long hed been trapped. No point in dwelling on that. That was a path to panic, and panic wouldnt help anyone. Especially not now. He had no idea why this strange little Classless man meant so much to him. But he did. Latham didn''t have friends C terrified acquaintances, certainly C and he wasnt 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 wouldnt make a difference. Hel raised an eyebrow. You dont say. Care to share how you plan to do that? Weve tried brute force, weve tried Skillswell, Ive tried my Skills. Youve been more focused on punching thingsand still nothing. So, unless youve got a trick hidden up your sleeve, I suggest you take a breath and actually start thinking.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. 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 didnt add up. Dungeons didnt just manifest out of thin air; they were ancient things. They certainly didnt 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 its here now, and its clearly not going away anytime soon. Latham clenched his jaw, fists still trembling. It wasnt just the Dungeon that bothered himit was the timing. The scale. It doesnt make sense, he said, his voice low. Theres always been rumours about Director Nuroon and Soar Museum, but nothing solid. Nothing that would explain a Dungeon just popping up out of nowhere. Hels lips tightened into a thin line. You think its a coincidence Lowe was inside when it happened? You think its not? Hel didnt answer immediately. She stared at the entrance, her fingers twitching, lightning flickering beneath her skin. I know youve been in a lot of Dungeons, Latham. But this She gestured at the barrier with a jerk of her head. This feels like a trap. Not for everyone. For him. Lathams gut twisted. It wasnt 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 someonesomethingwanted Lowe in there. Alone. And that made it worse. Lowe was smart, and tougher than he looked, but he wasnt built to do this sort of thing solo. He wasnt supposed to be cut off from support, forced to face whatever was inside without backup. That wasnt what he did best. Weve got to find a way in, Latham said, the words coming out harsher than he intended. Theres got to be something we missed. Some trick, some backdoor we havent tried yet. Hel crossed her arms again, tapping her fingers against her elbow. Weve been here for nearly a bell. If theres a backdoor, we would have found it by now. Its a Dungeon, Latham. You know how these things work. One way in, one way out. And its not recognising either of us as having the requirements to enter. Lathams mind raced, trying to ignore the creeping sense of helplessness that had been building since the moment theyd arrived. Hel was righttheyd tried everything they could think of. Hed pounded on the barrier until his fists were bloody. Shed 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 hadnt considered. He refused to believe they were locked out. Im a Level ??. Theres not a Dungeon on this continent I couldnt 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 hed ever heard her, and that was saying something. I hate that were just standing here while hes 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 wasnt used to seeing her like thisfrustrated, anxious. But then again, none of this was normal. Not for them. Well get him out, Latham said, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. Hes got to know were 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 didnt respond. He couldnt. The idea of leaving Lowe behind, of not being able to reach himit wasnt something he could process. Not yet. Not until hed exhausted every possible option. Until hed thrown every punch, every spell, every damn thing he had at that portal. Hel sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. Ive been in a lot of shitty situations. But this is worse. Not being able to help is . . . Fuck. This sucks. Lathams fists clenched again, his knuckles aching. It wont be for much longer. Well figure a way in. But even as he said it, he wasnt 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, were on the wrong side. And for the first time in a long time, Latham had no idea how to fix that. Chapter 92 - Charade in the Dark Look, I have no idea what youre trying to tell me! Karolens 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? Its 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 Lowes desperate performance. Then, with barely a moment of hesitation, he started up another round of gesturesthis 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 hasnt made you any good at charades. I get it. Youre worried about something to do with the Curator. But what about him? Lowes 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 movementsthis 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? Lowe stomped his foot, and if he had the ability to speak, Karolen had no doubt hed 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. Lowe groaned and, in a fit of desperation, 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 doesnt make sense. Preece is oh! Her eyes widened in a flicker of understanding. You think hes stronger than hes letting on? Lowes frenzied nod nearly dislodged his own head. Well, we know that dont we? she said, eyes narrowing as she glanced at Preece ahead of them. Hes been open and honest that he was a Dungeon Delver before he changed his Class into being a Curator. But hes not lying about his Level, is he? If he was stronger, wed 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 hes going to blow up? Or that hes 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 Karolens nerves. Normally, Dungeons thrummed with lifeor at least the constant lurking presence of things waiting to tear you apartbut this place was eerily still, like a tomb waiting for its last visitor.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Preeces 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. Probably not far now, Gral replied smoothly, his tone controlled and even. Too controlled, if you asked Karolen. Gral was always a wildcarda lawyer who played both sides, always too polished, too poised. She didnt 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 hes leading us into a trap. Lowes 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 wasnt right. But Preece? The idea that he was more than he seemedthat he was leading them into dangerdidnt just sit wrong, it screeched wrong. Youre telling me hes hiding something, Karolen said, more to herself than Lowe now. And that whatever it is, its 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. Hes hiding behind a disguise? Lowes eyes gleamed with silent desperation. Finally. Karolen took a steadying breath. It wasnt 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. Karolens hand was immediately filled with her 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. Karolens mind raced. Was this it? Was this the trap Lowe was trying to warn her about? We need to move 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 overwhelmingstone 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 couldnt see anything, only the sound of debris settling and the distant rumble of the Dungeons shifting mass. Lowe coughed beside her, his grip tight on her arm as they both pulled themselves up. Whatwhat 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 openinga hole large enough for someone - or something - to have forced its way through. And thats 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. Karolens 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 wasnt sure if they were terrified or in aweeither way, it wouldnt matter. The cloaked figure didnt 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 werent just strongthey were beyond strong. Karolens pulse pounded in her ears. She couldnt 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. Karolens breath caught in her throat. It was Director Nuroon. Chapter 93 - Memories of Classtration Fuck a duck! Lowes exclamation disturbed the silence that had descended following the Directors sudden appearance. Where the fuck did you come 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 Dungeons various challenges? Nuroon waved a hand negligently towards the remains of the fallen monsters. All low-level trash. To be honest, I havent enjoyed myself so much in years. It is easy to forget the thrill that comes with a genuinely involving delve. Cant 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 Lowes 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 dont know, Lowe said, a look of consternation flashing across his face. I had it! It all made sense. It was . . . Shit. I cant remember. So vulnerable did Lowe look at that moment, that Karolen felt herself turning away. Well, dont 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 dont know, the sudden and dramatic appearance of a supervillain. Itll come. But Lowe wasnt listening, not really. He was suddenly bereft C not just of the deductions hed made about the case (something about Preece, right?) but in mourning for that renewed ability to make such links. He felt. . . hollowed out. Like he was back to those first few seconds following his Classtration. Lowe felt Karolen''s words drifting past him, lost in the surge of panic and loss flooding his mind. Her advice, though sensible, barely registered as he was carried away by a memory hed done his best to repress. But the sharp, dizzying void that filled him now was all too familiar, tugging him backward, dragging him to somewhere he never wanted to revisit. Not least in his waking moments. The day he lost everything. The process had started with a blinding pain, like his core had been set on fire from the inside out. The kind of pain that doesnt 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 wasnt a physical assault he was experiencing, but his muscles had locked, his bones had screamed, and all the power that had once surged through himhis Skills, his bonuses, his Classwas yanked away by an invisible, piteous hand. And in that instant, the world had gone dark. At first, he had thought that 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 didnt. Not then. And 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 own weight, and he had collapsed, his knees hitting the mosaic tiles with a crack that he hadnt even heard. But it didnt hurt. That he remembered. The impact hadnt registered at all. He couldnt feel the pain. It was as if he couldnt feel anything at all.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. It was like being erased. That was how he had explained it to Arebella, later. His once sharp mind, so brimming with ideas and possibilities and deductive leaps, had been scooped clean. Everything that made him who he washis thoughts, his insight, the web of connections he could always see in his headhad vanished. His Intelligence, his Wisdom, his Spirit, even his Strength and Agility, had plummeted into nothingness. He was deaf, dumb, and blind all at once. It was 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 daydistant, muffled, like echoes in a vast, empty cavern. Cenorth had been there, shouting his name, but Lowe hadnt been able to process the words. Couldnt 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. Hed 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 wasnt an Inspector. He wasnt 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 thatdays, 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. Lowes mind snapped back to the present as Karolens 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 handssteady now, but they had once trembled uncontrollably after the Classtration. Back then, he couldnt even hold a quill, much less wield a weapon. His own 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. Im nothing, Lowe had managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper. Its 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. Youre not nothing, the Commander had said, his voice firm, but the words had rung false in Lowes ears. Well fix this. Well 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 hadnt 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 Dungeons 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 couldnt 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 didnt press him. She didnt knowcouldnt knowwhat it had been like to lose everything that day. And he didnt 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 those Essences. Was it everything you hoped it would be? Lowe punched him full in the face. Chapter 94 - No Honour Among Delvers 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 fingers. 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 didnt really feel much better for unloading C even in his prime, hed never been someone who worked out his emotions with his fits C but there was something about the outraged shock on the Directors face that, even if momentarily, cured what illed him. "How did you do dat! Youre a fugging Lebel 25!" Lowe turned his back on Nuroon and walked instead to Preece, prodding a mangled finger into his chest. I dont know what it was I realised about you with that Essence running, but you need to tell me how youre involved in all this. Now! The Curator held up his hands in supplication. Ive no idea! Honestly! Ive told you everything I know. About Isadora. About the blackmail. About her and Kregg. Theres nothing else! Preeces eyes strayed, with horrid fascination, to the bones visibly rearranging in Lowes hand, the twisting, rotating finger of which was resting on his breastbone. Im 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 couldnt 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 Curator, 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 wouldnt have been surprised to have heard Harker had killed himself? Yeah. Isadora had something over him, and it was making him sick . . . But Curator 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 dont know. Guilt? Fear of being blamed for her death? But Lowe was already shaking his head. In other circumstances, he could imagine Harkers 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 shed 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" hadnt 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 hadnt 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 Curator 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 wasnt 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 Cullodens office. A woman obsessed with Dreadnaughts and who had one who had not been seen since . . . Pieces of the puzzle continued to move in Lowes head, but it didnt 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.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Lowe turned to look into the wide-set eyes of Felicitous Gral. Im 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. 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 Auditor 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. Were in the middle of a Dungeon! Pardon me if I wasnt 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 wasnt 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 Curators face, and he gave a nod. I saw Lowe hit the Director. Gral smiled widely and made an ah, well gesture. And thats 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, Im not sure why that would be a problem. What? Grals 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, its actively encouraged. Whad do you dink you are doing, Mr. . . ? Nuroon clearly cast around in his memory for Preeces name and came up blank. He pressed on regardless. I would suggesd you dink bery garefully aboud whad youre saying here. Preece, if possible, went even whiter. Im absolutely happy to testify anywhere you want that Lowe hit you, Director. No problem at all. Saw it clear as day. But its not against the law to hit another delver. Nuroon glared at Gral who shrugged back. Not my area of expertise, Im 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 isnd the first dime someones seen fid do lay hands on me. My lifes been rich, full of experiences, afder all. Bud one things always been truethose 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, Im going to be honest, Id be trying to use fewer plosives until you get that damage buffed out. I dont 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. Ive always been drawn do rare and curiush thingslike 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, Ill 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. Leds 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? Itd be carnage on every run. Violence against other delvers is actually more strictly enforced in a Dungeon than it is on the outside. Hes going to be pissed when he realises you lied to him, Karolen cautioned. To be honest, it sounds like hes really looking forward to dealing with me personally, so I doubt hell much miss taking me to court. Thanks for having my back, though, Lowe said to Preece. Dont mention it. Glad to help. Was there an odd expression to Preeces face when he said that? Lowe wasnt 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. Weve 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 its Level 33 dead weight . . . The race was on. Chapter 95 - When the Rules Dont Apply As races go, Lowe thought - a little more than a bell later - it was a remarkably slow one to the Dungeons 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 wasnt sure if it was healthy that he was anthropomorphising a Dungeon, but he couldnt 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. Thats 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, youll start sounding like Gral. Karolen shot him a look. Thats uncalled for. Lowe checked his own stat sheet and was pleased to see that hed hit Level 26 himself. Whilst that wasnt great news for the rest of the partythe difficulty of the whole Dungeon would tick up a little more as hed moved uphe 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 wasnt 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 wouldnt 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 didnt think hed get anything especially noteworthy when it hit 300not like when he Ranked it up at 200but 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) A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. 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 50which was hardly surprising considering he was tanking all sorts of crap in this Dungeonbut 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 Skillsespecially considering his Skill slots were functionally blockedfelt 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 removedas with so many thingsthat possibility. Well, you didnt miss that youd never had. Erm, Lowe. Everything okay? Karolens 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. Youre, erm, I dont really know how to say this . . . What? Youre 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 Ive ranked something up. Give me a moment. I just need to choose an option for it and itll fade. This has happened before. Its not a problem. I dont 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? Isnt he supposed to be properly locked down, or something like that? Thats what Classtration means, isnt 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 wasnt high, but all of it was pretty consistent on one point. They werent 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, shed 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 Karolens way of looking at the world. You okay? Preece said. You have the weirdest look on your face. Whats 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. Im a Curator who, up to last year, spent his life battling bosses in Underground Dungeons for cash. I think its fair to say Im familiar with moments of profound self-reflection and doubt. Karolen half-smiled, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She had never expected this outcomeLowe, of all people, defying the odds, pushing back against a system designed to crush him. I did some digging, you know, she said, her voice dropping. On the Classless. Oh? Yeah. Lowe shouldnt have lasted this long. None of them do. The systems not built for them. Its 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 96 - Blood of the Phoenix Lowe did his best to ignore Karolen and Preeces 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 hed never thought hed see on a stat screen? Mythic. He stared at the word as it pulsed redly on his screen. People like him didnt get access to Mythic Skills. He didnt 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 Drudge who could work near miracles with a rolling pin. Mylafs previous employer, the High Priestess of Gravalk, Gianna dAvec, 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 hadnt 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 wasnt 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 somethingsomething deep inside himheld 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 Auditors 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 nothingstripped 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 wasnt sure he wanted to step through. Mythic. That word echoed in his mind, growing heavier with each repetition. Mythic quality Skills werent just stronger versions of what came beforethey 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 didnt 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 Arkolas to squash list? Thoughts of that god led Lowes gaze to flick to the side, towards where his Restriction Breaker 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 wouldnt even have this current choice. Restriction Breaker. The name felt almost mocking. Lowe had broken no restrictionshe had been trapped by them, nearly broken by them. And yet, and yet, and yet . . . In all the reading hed 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 dAvec case from the supreme being in Soar. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Which was an absolutely brain-shredding thought to contemplate . . . 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)
Upon falling to zero HP, your body is consumed by flames, and from the ashes, you are reborn at full health after a five-second delay. - Side Effect: The resurrection ignites a residual flame within you. For the next hour, your regeneration abilities are suppressed, and any attempt to heal you instead inflicts a portion of its intended benefit as burning damage. However, this flame grants you a temporary increase in Strength and Willpower during the duration. - 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 potentialbut 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 wasnt 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 hed 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 Lathams 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 wasnt like them anymore, was he? He didnt have a Class. He didnt really have a future. Not one set in stone, anyway. This choice wasnt 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 hed 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 thats why he was hesitating. He wasnt sure he wanted that safety anymore. He wasnt 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 wasnt perfect. It came with a downside in that golden hour following his return. But maybe thats what he needed. Something with risk. Something that didnt 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. Lets 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 97 - 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 its all over. Im 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 - whither an Octopus? Who knew - defending the Dungeon Core could focus its tentacles on Karolen. The Auditor barely dodged its attack in time, sprawling on the floor as multiple swishing blows flailed above her. Fucks 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 creatures 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 theyd begun engaging the guardian of the Dungeon Core, and C as far as Lowe could tell C theyd made very little progress thus far. Look, Im all for a if you dont 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? Youre supposed to be our resident Dungeon expert! Preece did his best to ignore the sight of Lowes broken arm snapping itself back into place. The click of the bone reconnecting was harder to miss. Maybe. In a normal Dungeon, wed need to defeat the Big Bad in order to complete the quest line. But thats 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 cant attack it and have to focus on staying alive at the same time! Sorry! Preece, what are you getting at? We dont have a quest, do we? The Dungeon spawned around us, and weve not actually been given anything were supposed to be doing, have we? If you ask me, Im 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. Its 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 Auditor retreat back again. What are you suggesting we do?! she called across the cavern. Lets fall back to the entrance and see if it resets. Ive 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, wasnt 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 couldnt 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 didnt 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.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "Well," Karolen said, breathing heavily, "that was... not ideal." 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 were 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 Curators brow furrowed as he poked his head around the edge of the corridor, making sure the creature hadnt 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, Ive been wondering about this since Gral first told us about the Core. You see, I dont believe completing this Dungeon is going to be about any sort of final Boss fight at all. Its about the Dungeon itself. Youve noticed how everything feels... off, right?" "No shit!" Karolen said, pacing around to do something about all the adrenaline racing around her veins. "But its a Dungeon; theyre all a bit messed up. Olly in there isnt exactly unusual!" Olly? Lowe asked. The Octopus. And you named him Olly? I can call him fucking ''Kenneth'' if it makes you happy. No. Ollys fine. Its 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, weve 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 level person in our party. And this bosswell, it feels like it''s just there to keep us busy. The more I think about it, the more I think its a distraction." Lowe almost smiled at that. A distraction? Its a fucking effective one, then. What do you think its distracting us from?" Preece gestured toward the swirling, shimmering globe of light just behind the beast. "The Core. I dont actually think this Dungeon is designed to be beaten in the usual way. No quest, no objective to kill the big bad. No nothing. Its 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 its dialled in to react to threat levels. And its geared to Lowes strength." Lowes mind raced as he processed the Curators words. Preece was right, wasnt 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 wouldnt react to him . . . "Lets cut to the chase. You think because youre a lower level, you can sneak past it and claim the Core?" Lowe asked. "Thats a hell of a gamble." Preece shrugged. "Ive been getting power-levelled the whole way through here because Im so much weaker than you. Its worth a shot, at least." Karolen was clearly unconvinced. "Thats 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, "Im not thrilled about the idea, but its better than getting nowhere. Look, we cant 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, its 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. "Its supposed to be here, isnt it? Weve seen nothingno necrotic slime, no trace of it. If that things still out there..." Preece shrugged. "Well deal with the Dreadnaught when we have to. For now, the Cores the priority." Karolen glanced back toward the cavern, her expression grim. "Maybe thats why were not seeing the usual signs. The Dreadnaught might be tied to the Core in ways we dont 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 couldnt 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. "Lets do it. But Preece, you better be right about this, or youre 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 wasnt 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 creatures 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 thats our answer. Its going to be down to me." Chapter 98 - In the Grip of the Dreadnaught The cavern trembled as Preece approached the Core, its swirling energy casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the stone walls. Lowe and Karolen stood at the threshold, watching him warily. Lowe didnt think either of them could reach him in time if this went wrong, but he knew theyd do their best. Preece, slow down, Lowe called. No sudden moves. That things still watching. The second it looks like the monster notices you, you need to get the fuck out of there. The octopus-like guardian tentacles undulated lazily, as Preece approached, though, as if it were simply biding its time before striking. Its glowing eyes tracked Preeces every movement, but it still didnt attack. So far, so good. Im fine, Preece said, and his voice carried an unusual steadiness that prickled at Lowes instincts. Its not reacting. I think... I think were good. Karolen shifted uncomfortably, her hand hovering near her manifested blade. Lowe, she said quietly, this doesnt feel right. After everything, this feels all too calm. I get that hes weaker than us, but it makes no sense that a Dungeon Big Bad is letting him just walk past and take the prize. Its like its accepting him. Yeah, Lowe said. He triggered Slugger, his eyes darting between the guardian and Preece. Something about the entire scene was gnawing at him tooit was a dissonance he couldnt quite quiet. Preece was past the guardian now and reaching for the Core, standing before it with an almost worshipful stillness. The swirling light bathed the Curator in a glow that seemed to amplify his presence, casting his features into sharp relief. Slowly, he raised a hand. As his fingers brushed its surface, the Dungeon Core flared with blinding light, flooding the chamber in an instant. The guardian creature let out a roar, its tentacles lashing wildly, but it didnt attack Preece. Instead, it froze, its massive form quivering as if held in place by unseen chains. Then, to Lowe and Karolens shock, the guardian began to dissolve, its mass crumbling into motes of light that scattered and vanished into the air. What the fuck? Karolen whispered. Stay back, Lowe warned, holding out an arm to stop her. His gaze locked on Preece, who now stood alone with the Core, his hand resting on its surface. Something was wrong. The glow surrounding Preece intensified, warping the air around him like heat rising from a flame. When he turned to face them, Lowe felt the first pangs of dread claw at his chest. The man before them was no longer the Preece they had travelled with. His face, once timid and uncertain, was now suffused with confidencea cruel, mocking smile twisting his lips. His eyes burned with an unnatural light, their depths brimming with malice. Thank you, Preece said, his voice filled with mocking amusement. I couldnt have done it without you. Karolens blade was in her hand, Preece, what the fuck are you talking about? I dont think thats Preece anymore, Lowe said. Preece chuckled, the sound low and venomous. What I was always going to do. Youre just realising it now, arent you? All that trust. All that camaraderie. How quaint. The air around the Curator rippled, and his form began to shift. His features elongated and twisted, his slight frame bulging with muscle and sinew. His skin darkened, veins pulsing with blackened energy, and his grin widened, revealing jagged, inhuman teeth. You... Lowes voice was barely a whisper as all the pieces fell into place. His mind raced through every interaction, every moment theyd shared since entering the Dungeon. The murders. The manipulation. It all led to this. Youre the fucking sixth Dreadnaught. The creature that had been Preece laughed, a sound like grinding stone. Very good, Inspector. I was beginning to think youd never figure it out. But then, I suppose I gave you just enough rope to hang yourselves with. Karolen charged across the space, her blade aimed for the Dreadnaughts throat, but he moved with impossible speed. One massive clawed hand caught her sword mid-swing, stopping it effortlessly. With a flick of his wrist, he sent her flying into the cavern wall. She hit with a sickening crack and crumpled to the ground. The Dreadnaughts glowing eyes locked on to Lowe movements, its smile never faltering. Oh, dont worry about her, Inspector. Shell liveif only so you both can hear what I have to say. Lowe stepped forward, letting Slugger fade away. He didnt think this was anything he was going to be able to punch his way out of. You see, I couldnt give a fuck what you want to say. Its going to be some version of You fools! Youve meddled where you shouldnt have! or maybe Youll never understand my true purpose! Or, if youre really feeling yourself, a classic Youre too late to stop me! Well, spoiler alert: youre not the first oversized munchkin with a god complex Ive had to deal with, and you wont be the last. So can we just skip the monologue?Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. You dont want to know why I did it? No curiosity at all? Typical of your kindcharging in without seeking the greater truth. Alright, fine. Ill bite. Whyd you do it? Revenge? Power? Mommy didnt hug you enough? Come on, give me the bullet points. Ive got a busy schedule of not dying today. Oh, Inspector. I do this because Wait, wait, Lowe interrupted, holding up a hand. Let me guess. You do this because mortals are ants, or because destiny demands it, or, oh! Because someone wronged you centuries ago, and now youre making us pay for it. Do I have it? Close enough? No? Tell you what, you keep the speech. Ill just skip to the part where I punch you in your big metal face. The Dreadnaughts smile vanished, replaced by a snarl. You insolent Oh, here it comes, Lowe said. The part where you call me insolent and something about my puny mortal arrogance. Honestly, you guys should unionise. Get a scriptwriter. Spice it up a little. The Dreadnaughts roar of rage shook the room, and Lowe grinned, stepping into a defensive stance. There we go. Now thats more like it. Let me tell you what I think happened, and feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong. You freed yourself when fucking Grackle Nuroon brought in a sarcophagus containing Dreadnaught armour that was opened the day before this all kicked off. There was Dreadnaught armour in there, and when the seal was broken, you just slipped right inside, didnt you? Suddenly, you were more than just a dusty relic. You became functional. Thats why you could move, think, and, oh yeah, murder. Unlike the rest of your mates all still stuck on display. I bet they fucking hate you right now. The Dreadnaught nodded. Correct. The one they called Harker was the first to realise I was free. That was after I consumed the woman. He figured out what had happened. He saw the signs. The poor bastard pieced it together before anyone else, Lowe said. And that, naturally, made him a liability. Let me guess, thoughhe didnt tell anyone, did he? Classic mistake. Never hesitate when youre dealing with eldritch horrors. You guys arent exactly big on forgiveness. The Dreadnaught chuckled. Indeed. So you gave him a thorough sliming, Lowe continued, and then kept Kregg around for a while. What was he forPR? Maybe he was the handsome face of your little murder operation? Access, the thing that used to be Preece interjected. Kregg had connections and could move around the museum without raising suspicion. But he screwed up when he lost the necrotic slime to, presumably, someone you send to question him. Hel, Lowe confirmed with a shrug. And yeah, I can see how that would have been a dealbreaker for you. That slime wasnt just a murder weapon, was it? Its a mental conduit. A way to feed power back to you. Without it, Kregg became whats the phrase? Oh yeah, dead weight. Literally. The Dreadnaught didnt deny it, which was, Lowe supposed, the closest thing to confirmation he was going to get. And then, Lowe said, jabbing a thumb toward the possessed Preece, you moved on to this poor sod. Why him? He was convenient, the Dreadnaught said, its tone dismissive. The weakest link I could find. No one would question him acting strangely during the re-enactment. Not when everyone else had already wiped their memories. And it gestured around them with a gauntleted hand, I needed him for the Dungeon. And there it is, Lowe said. The Dungeon. Thats the real game here, isnt it? The Great Hall was primedenough death, enough power swirling around, enough artefacts hoarded by a Director who should have known betterand the Dungeon was almost ready to form. Almost." And I couldnt get close to it, the Dreadnaught said. Not in my true form. Too powerful. The safeguards in a Dungeons formation stop entities like me from going near the core until its fully established. For precisely this reason. But as Preece? Lowe said, No problem. A low-level Curator wandering around? Nothing suspicious there. You used him to finish what you started. Get close enough to give the Dungeon the final nudge it needed to form. And now, its got what it wanteda bloody fortress to keep itself safe while it powers up. But you had slid inside. Thats about the size of it, yes. So, let me recap for the slow learners at the back. A walking tank with murder on its mind hijacks a hapless Curator, uses him to kickstart a Dungeon it cant otherwise get into, and now were all trapped in here, fighting for our lives while it gets cozy at the core. Brilliant. Just brilliant But I couldnt have done any of it without you, Inspector. The Dungeon is a means to an end. But youve missed one crucial detail, Inspector. Lowe raised an eyebrow. Oh? Enlighten me. The Dungeons formation required a final sacrifice. Not just deathsomething significant. A nexus of conflicting energies. And you, Jana Lowe, are uniquely positioned to provide exactly that. Lowe froze. Im sorry, what? You are an aberration, the Dreadnaught said, A man with no Class, yet still alive. You are an anomaly, a paradox. And your essence will complete the Dungeon in ways no ordinary life force ever could. Lowe backed away. Youve got to be kidding me. Ive been killed enough times today. Find someone else. I think not, the Dreadnaught said, raising one gauntleted hand. Youve been a delightful distraction, Inspector. But now its time to serve your purpose. Lowe turned, ready to run, but the Dreadnaught moved faster than he could have imagined. Its hand shot out, grasping him by the throat and lifting him off the ground. He struggled, clawing at the unyielding metal, but it was no use. You will be the cornerstone of something greater than yourself, the Dreadnaught said, Take comfort in that, if nothing else. And with that, it crushed the life from him. Chapter 99: Knights have no meaning in this game. It wasn’t a game for Knights. Being dead was nothing like being Classtrated. That was the first thing Lowe realised. Classtration had been a kind of unmakinga tearing apart of his very sense of self. Every piece of him that had once fit together so seamlessly had been ripped apart and scattered, leaving only fragments where there had once been cohesion. The pain of it wasnt just physical, though that had been unbearable enough. No, it was a deeper, existential agony. A constant ache that whispered, Youre broken now, Lowe. Youre not whole anymore. You never will be. This, though? Death? Death was quiet. He could get used to it. Honestly, it wasnt what hed expected. Not that hed ever spent much time expecting death. Hed faced it often enough in his line of work to know it could come at any moment, but like most people, hed always filed it under "tomorrows problem." Yet here it was, not waiting for tomorrow at all. And it wasnt pain, or fear, or regret. It was just release. He wasnt sure if he was floating, standing, or lying down, but - to be honest - it didnt seem to matter. He felt weightless, unburdened, as if all the chains hed carried through his life had finally snapped. The worry was gone. And that worry had always been there, hadnt it? Even before the Classtration. That gnawing, endless anxiety, chewing at the edges of his thoughts. Worry about making rent. Worry about solving the case. Worry about losing Arebella. Worry about who he was and who he might become. Worry about being enough. Now, there was none of that. The constant hum of tension that had threaded through every moment of his existence had gone quiet. No more Grid View offering him a thousand paths, most of which he couldnt take. No more Skills to balance, Progress Points to allocate, choices to second-guess. No more climbing, falling, or clawing his way forward. Just peace. And that was something he didnt really think hed ever experienced.. It had always felt like something for other people. It was a luxury he couldnt afford. Hed always been so busy running, fighting, surviving. But, right now, he though he understood the attraction. Peace wasnt something you earned; it was just something you found. Or maybe something that found you. When a Dreadnaught had finished crushing you to death, of course. Was this what hed been missing all along? He wasnt sure. It was hard to be sure of anything in this space, wherever or whatever it was. But for the first time in what felt like forever, he didnt feel the need to figure it out. There was a strange comfort in the finality of it. No more battles to fight. No more wrongs to right. No more wondering if he was living up to some expectation, whether his own or someone elses. He was done. Finished. Complete. Lowe had never thought of death as a gift, but now, he was starting to wonder if thats what it was. An end to pain. An end to trying. An end to everything that had ever weighed him down. And yet Even as he floated in this perfect stillness, he couldnt shake the faintest flicker of a thought. A small, stubborn ember buried deep within him, refusing to go out. Was this really how he wanted it all to end. The idea of returning to lifeof going back to all that chaos, all that painshould have felt like a nightmare. But somehow, it didnt. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Because as much as Lowe hated the pain, the worry, the struggle, it was also what had defined him. It was what made him who he was. And even in death, he couldnt quite let go of that. Maybe that was the joke, the cruel twist at the end of it all. Even here, in the perfect silence of the void, Lowe couldnt stop being Lowe. The man who couldnt let sleeping dogs lie. The man who had to see the case through to the end. The man who, even in death, wasnt ready to rest. The void was serenequiet, peaceful, and utterly free from the noise of life. Lowe had just started to appreciate the calm when the silence shattered. Oh, you are a dramatic one, arent you? A voice Lowe thought he recognised filled the space around him. Floating here in the ether, basking in your existential freedom. Very poetic. Lowe blinkedor at least thought he did. Did you blink in a void? He wasnt sure. Who the hell? Not hell, the voice interrupted. Close, though, depending on how you measure things. Arkola, Supreme Being, Architect of Reality, Arbiter of the Cosmos. Pleased to meet you. . Or did we meet before? I have a somewhat fluid relationship with time. Youre kidding me. I assure you, I am not. And before you ask: no, nothing is sacred. Least of all this. So even death doesnt come with a little privacy? Lowe said. Seriously, mate, I just died. Cant a guy get five minutes without some omnipotent busybody sticking their celestial nose in? Touchy, Arkola said. You mortals really do take dying too seriously. Youre acting like its a permanent condition. Maybe I want it to be. Oh, Jana Lowe. Always the contrarian. Tell me, is that really what you want? To drift here in the void, unburdened, untethered, and utterly irrelevant? You dont know what I want. Oh, but I do. Arkolas tone was maddeningly smug. I see your soul, Lowe. And you know what I see? The mark of the Blood of the Phoenix .People dont get Mythic Skills like that when theyre planning to shuffle off this mortal coil permanently. Thats not the mark of a man looking for peace. Thats the mark of someone who plans to bounce back. Maybe I dont want to do it, Lowe said,Maybe Im tired. Dont be a whiny cunt, I never give anyone more than they can handle. And you, Inspector, are nowhere near your limit. Funny, Lowe said, because from where Im standingor floatingit sure feels like Ive hit it. Arkola sighed. Oh, I could argue with you all day, Lowe, but lets skip the tedium and get to the good part, shall we? Ill make going back more worth your while. Hows that? Im not interested in bribes. Oh, but youll want this one, Arkola purred. How about you go back and sort out this messy Dreadnaught business and I tell you who the Black Knight really was? The name hit Lowe like a fist made of bad decisions, square to the jaw of his consciousness. It didnt knock him out, though. No, it woke him up in the worst way possible. Memories sparked like a broken engine coughing to life, throwing up smoke and bile as they roared back to the forefront. That case. The one that had chewed him up, spat him out, and then went back for seconds just to be thorough. The one that had led to his Classtration. The botched operation. That delightful little circus where everyone wore blindfolds and threw knives at each other. The ransom money that had evaporated faster than good intentions, leaving nothing but death, the stink of failure and career suicide. The note. The Black Knight. Laughing at him from the smudged parchment. The Councils judgment, as warm and compassionate as a snake bite. A room full of grey-faced statues, handing him all the blame And then, the final hammer blow: his incompetence, theyd said, had left the child dead.. That failureit wasnt a weight. No, weights could be dropped, shrugged off, set aside. This was a shadow, a second skin, a whispering ghost that had followed him into every alley and stared back from every whiskey glass. It had gutted him long before the Council had gotten around to finishing the job. And when theyd stripped him of everything, left him Classless? That wasnt punishment. That was just punctuation. Youre lying, Lowe said, his voice hoarse. The Black Knight was a ghost. A myth. Nobody knows who they were. Not nobody, Arkola corrected, his tone smug. I do. And Ill tell youif you go back. Lowe hesitated, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Hed spent a year burying the pain of that case, the anger, the questions. But now, standingor whateverin this void, it all came roaring back with a vengeance. The answers hed always told himself didnt matter suddenly felt like the only thing in the universe worth knowing. Whats the catch? he asked. Arkola laughed, a sound like rolling thunder. Oh, Lowe. Youre smarter than that. Theres always a catch. But Ill make it simple for you: go back, and Ill give you what youve always wanted. The truth. Lowe clenched his fists, the peace of the void suddenly suffocating. His mind raced, weighing the offer, the risks, the price. Because Arkola was right. He wasnt ready to rest. Not yet. Not with this unfinished. Not with this one last thread hanging loose. Fine, he said, the word tasting like defeat. Ill go back. Good choice, Arkola said, the smug satisfaction practically radiating from the void. And, Lowe? Try not to fuck it up this time. Before Lowe could retort, the void dissolved, and he fell. Chapter 100 - Resurrection Is a Hell of a Wake-Up Call Lowe sat up with a sharp gasp, like a diver breaking the surface after forgetting oxygen was a thing. His eyes darted around, wild and unfocused, before settling on Karolen. For her part, she was looking like shed seen a ghostor more accurately, like shed seen a corpse suddenly decide it had better things to do. His sudden movement had startled her. Karolen had been kneeling over his lifeless body, tears carving streaks through the grime and blood on her face. She flinched violently, recoiling as though from a ghost, her hand brushing against her blade. It clattered against the cavern floor, the metallic sound echoing briefly before the weapon dissipated into nothingness. What theLowe? she stammered. You were Dead. Yeah, got that, Lowe said. It didnt take. Carefully, he turned his head left, then right, testing for any lingering stiffness or surprises. Next, he flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hands slowly. So far, so good. Everything seemed to be in working order, no sudden pangs or ominous clicksjust the faint, surreal sensation of having recently been dead. Which, on its own, was quite a vibe. A small, glowing countdown ticked in the corner of his vision: 59:55. The bell-long healing lockout. Right. That was the trade-off for not staying permanently dead. A bit stingy, sure, but when youre gambling with house money, griping feels like an ungrateful waste of breathespecially when youve just been given a second shot at using it. To be honest, Im feeling surprisingly chipper, he said, swinging his legs around and rising to his feet. The motion was startlingly smooth, almost unnervingly so, considering hed been a corpse all of two moments ago. Turns out dyings the best nap Ive had in years. Who knew? Karolen stared up at him, her face a mix of shock, relief, and the faintest hint of irritation. Youyou were gone. I thought She shook her head, as if trying to shake loose the memory of his lifeless body, then paused, her expression shifting as something else clicked. Wait. How the hell are you cracking jokes? You justLowe, you died. Yeah, yeah, tragic stuff, Im sure, Lowe said, brushing non-existent dust off his coat with exaggerated nonchalance. But Im back now, so lets stick to the highlights: How much did I miss? Where did the Big Bad wander off to while I was . . . otherwise engaged? Youre impossible. Damn right I am, he said, dismissing the countdown in his vision. Also, just a heads up: no healing for the next hour. So, if you were planning on any tender, heroic moments where you slap a potion in my hand and save the day, maybe pencil that in for later. I dont understand? Yeah, me neither. Just dont try and heal me for a whileclocks still ticking on that one. Come on, up you get. Weve got a fully armoured Dreadnaught with a stolen Dungeon Core to deal with. How about you? Need any boosts, or are you good to go? Lowe pulled a pastry and a smoothie from his inventory, holding them out like peace offerings. Here, eat up. Trust me, thesell sort out anything that ails you. Mylafs finest. Practically a breakfast miracle. Karolen stared at him, blinking as if her brain hadnt quite caught up to events. A minute ago, shed been bracing herself to tell her best friend that Lowe had died in a Dungeon. Now, he was casually offering her snacks. Go on, Lowe said, waggling the croissant at her. Its a chocolate one. Best thing youll put in your mouth all week. There was a pause. Yeah, dont tell Arebella I said that. Blame that on the resurrection. Resigned to the absurdity of it all, Karolen took the croissant (+30% to Critical Hit) and the raspberry smoothie (flat 200 on HP). One bite of buttery, chocolate-laced bliss and a sip of tart sweetness later, she was chewing in stunned silence. Whatever she''d been about to say was effectively neutralised by the pastries sheer brilliance. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Lowe grinned. Told you. When she was finished, Lowe extended a hand. Karolen hesitated for a moment, then took it, allowing him to haul her to her feet. She shook her head as if trying to clear it, muttering under her breath. Lowe didnt catch every word, but he was fairly certain insufferable bastard made an appearance, wrapped in a tone that teetered somewhere between exasperation and reluctant admiration. Flattery will get you everywhere, he said, And I missed you too. Now did you see which way the Big Bad went? *** According to Karolen, the instant Lowe had exhaled his last, shuddering breath, the Dreadnaught had wasted no time. It had dropped him like last years fashions, let out an earth-shaking roar, and with a swing of its massive arm, it had torn a hole straight through the Dungeon wall. Then, without so much of a backward glance, it had disappeared into the night beyond. It didnt even pause, she said as they carefully navigated the fractured remains of the wall. One moment it was gloating over your corpsebecause, you know, ancient Dreadnaughts just have to get in a last wordand the next, its all so long, Dungeon, time to see the world. It didnt hesitate, didnt look backjust straight through the wall like a wrecking ball in full sprint. Lowe stumbled slightly on a chunk of fallen debris, still trying to shake off the strange, unmoored feeling that came with being yanked back from the dead. Places to go, people to see, I get it. But didnt it occur to you to, I dont know, try and stop it? Karolen shot him a glare. Oh, sure, Lowe. Ill just whip out my Stop a Rampaging Dreadnaught Skill next time. You know, right after I finish not dying while mourning your dramatic, heroic death. My bad for not keeping up. Preece might have been low Level, but that thing was at least Level 60. Fair point, Lowe said, stepping cautiously over a piece of shattered masonry. The cool air of Soar was a bit different herethicker, almost humming with residual energy. The destruction of the museums wall had left more than just physical damage; it was like the very fabric of reality had been pulled thin and stitched poorly back together. If he looked closely, he could see where the Dungeon Cores influence had imposed itself on the structure of Soar Museum. The wall they were passing through hadnt just crumbled under the Dreadnaughts assault, it had shifted and stretched, lines of glowing mana hovering midair like frozen lightning bolts. They twisted and warped, forming incomplete patterns that fizzled and sparked before vanishing. The place where the Dreadnaught had struck the wall gaped open like a festering wound, spilling remnants of magical containment. Grackle Nuroon was going to have a conniption. The two of them stepped through the hole in the wall, and the moment they crossed the threshold, Lowe felt the subtle, electric snap of their delve coming to an abrupt end. It was like a taut thread had been cut, leaving the air around them suddenly lighter, less charged. The shared notifications in his peripherythe ones linked to Karolens XP, stats, and progressflickered and disappeared, leaving an odd emptiness in their wake as their party dissolved. It was almost strange after what they had recently been through, like losing the hum of background noise you hadnt realised youd gotten used to. Yeah, thats about right, Lowe said. Whats about right? No rewards, he said. We went through all thatdeath, resurrection, Dreadnaughts busting out into the cityand we get jack-all for actually completing the Dungeon. Wheres the loot? The XP? The celebratory you did it fanfare? Obviously, Im pretty new at this whole delving thing, but Im fairly sure I got all sort of goodies when I finished my previous run in the Undercity. Lowe, you died. That is the literal opposite of finishing a Dungeon. Pfft, technicalities, he said. I came back, didnt I? Thats got to count for something. Oh, absolutely, she said. It counts as you not finishing the Dungeon. Its not my fault the Dungeon Core - a Core that incidentally has been stolen by a monster we apparently helped break in - wasnt up for rewarding sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. Ill have you know that stubbornness is a heroic quality. It really isnt, Karolen said. Her gaze shifted back toward the city, where the distant skyline still seemed to tremble from the Dreadnaughts escape. Heroics or not, theres an armoured Dreadnaught stomping around out there nowwith a stolen Dungeon Core for dessert. If we thought that thing was bad news inside the Dungeon You know what? Lowe said, Im not sure thats going to be a problem. Why not? Because, by the sound of all that fighting, and a bit of familiar swearing, Id put good gold on it that he Dreadnaughts just run into a few friends of mine. Chapter 101 - When Titans Bleed Friends? You have friends? You know, there are people that might find such a comment rather hurtful, Lowe said. Especially the newly resurrected. Im not completely unlikable, you know. I didnt say you were. I just dont picture your friends being the type to take on a rampaging Dreadnaught. Well, Lowe said, jerking his thumb toward the increasingly loud noise of shouting and very insistent explosions from just beyond the grounds of the museum, I do. And these particular friends of mine arent really the hug-it-out kind of folk. The noise of... whatever was happening escalated significantly. Booming impacts, each on their own sounding like the end of the world, sent tremors rippling through the ground beneath their feet. The keening whistle of wind slicing through stone shrieked in eerie harmony, with the explosions, the sound so sharp it felt as if it might rip through the air itself. And layered over it all was a metallic screech of steel-on-steel. Karolen squinted through the destruction, her eyes stinging as smoke and dust clung thick to the air, muting the fractured light and shrouding the world beyond into a shifting haze. Her hand tightened instinctively on the hilt of her reconstituted blade and she triggered all of her offensive Skills. She knew it was pretty pointless if they were planning to mix it up with a Dreadnaught but she was damned if she was going down without a fight. What in Soar is causing all that racket! she whispered. Lowe, for once, said nothing. Moving shapes suddenly resolved aheadblurred, figures moving, too fast to seem real. A gust of wind blasted through the street, scattering debris and clearing the worst of the haze, and for a moment, Karolen saw it. No, them. The Dreadnaught, now showing no trace of Preeces form, stood at the epicenter of a circle of annihilation. Encased in its ancient armour, it was like a titan ripped from legend. Its fists swung with the raw force of a living siege engine, every impact capable of reducing a city to rubble. Yet there was a noticeable sluggishness to its movementsan unnatural hesitation that betrayed its burden. Clutched protectively against its chest, the glowing Dungeon Core pulsed erratically, its light flickering in panicked bursts as if aware of its impending peril. The energy radiating from it was almost pleading, the rhythm of its pulsing quickening like a trapped heartbeat. The Dreadnaught shielded the Core with almost parental care as if anxious to keep it safe from any danger. And, boy, was there some danger about . . . Yeah, Lowe said. Ive got some pretty great friends. A streak of lightning carved through the sky above, slamming into the street at the Dreadnaughts feet with a force that ignited the cobblestones. From the explosion of scorched and shattered rocks emerged Latham, his massive blade already arcing toward the Dreadnaughts head. The impact of their clash was colossal, shattering the glass of the surrounding shop windows and toppling what few walls were still standing. But the Temple Warder didnt pause for a moment, continuing to hack away at the retreating monster like he was chopping wood. Is that Karolen started, but her voice faltered as the ground shuddered beneath them once again. The air screamed again, the clouds twisting into entirely unnatural spirals and, at the eye of the storm, Hel hovered, her hair a wild corona of energy. With a clap of her hands, she guided the wind around her into slicing gales and deadly whirlwinds which harried the escaping monster. Each gesture brought destruction raining down on the Dreadnaughta spear of ice here, a sudden column of air that hurled debris at impossible speeds there. Her attacks hammered the creature relentlessly, stopping it from being able to properly respond to Lathams relentless advance. Then Dreadnaught opened its mouth impossibly loud and screamed, a noise that seemed to come from some deep, primal abyss. Its free hand slashed out, catching Latham mid-stride and sending him flying back and away, vanishing through a wall. However, before it could look to press its advantage, more of Hels targeted wind attacks struck, carving a deep gash into its armor and forcing it to stumble back. Shes doing all that, Karolen said faintly, staring at Hel. And its still standing.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Ha, thats nothing. She chopped off my arm once and I barely gave it a second thought. Karolen opened her mouth to respond and then obviously thought better of it. Latham suddenly burst out of the wreckage, his own armour singed but his blade already swinging and there was the glow of any number of triggered Skills around him. Lowe hadnt been present for the Temple Warders epic throwdown with the Advanced Classed Bright in the reception of the Celestial Temple. But hed heard stories. Watching Latham nowmoving like pure, unbridled forceLowe decided those wide-eyed witnesses had been soft-selling it. Latham wasnt just good, he was good. Level ?? good. Every swing of his sword left trails of crackling energy, and each strike landed with the sound of a world tearing itself apart. The Dreadnaught, for all its power and bulk, struggled to match him. It was no slouchit countered with devastating swings of its own, its massive fists smashing into the Temple Warder time and time again. But Latham just took each blow and kept coming and the monster ended up tanking hits more than it probably wantedLathams cuts and slashes crashing into its armour, each one carving deep, glowing scars that oozed molten light. Lowe winced as a particularly brutal clash sent sparks and debris flying past him. Guess even ancient murder machines can have bad days. And that day just got worse. Hel swooped low, a blur of motion as she hurled a tempest at the Dreadnaughts legs, toppling it over. Latham was there in an instant, abandoning his sword to bring both fists down with an almighty crunch. The Dreadnaught howled, dropping the Dungeon Core to the ground where it rolled away. There was then quite some smackdown put on the monster. Without a moments hesitation, Karolen and Lowe broke into a sprint, weaving through the battlefield. Masonry rained down around them, each crash sending up clouds of dust that clung to the swirling smoke. Magical blasts tore through the air, streaking the shattered street with bursts of searing light and deafening cracks that sounded like the world itself was splitting apart. Karolen spotted the discarded Dungeon Core first, its glow seeping through the rubble. The ancient artifact seemed alive, each pulse of light rippling outward in waves that made her skin prickle. She didnt pause, didnt thinkher hand shot forward, gripping the Core and pulling it free. The second it touched her skin, a jolt ran through her, as if the Core was trying to imprint its desperation onto her. It burned with frantic energy, its chaotic rhythm matching the pandemonium around them. She clenched her jaw, steadying herself as its heat threatened to overwhelm her. Got it! she shouted over the din. Do you want me to hold it, Lowe called, seeing the pain on the Auditors face. Your healing cooldown over? she replied, taking out a Health Potion and downing it. The Core was burning the skin off her hand. Lowe cursed. Not yet, he said and then cast Medic! on Karolen. Then probably best I hold it for now, dont you think? Then they ran, trying to put as much distance between the Dreadnaught and the Core, which burned hotter and hotter in Karolens grasp with every passing momentbut they didnt stop. They couldnt. You know, Lowe said, breathing heavily as they ran, its true what they say? What? Karolen managed through the agony of her burning palms. Lowes Skill was helping, but all it was doing was repairing the damage. It didnt do anything about the pain. That cooked human smells like pork. Fuck off, Lowe. Unfortunately, freed from the burden of seeking to protect its prize, the Dreadnaught was able to turn its full attention to the fight with Hel and Latham. This turned out to be fairly decisive. Hel, her body all electric, tempestuous fury, dove from the sky at the Dreadnaught, unleashing a torrent of Skills. But, sadly, it was ready this time. A massive, clawed hand shot up, grabbing her mid-dive as if plucking a bird from the air. A single brutal punch to the head followed and then her unconscious form was sent spiralling away, before her body crashed into the ground, leaving her motionless. Latham roared in furious response, his fists glowing as he pummelled the monster. But for the first time, the Dreadnaught seemed almost grinning. It shifted, feinted, and when Lathams focus faltered for the briefest momenthis eyes flicking to Hels prone formit struck. The punch came like a meteor. It slammed into Lathams head, driving him down with an apocalyptic force. The cobblestones beneath Lathams feet shattered, the ground caved in, and the Temple Warder vanished into a smoking crater, as dust and shards of stone cascading into the yawning pit. The street fell deathly still for a moment, as if even the air was holding its breath. Karolen clutched the Core even tighter, despite the burning agony, as the Dreadnaughts massive frame turned toward them. No longer beset by Hel and Latham, it moved with predatory grace, unhurried, its steps almost balletic as it charged towards her. Lowe stepped in front of her instinctively, Slugger armed and fists raised though they both knew it wouldnt do a damn thing. "Well," Lowe said to her, "this is probably not ideal." Then, there was a sound. A low rumble of metal grinding against metal, growing louder with every second. The Dreadnaught froze, its head turning to the source. It appeared that the Senior Preservationist, Martha Culloden, had finally resurfaced. And she was clad head-to-toe in Dreadnaught armour of her own. Chapter 102 - Catastrophic Unmined Mana Explosion Are youare you fucking kidding me? Youre telling meno, no, let me get this straightyoure telling me that you died, Lowe? Died? Like, heart-stopped, brain-shut-down, body-went-rigor-mortis, died? And now youre sitting here, cracking wise, like thats the part of this story I should be focusing on? Are you actually fucking insane? Because, heres the thing, Lowethats not even the worst part! Oh no, you dying? Thats just the opening fucking act. Lets talk about the millions of gold worth of damage to the street outside the Museum! MILLIONS, Lowe! Cobblestones blasted apart, walls collapsed, storefronts levelled, businesses eradicated! Do you know how long its going to take to rebuild that? Neither do I, but I guarantee the Mayors going to be taking that out of my budget. Staffen slammed her hand on the desk for emphasis, making her pens rattle. And speaking of the Museumoh, yeah, thats mostly just fucking gone! Poof! Vanished into the gods-damned ether! Do you know what it takes to remove a building that old from this plane of existence, Lowe? No? Well, apparently you and your little shit-show found a way. And dont even get me started on the giant, headless, armoured corpse youve left sprawled out in front of the district portal. Do you have any idea the kind of traffic chaos thats causing? No one can get in or out! Trades at a standstill! People are screaming bloody murder because they cant fetch their fucking luxury cheeses or whatever the fuck rich idiots buy these days! Her eyes widened, little sparks of electricity spiralling out to incinerate several stacks of reports before her And thats still not the worst part! The worst part, Lowe, is that somehow, somehow, youve managed to make this entire disaster MY FUCKING PROBLEM! Because when the Mayor finally stops freaking out over this shitstorm, you know what hes going to say? Hes going to pick up his Sending Stone and ask Pernille, how did you let this happen? Pernille, why werent you on top of this? Pernille, didnt I ask you to drop the case at Soar fucking Museum''! Staffen pointed a trembling finger at Lowe, her face flushed with rage. Do you have any idea the paperwork this is going to cause? The explanations? The ass-kissing Im going to have to do to keep the Mayor from nailing my fucking arse to a wall? Because I sure as shit do, Lowe, and let me tell you, it is going to be monumental. So, no, Lowe. I dont want to hear about how you came back from the dead or how you heroically stopped the Dungeon from fully forming. All I care about is how the fuck youre going to clean up this absolute clusterfuck of a mess, because if you dont, I swear to every god in the pantheon, I will personally stuff that headless Dreadnaught corpse up your arse and leave it there. The Commander of Soars Security Forces had been monologuing in this manner for the best part of a half a bell. Whilst Lowe was the first to admit that he didnt always pick up the nuance of interpersonal relationships, he sensed his boss was a touch narked with him. He let her furious anger wash over him - he sensed hed be getting plenty of repeats of this little rant from various sources in his near future - mind returning to the last moments of the Dreadnaught. activating Grid View to watch again as the Senior Preservationist of Soar Museum simply walked up to the Dreadnaught and tore its head off. He reversed the sequence and replayed it over and over again. Yep. That was still all there was to it. After all the sound and fury, all that chaos, all that heroic sacrifice and effort, the key moment in the whole caper was a short, blonde, middle-aged woman, glad in shining ancient armour, literally ripping a monster from the netherworlds in two. Using her bare hands. A monster that had taken everything Hel and Latham could throw at it and came out the other side grinning, was casually torn in two. Dont you fucking tell me youre fucking ignoring me, Lowe! Guilty, he switched off the Skill. Sorry boss. Trauma, you know. What with dying and all. If Staffen felt a moments sympathy, it didnt show on her face. Or in her voice. Or in the cavalcade of mental Skills she kept, impotently, throwing Lowes way. Do you have any explanation for all of this? Catastrophic unmined mana explosion, Lowe said automatically, reaching for the cover story theyd all agreed to go with. Staffen stared at him, unblinking. Catastrophic. Unmined. Mana explosion, she repeated slowly, as if tasting each word and finding them each rather rancid. Thats the best youve got? Thats the story youre going with? Lowe shrugged. Its plausible. Manas volatile, right? Boom, bang, ancient artefacts, andta-da!sudden architectural makeover. No ones fault. No harm. No foul. All the insurance payouts in the world. Plausible, he says, Staffen said. Lowe, the entire street looks like its been chewed up and spat out by an angry Elemental. Theres a headless giant monster blocking a portal. Half the museum is fucking gone. And your answer is: Oops! Mana go boom? Well, Lowe said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, when you put that silly voice on when you say it, it does sound pretty bad. But technically, none of its inaccurate. None of itsare you fucking listening to yourself? Staffen nearly exploded herself, her hands flailing like she was trying to physically strangle his words. Mana go boom? What, did that giant fucking headless monster spontaneously generate as a side effect of the explosion? And where has that Dungeon Core gone in the middle of this . . . unexpected explosion Dungeon Core? I dont think I remember seeing anyIf you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. I swear to every deity ever worshipped in Soar if you finish that sentence, I will personally write the Mayor a report blaming this entire disaster on you and have them strip you of whatever sliver of dignity your Classless arse has got left! Lowes expression became steely at that. Do you know what, maam? I dont think theres a single thing the Mayor or the fucking Council have left to do to me, is there? They sat in silence for a moment. Eventually, Lowe held up his hands in mock surrender. Alright, alright. Catastrophic unmined mana explosion might not cover all the bases. But its concise, right? People love concise. Lowe, Pernille said, concise doesnt cut it when the entire city is asking why the museum looks like a bloody war zone and half the nobility cant get their carriages past a giant corpse. Do you think anyones going to buy your half-assed excuse for even a second? Well, I bought it, and I was there, so everyone else can get in line. Oh, and considering I also cleared up three murders whilst I was doing it, I reckon I should earn some credit from the Council there. Staffen sighed and dismissed the Skills she was desperately using to try to pry open Lowes mind. Why dont we start all this again? Explain to me what went down at the Museum. And you promise no shouting this time? Lowe! Fine. So, moments after the catastrophic unmined mana explosion . . . * With a complicated gesture, Martha Culloden dismissed the armour she was encased in and stepped, carefully, away from the body of the now decapitated Dreadnaught. You can probably put that down now, she said to Karolen. The Auditor was stood, slack-jawed, staring at the Senior Preservationist. Put what down? The Dungeon Core burning a hole through your hand. With a startled yelp, Karolen flinched and let the sphere slip from her hands. Its fall to the ground stopped just shy of impact, halting mid-air as if it had a mind of its own. Its slow descent continued before it finally settled amidst the shattered cobbles of the street, as if perfectly content to nestle there. Now, doesnt that feel better? Lowe, after unloading all of his mana on Hel and Latham via Medic! crossed to stand in front of the Senior Preservationist. How in Soar did you manage that? No, hang on. A more pressing question is where the fuck have you been? The woman gave a tired smile. I think the answer to both of those questions are probably linked. Karolen, her hand now healed, joined Lowe. You went missing the night the second Curator - Harker - was killed. Everyone thinks you did it! No one has seen anything of you since then! Poor Josep, Martha said, and to Lowes mind, she did really did seem sorry. He came to see me just before I left for the evening. He was in a terrible state. His role was to catalogue the more exotic exhibits from the collapsed Dungeon on the edge of Soar and he was sure there was a discrepancy in the records of recovered Dreadnaught armour. It seemed, on the day of Isadoras death - when we were all commanded to Cleanse the Canvas - one of the suits went missing. Hed been searching the Dungeon high and low for a month and hadnt been able to find it, and he was sure the Director was going to blame him for its loss. He was sick with worry. Being a Curator was his whole life. I, of course, realised there was a far bigger concern. That the missing Dreadnaught had found a home. Well, quite. Id told the Director over and over again that it was ridiculously dangerous for us to keep untethered Dreadnaughts on site - especially once we started bringing in all sorts of new Dungeon artefacts. But, well, as I imagine you have noticed, you cannot tell Nuroon anything. Even presented with evidence that one of them escaped its binding, he remained blithely unconcerned. After all, a Dreadnaught without its armour is little more than a shadow. But then, Karolen said, the museum began bringing new Dungeon artefacts on site - including Dreadnaught armour. Didnt anyone think that might be a massively dangerous thing! Im sure we did, my dear, Marthas voice was cool. But then, unfortunately, we all wiped our memories after Curator Isadoras accident. Allowing the Dreadnaught complete freedom to act. Indeed. It was only when Harker came to me that I started to piece together what was likely to have happened. The Dreadnaught was able to access The Great Hall when the Director was showing Ms Mehin around, and took advantage of the . . . escalated tension to enter the open Sarcophagus and claim its armour. It would have consumed Isadora to complete the binding process. Karolen thought back to that morning. Had she noticed any unusual . . . shadows around her? And, if she did, would she have thought anything much of them? With our memories wiped, Culloden continued, the Dreadnaught had all the time in the world to secure itself to this realm. In fact, if it hadnt been for Harker, I would have been none the wiser anything was going on before that Dungeon reformed itself. And you think that was the Dreadnaughts plan? Lowe asked, to claim the Dungeon Core? They all dropped their eyes to look at the glowing sphere still nestling happily on the ground. Of course. A Dreadnaught is powerful, but this was a newly formed one. If it had the opportunity to drain a Dungeon Core? Well, that would have been a whole different kettle of fish. Its immaturity was the only reason I was able to escape when it attacked Harker and I in my office that night. That poor young man took the brunt of its necrotic slime attack, and I had just enough time to escape through a passageway to the Chapel of Rest and used a Skill to lock the door behind me. But where did you then go? You activated the portal and didnt go through it? Lowe said. I didnt know what was best. After the kerfuffle over the audit, Martha grimaced at Karolen, Nuroon was pretty much invincible. I couldnt go to him and say I thought, because of his insistence on secrecy, hed allowed an ancient horror lose on Soar. Hed scared off the Security Service from investigating Isadoras death, so there was no point going to Cuckoo House. And the Trustees had made it clear they had no appetite for hearing any more bad news. So, what. You just hid out in the museum? Lowe said. Yes, Culloden replied with a shrug.Wed uncovered a second set of Dreadnaught armour in another sarcophagus the day before Isadoras death, and - after Harkers research had brought that to my attention - I assimilated my core with it. A rather delicate undertaking, I might add. And its not like I didnt try to warn you about what was going on, she added, casting an accusatory glance at Lowe. It was you, then? Lowe said. You were the one following me in the corridors beneath the museum? Well, yes. Of course, it was me, Culloden said, as though the answer were obvious. Unfortunately, at that stage, I was in the early phases of integrating with the armour, and controlling the necrotic slime was... challenging. I assume thats why you ran off like a scared little girl? Lowe offered no response to that jab. Karolen stepped in. So what made you show yourself now? Not that were not grateful, of course, she added hastily, glancing at the headless Dreadnaught lying amidst the rubble. Once the armor fully accepted me, I had nothing left to fear, Culloden said. Thats the thing about the bindings we had in place on those monstersthey were calibrated for extremely powerful beings. The Dreadnaught that escaped was far from whole and its connection to its core was tenuous at best, which is why it was able to break free. But if it had managed to consume that Dungeon Core? She paused, letting the gravity of the statement hang in the air. That would have been an entirely different story. So what now, Lowe asked. This is going to be a hell of a thing to explain. Well, Culloden said, leaning forward, how much do you know about catastrophic unmined mana explosions . . . Chapter 103 - Blood on the Ledger, Smoke in the Air Grackle Nuroon stared at the man sitting opposite him. The room was quiet. Horribly quiet. The kind of quiet that crawls under your skin, opens a can of itching powder and just goes to town all over your histamines. Overhead, the hiss of a cracked mana light added its own flavour of unease to the atmosphere, flickering like it had a stutter. After all the carnage wrought by the Dungeons abortive attempt to root itself in his Museum, most of the passive Skills the Director had built - with his own hands - into the walls were on the fritz. The usual comforting buzz of complete arcane stability was now a series of loud and discordant clicks as the damage slowly - and far too slowly for the Directors liking - repaired itself. Grackle Nuroon tapped a finger, slowly against his chin. Although his face was frozen in its usual, belligerent, expression, he was feeling far from secure. He hated this unusual experience of vulnerability, particularly within the context of having added five whole Levels during his own experiences in the Dungeon. With his newly acquired SkillTemporal Archivehe should have been feeling like a million bags of gold right now. The ability to transform the Museum into a time-fractured version of itself for one minute, overlaying the past onto the present, was nothing short of extraordinary. The Skill allowed him to temporarily manifest objects and entities from bygone eraslegendary artefacts humming with dormant power, spectral echoes of past visitors, allies, or enemiesall brought to life within the Museum''s walls. That said, there were caveats. The mana cost was obscenean almost parasitic drain that threatened to leave him crippled for hours afterward. And, right now, with his Museum so badly compromised, he couldnt afford to properly explore its possibilities. Especially as, sitting across from him, like a crumpled monument to all that had recently gone wrong, was Jana Lowe, hands rested loosely on the armrests, but his eyes were anything but relaxed. Nuroon resisted the urge to shift in his seat. A bead of sweat rolled down Nuroons temple. He told himself it was just the lightthe room was warm, after all. But Lowes gaze didnt give him an inch. He cleared his throat, a sound that felt embarrassingly loud. Was there something you wanted, Inspector? As you may imagine, I have an awful lot to be getting on with. Im sure you do, mate. Im sure you do. Cant be every day a Dungeon establishes itself in the middle of your Museum? No, Nuroon said, resisting the urge to nervously smooth out the papers on his desk, it has all been very traumatic for everyone who works here. Yeah, its been quite a month for you, hasnt it? Bunch of murders, bit of random mayhem and I see you also managed to hit your Level 70 threshold. Congratulations! You must be feeling very proud. What Im feeling isnt remotely your business, Mr Lowe. Now, if theres nothing else? Nuroon stood, pushing out with a mental Skill - Executive Egress - that had never failed to cause subordinates to scuttle from his presence. Lowe just looked back at him with the same, intense expression. Isadora. Harker. Preece. You''ve lost three Curators in a very short space of time, he began, For the completion of my report on all that has occurred, could you clarify the arrangements youve made for their families? Mr Lowe, not that it is any of your business, Grackle said smoothly, but Curators are all independent contractors. Their deaths are, of course, regrettable, but they are due no recompense. I trust that satisfies your curiosity? Lowes brow shot up in exaggerated surprise. Independent contractors, you say? No recompense? Oh, thats fascinating. Truly. Let me make sure Ive got this straightthree people die, in your museum, under your roof, while working on your behalf, and you think thats just what? A footnote? A whoops, my bad situation? A shrug and move on? He leaned forward, his hand glowing as Slugger, almost unconscious activated, the faux curiosity in his tone giving way to something darker. Thats the play youre going with? Because let me tell you, Grackle my old mate, thats a bold strategy. I mean, sure, why not? Youre Level 70 and are probably feeling pretty chipper right now. Lets just ignore the glaringly obvious part where this is entirely your responsibility and focus on the real issue hereyour complete and utter lack of shame. But hey, who am I to judge? What would I know about accountability, right? The terms of their contracts were clear. Its hardly unusual in In what? Exploitative corporate practices? Lowe said, voice rising. Let me tell you, Grackle, Soar loves a scandal. Imagine the headlines: Museum Director Leaves Families Penniless After Tragic Deaths. You think the Trustees are going to love explaining that one to the public? Their contracts he started, but Lowe was already cutting him off. Oh, Im sure their contracts were airtight, Lowe said. But heres the thing: the court of public opinion doesnt give a flying fuck about contracts. They care about how it looks. And right now, Grackle, your optics are looking pretty damn bleak. So how about we skip the part where I leak this to someone with a sharper quill than me and jump straight to the bit where you do the decent thing? Nuroons jaw folded his hands together as if to physically stop himself from wringing Lowes neck. What exactly are you suggesting? Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Im suggesting, Lowe said, his tone casual but his eyes like steel, that you make a gesture. A big one. Something that says, Hey, Im not a completely heartless bastard. Lets call it a hundred thousand gold per family. Sounds fair, doesnt it? A hundred Nuroon choked, his composure slipping for the first time. Thats preposterous. Its Doable, Lowe finished for him. Oh, dont look at me like that. Youve got a whole museum full of priceless junk. Sell a vase or two. I hear the citys elite will pay absurd amounts for a little cultural enrichment. Nuroons expression stayed frozen, but he was already mentally inventorying the artefacts he could part with as well as the potential profits he could wring from his newly developed Skill. Three hundred thousand goal wasnt nothing, but he could probably make that work . . . Very well. Ill arrange something for the families. A hundred thousand, Lowe reminded him. Yes, yes, Nuroon snapped, waving a hand dismissively. Ill have to convene with the Trustees, of course, but it will be done. Excellent. Now, Lowe reached into his pocket and withdrew a bloodstained notebook. Do you know what this is? Nuroon recoiled slightly. No idea at all. Lowe gave him a hard look, and then nodded. I actually believe you. Okay, well at least you have that going for you. This is Kelvin Kreggs little diary of . . . interactions. I assume you know that your employee was a colossal piece of shit? Bard Kregg was . . . Dont. Just dont, the glow in Lowes hand increased substantially. Despite the disparity in their levels, Nuroon found himself flinching slightly. How was he being intimidated by this man? A Classless non-entity with three Skills? I dont understand what you want from me here, Mr Lowe. Theres a whole book of women here that, in the very near future, are going to receive some good news. Fifty thousand gold each feels about right. It wont make them forget what he did to them but, considering the one good thing the Dreadnaught that escaped from your museum did was to literally tear this guy a new one, I figure the cash will be a welcome second act of appropriate contrition. Nuroon picked up the book and flicked through it, disgust on his face. There must be a hundred odd names in here! I know. Terrible isnt it? Imagine employing someone that predatory and not doing anything about it! Thinking about it, sixty thousand gold is probably appropriate. I dont know what leverage you think you have in these negotiations, Mr Lowe . . . Lowe reached into his other pocket and, from within, he retrieved a small spheremuch smaller now than it had been when the Dreadnaught had clutched it. The objects surface was slick with some unnatural sheen that shimmered like oil on water. He placed it on Nuroons desk with a wet thunk, leaving behind a smear of charred skin that hissed faintly against the polished wood. The smell hit the Director first. It wasnt just the reek of scorched flesh but something far worse: the smell of mana corruption laced with the unmistakable stench of cooked meat. Nuroons stomach churned as his eyes flicked to Lowes hand, and his bile rose further. The Inspectors hand was a ruin. Skin blistered and blackened, the flesh cracked open to reveal raw, angry tissue beneath. Patches of his palm looked like overcooked parchment, peeling away in thin, jagged strips, while the tips of his fingers still smoked faintly. Blood mixed with the burnt remnants, dripping sluggishly onto the desk as if unwilling to acknowledge the mess it had come from. Thought you might want this back. Nuroon didnt move, his gaze torn between the grotesque damage to Lowes hand - already repairing itself - and the pulsating sphere now sitting on his desk. What do you propose I do with that? he asked eventually. That thing nearly destroyed my whole museum! Lowe shrugged. I couldnt give a flying fuck what you do with it. I imagine youve got plenty of secret little hidey-holes in this place for your very special exhibits. Stick it in one of those. Or, if its too much trouble, I can always haul it over to the Celestial Temple. See if anyone theres got a use for itor better yet, a taste for the kind of trouble it brings. No. No. No. Well take it, he almost leapt across the desk to prevent Lowe taking the Dungeon Core back. It is only right, after all, that an object of such importance is maintained for posterity inside our walls. Nuroon already knew exactly the spot in his . . . private collection this piece would sit in. Sixty thousand gold each you say? Done. See? That wasnt so hard, was it? Who knows, Grackle, maybe thisll be the start of your redemption arc. If there wasnt anything else, Mr Lowe? Lowe stood, brushing the charred remnants of his ruined skin off his lap like dandruff. "No," he said, "I think thats my lot." He turned and strode toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the uneasy silence of the room. His hand reached for the handle of the office door, and for a moment, it seemed like that was it. Business concluded. Then he stopped and gave a sharp intake of breath, just audible enough to make Nuroon flinch. Lowe tilted his head slightly, as though something had only now occurred to him. "Oh, uh just one more thing.You know, Director, its funny," he said. "Ive been noticing all the upgrades around here. Quite the budget youve been working with lately." "The Trustees have been very supportive of my vision. They understand the importance of maintaining Soar Museums standing as the crown jewel of this city." "Supportive, you say?" Lowe said. "Fascinating, then, how that vision aligns so neatly with the sudden flurry of auctions Ive been hearing about. Unusually rare artifacts hitting the block, fetching eye-watering sums. A Blacksmiths Codex from the First Age? That was in your inventory during your last audit. Oh, and wasnt there a legendary Tome of Binding that mysteriously found its way into a private collection in the south?" Nuroons smile didnt falter. "I am, of course, always looking to ensure the museums sustainability, Mr Lowe. Some lesser pieces are occasionally deaccessioned to make room for" "Lesser pieces," Lowe said. "Interesting term for priceless historical artifacts that just so happen to vanish without a trace. Im sure the Trustees will find that definition fascinating when I bring it up. What do you think? Do they even know youve been flogging off the family silver? Or is this a little side hustle of yours?" Lowe pulled the door open with a flourish, stepping aside as Karolen filled the doorway, resplendent in her full Auditor regalia. Her polished armour positively gleamed, and the sigil of her station glowed on her chest. Behind her stood Liando Verlan, arms crossed. Nuroons smile faltered for the first time, his composure cracking just slightly as Karolen stepped forward. You know what, Director Nuroon? Lowe said, slipping past her and out the door, I think youre going to want to make sure all of that compensation gold comes from your own accounts. I imagine the Museums books are about to be rigorously monitored moving forward. Karolen didnt say a word, but the glint in her eye and the faint upturn of her lips said plenty. Liando remained silent, his gaze locked on Nuroon. Lowe tipped an imaginary hat, Have a great day. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Nuroon alone in the office with Karolen and Verlan. Chapter 104 - Epilogue Lowe leaned back in his creaking chair, flipping through the final pages of his report. It was a masterclass in bullshit. It perfectly balanced the tightrope of bureaucratic survivala blend of half-truths, artfully crafted omissions, and just enough verifiable facts to discourage anyone from digging too deep. The perfect cocktail of plausible deniability. An almost textbook Cuckoo House report. No one would be happy with it, but no one would be angry enough to pull at the threads. And in Soar, that was often the best you could hope for. A lot of people were dead, and while a few of them had it coming, far too many hadnt. But that was Soar, wasnt it? A city that thrived on grinding people up and spitting out what was left. If you let yourself care too much, youd never make it out of bed. With a tap of his finger, Lowe activated the cuckoo sigil embossed on the cover of the filea silver emblem of a bird mid-dive, its wings outstretched. It quivered once, twice, and then rose from the desk in a wide spiral, as if testing its newfound freedom. Tiny, glowing feathers sprouted from its corners, and the pages rifled with the faintest coo, like a real bird waking from slumber. Lowe watched as the file darted toward the open window, weaving around his lamp and narrowly missing a tower of precariously stacked case notes. It hesitated at the frame, flapping softly as though sniffing the air, before shooting off with purpose, leaving a trail fairydust in its wake. Off to Central Filingwherever in the gods name that actually was. Almost immediately, another file, dull and heavy, thudded onto his desk, spat back through his window by the same Skill that had taken the first one away. Its edges were frayed, its corners scuffed, but the sigil on its cover burned bright and angry, as if demanding attention. Lowe sighed, his fingers brushing the cracked leather. A return file. Great. He wasnt done for the night after all. How had he offended the admin trolls this time? The file was thick with worn edges and scuffed corners. It looked exactly like hundreds of others he had handled during his career. But something about it gave Lowe pause. His hand hesitated above the cover, and then he saw Unsolved stamped across it in faded ink. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. He knew this file. And he knew the case that remained Unsolved. And with that, the pit opened in his stomach and, without any conscious thought, Grid View activated, dragging him unwillingly into the scene that had haunted his nights for the past year. Smoke curled through the air, thick and choking, curling around the overturned furniture and shattered glass of the room like a giant, constricting serpent. Somewhere in the distance, alarms blared, their wails distant and distorted, as if he were swimming underwater. The stink of burned mana clawed at his throat, mingling with the stench of blood. A scene frozen in time, etched into his soul. The body lay crumpled on the floor. Small. Too small. The fine fabric of its clothes was torn, the rich colours dulled and smeared with grime and darker stains he refused to name. The childs arm was flung out above its head, and one shoe was missing, as though theyd tried to run. Or maybe fight. Lowe had no idea which thought hurt worse. His breathing came sharp and fast as the steel trap of the image locked in his mind. Smoke swirled around him, painting shadows where none should be, twisting into cruel shapes. The alarms rang on, each one a hammer to his heart. And then the laughter started. Low, cruel, and echoing. It wasnt realnot here, not nowbut Grid View dragged it from his memory in perfect replication anyway. That horrible, mocking sound, spiralling into his ears and parasitically latching onto his mind. The Black Knight. That failed ransom handover. His fuckup that had caused the death of a child. The case that had ruined his life. He reteched, and that action broke the hold of his Skill and forced him back into the present. Lowe blinked the vision away, returning to the dim light of his office. His hand trembled as he reached for the file again, and he cursed under his breath as he saw it. A slip of paper, neatly tagged to the front of the file, stark against the dull manila cover. Lowes fingers hesitated before plucking it free, his other hand wiping at his eyes in frustration at the sudden and unwelcome moisture there. The handwriting was precise, almost elegant. I feel our previous game ended a little early. What do you say about a rematch? Yours, as ever. The Black Knight. And then every alarm in Cuckoo House erupted into life. Shrill. Insistent. Every system designed to catch the tiniest ripple of a threat now howled in unison. Lights flared red along the walls, the polished floors gleaming like blood. The whole building seemed to lurch with purpose, like a beast waking from slumber. Lowe stared at the note in his hand, his jaw tightening as the cacophony around him intensified. Fuck me, he said, his voice lost in the wailing alarms. Inspector Lowe will return in the The Cuckoos Last Call Chapter 105 - Two Bags and a Dead Man’s Bench You worry too much, Lowe said, sipping a cup of lukewarm tea. Pleasingly, his initial assumption had been correct. He was easily able to keep both the entrance to the park and the all important bench under observation from this position. Sure, the cafe might have seen better daysit was all faded wood, greasy tables, and a perpetually damp smell that no mana-laced cleaning rune could shiftbut hed been right when hed argued that this would offer the perfect vantage point over the operation. And, if you ask me, you dont worry enough, Rook replied, whispering into the Sending Stone stitched into the collar of his coat. You should turn that frown upside down, Rooky. Were all about to be heroes. Across the street from where Lowe sat, Goldleaf Park stretched out behind a meticulously maintained row of hedges, all rolling green lawn, ornamental fountains, and carefully positioned wooden benches. It absolutely bustled with early spring purpose: Mothers and children played near the east fountain, joggers looped lazily along its perimeter, and a street vendor hawked suspiciously high-quality pastries from the back of a cart. If you didnt know better, youd think it was just another sunny afternoon in downtown Soar. But, of course, Lowe knew better. For example, he knew that pretty much every single one of those seemingly innocent park-goers was a member of his team. And that, in very short order indeed, some serious shit was going to go down. He took another sip of his tea, holding a Sending Stone lightly in the palm of one hand. It glimmered, pulsing every few seconds to confirm the secure link with the other Security Service officers. Arman, status? A scratchy reply came through almost instantly. Positioned near the south gate, boss. Jogger disguise holding up fine. If anyones watching, theyre in for a masterclass of some fucking leisurely cardio. Lowe glanced toward the south gate. Sure enough, Arman was there, dressed in sweat-stained shirt and shorts that probably were a whole catalogue of sex-crimes all on their own.. The big man jogged enthusiastically in place, earning a giggle from a couple of passing schoolgirls. Looking good, mate. But dont overdo it, though. Nobody buys a jogger whos too committed. But boss, Arman replied. Ive enchanted my nipples against chafing and everything! Nobody needs to think about your nipple right now. Coda, what you seeing? From his position near the fountain, Codas voice chimed in. I can heartily concur. Im having to look at the fat fuckers arse cheeks flapping in the wind and I absolutely do not need to think about his nipples as well. About the layout, Coda. About the layout. Ah, you should have said, boss. Plenty of sightlines. If our kidnappers here, theyve certainly got options. Shadows near the hedges are prime for hiding. Ive already flagged three spots where they could try to blend in. Lowe nodded, moving slightly in his chair to improve his view of that area. Mark them and keep your focus on the bench. We dont need any surprises today. Codas Sending Stone blinked in acknowledgment, and Lowe turned his attention to the next piece of the puzzle. Faulks, hows the bait looking? In the heart of the park, an older man sat stiffly on a bench, his pale fingers gripping two gleaming bags of gold. He was wealthy, of coursea mining tycoon who owned half the veins beneath the Shattered Plainsbut he looked anything but powerful right now. His immaculate suit was rumpled and his eyes were hollow with exhaustion. Faulks, posing as an overly pushy vendor, loitered near the bench, selling cheap talismans to non-existent customers. Hes holding together, the woman reported, though her tone suggested it was a fragile kind of holding. But barely. Keeps muttering to himself about how hes going to gut the bastardand, uh, lets just say thats not a vague, idle threat. Its some real explicit, weirdo stuff. Knows his way around a filleting knife, if you catch my drift. To be honest, boss, we might want to dig a little deeper into his background. Some of these threats? Theyve got a little too much... lets say practical detail for my liking. Guys not just imagining payback; hes drafting blueprints. Let him mutter, Folky Lowe said. Just make sure he sticks to the plan. He leaves the bags and walks away. No heroics. Copy that. You see, Rook, Lowe said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table,its all going exactly as planned. How much did we wager on this, by the way? What, that this ridiculously convoluted idea of yours would actually work? Yeah. From memory, we bet a Skill upgrade, didnt we? Fuck you, Lowe. Were not all Cenorths Golden Boy. Some of us actually have to work for a living. Lowe laughed and moved his mana about within the Sending Stone, switching channels. Control, whats our perimeter look like? The clipped, professional tone of one of the dispatchers filled his ear. Perimeter secure, sir. Weve got two officers stationed at every gate and a rapid response team stationed just outside the park. No unusual activity reported. Perfect. Keep me posted if they see anything hinky. Will do, sir. Good hunting. He set the stone down for a moment and glanced at his notepad. It was mostly blanka few cryptic sketches of various chess pieces and a list of all his peoples positions. The real plan was in his head, of course, and that was running like clockwork. A career spent working in Cuckoo House had taught him the value of improvisation, but it was also nice when a well-constructed plot actually all came together. Especially one with such high stakes . . . The Sending Stone buzzed again, but this time, he didnt answer it. He waved a hand over it, cutting the feed, and activated Overwatch so seamlessly it might as well have been a reflex. The air shimmered, as the park unfolded around him in perfect clarity. Every officer, every potential hiding spot, every possible line of approachall of it overlaid with glowing sigils and annotations visible only to him. He could see where Faulks shifted nervously by the bench, Armans exaggerated jog, Coda crouching near the fountain, and Mr Highberg still clutching his bags of ransom like they were his lifeline. The park itself lit up with magical traces. Shadows that were just a touch too deep, spots where the flow of mana was disruptedpotential hiding places for their suspect. He noted them all, filing the information away as he toggled through layers of analysis. Two shadows near the west gate, he murmured. Mana signatures weak, but worth keeping an eye on. He tapped the Sending Stone again, his voice casual. Coda, check the west gate. Two suspicious spotscould be nothing, could be something. On it. As Coda moved into position, Lowe deactivated Overwatch, leaving the park looking deceptively normal again. He was hoping when he hit Level 20 he would get a threshold reward which would make that Skills mana demands a little more palatable. Right now - with a full slate of offensive and defensive Skills humming around him - it was too resource heavy for him to keep open. Not for the first time, Lowe questioned the wisdom of letting his suite of Skills sprawl quite so broadly. Sure, a little Quality of Life mana usage here and there was nicehell, it had saved his skin more times than he could countbut managing it all? That was becoming a headache. Lately, it felt less like he was commanding his arsenal and more like he was juggling it, constantly trying to keep track of cooldowns, mana regen rates, and which potions he could afford to burn through. Just for one day, he thought, itd be a relief to strip it all back. No swirling calculations, no intricate balancing actjust the basics. Three Skills max. Yeah, he mused, thatd be nice. He returned his focus to the Sending Stone. Alright, team, listen up. The ransom drop is in five minutes. Everyone stay sharp. No unnecessary movement. We want our guy to feel as comfortable as possible until he grabs those bags. At which stage, please feel free to kick a little arse. A chorus of acknowledgments came through the Sending Stone. Cases with kids were the worst. And lowlives that kidnapped kids . . . yeah, Lowe was going to be lucky if there was anything left of this guy to present to his superiors at Cuckoo House. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Lowe leaned back, his hand brushing the hilt of his batona standard-issue relic enchanted with enough punch to deal with anything short of an avatar on a rampage. He doubted hed need it today - ideally, he wouldnt even need to leave his seat - but it was always nice to be prepared. Through the cafs window, he saw the tycoon take a deep breath and stand. His movements were hardly fluid, but he followed the script Lowe had written for him. With a trembling hand, he placed the two bags of gold on the bench and walked away, his shoulders hunched like a man carrying the weight of the world. Faulks, tail him, Lowe ordered. Make sure he doesnt double back for a bit of stabby stabby action. As soon as hes out of the park, take him back home. Coda, eyes on the bags. Everyone else, hold position. A silent weight pressed down on the park like an approaching storm. Lowe let it wash over him and triggered Clear Thought, a Skill that gave him a 10% increase on his Intelligence. For most people, that might not have been much, but with his stats . . . well, it was like bringing another mind online. Alright, team, he said, his voice steady. Lets catch ourselves a kidnapper. *** The first sign that something was going wrong was when Highberg put the gold bags down and then, instead of walking away as planned, stubbornly planted himself on the bench. His face was a storm cloud of grief and fury. I want to look the bastard who took my boy in the eye! he bellowed, the sheer volume sending ripples through the park. Heads turnedsome belonging to undercover officers, some belonging to innocent bystanders who werent supposed to be noticing anything unusual. Faulks, Lowe hissed into his Sending Stone as he stood up from his seat, his tea forgotten. Get him the fuck out of there! But do it subtly! The blonde officer, approached Highberg with the air of someone who had no idea she was interrupting a carefully laid trap. Her voice carried a cheery, sing-song quality that belied the urgency of the situation. Can I interest you in one of these fine talismans? she said, holding up a cheap charm as if it were a rare artifact. Guaranteed to bring you peace of mindor maybe just a little good luck! Highberg, for a moment, appeared startled by the interruption. His eyes darted to her and then back to the bags of gold sitting on the bench as if he couldnt decide whether to argue, shout, or ignore her entirely. I dont need your damn trinkets! he yelled back. Get the fuck away from me. Oh, I dont know, Fauls continued, with a breezy smile. You look like a man with a lot on his mind. This one hereblessed by the High Priest of Nerienia himselfworks wonders on restless hearts. Why dont you step over here and have a proper look? As she spoke, she gestured with her free hand, signaling for one of the other officers to close in from the opposite direction. Faulk, you''ve got about thirty seconds before this whole thing goes tits up. Move him. Now! Working on it, boss, she whispered back, her tone tense. Every second he lingered on that bench increased the risk of spooking their targetor worse, drawing unwanted attention to the ransom drop. And Lowe couldnt shake the feeling that their kidnapper was already somewhere in the park, watching, waiting for the moment to make their move. Then the park erupted into chaos with the horrifying suddenness of the end of the world. Faulks had been mid-sentence, still trying to steer Highberg away from the bench, when her head exploded in a spray of red mist and bone shards. The noise was a percussive crack that echoed off the nearby buildings, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. For one impossible moment, Highberg stood frozen, covered in the blood of the woman who had been speaking to him only a heartbeat earlier. Then, the screaming started. Sniper! someone yelled, but Lowe already knew better. His stomach twisted, the instinctive lurch of someone who had seen this kind of thing before. This wasnt any mundane sniper. It was a specific Skill used by a particular felonone designed with devastating precision and unrelenting violence in mind. The Black Knight. He was running before the second shot fired. Another crack split the air, and Arman, the big jogger in his sweat-stained disguise, went down in a crumpled heap. His chest cavity opened up like someone had punched a hole through him with a molten fist. His enchanted jogging gear lit up briefly before extinguishing in a futile puff of mana. Coda, report! Lowe barked into his Sending Stone as his boots hit the cobblestones of the parks central path. But there was no response. Through the smoke and chaos, Lowe spotted himCoda, near the fountain, crouched behind the stonework like he thought it might protect him. The air around him was a golden shell, suggesting a shield Skill, but it didnt matter. The next attack wasnt just physical. A greenish light arced through the air, passed through the shield, and struck Coda dead center. His body seized, twitching violently, before collapsing into a twisted heap. The smell of burning flesh reached Lowe before the reality of what hed seen truly registered. Faulks, Coda, Arman Lowe whispered to himself, trying to force his brain to process the mounting tally. The tycoon, Highberg, was still at the bench, screaming curses into the void. You son of a bitch! Come out here and face me! he roared, shaking his fist at no one in particular. The next strike answered him. A golden lance of light speared Highberg from above, descending like the wrath of some unfeeling deity. His body was obliterated in an instant, the force of the attack leaving a crater where the bench had been. The bags of gold rolled harmlessly to the side, almost mocking in their mundane finality. Shit, Lowe hissed, his feet skidding to a stop as he tried to take in the carnage. His mind raced. He toggled Overwatch in desperation, hoping for some insight, some clue as to where the attacks were coming from. Rook? Can you see anything? Silence. The park was a blur of overlapping layers of magical distortion. Every potential angle, every possible vantage point lit up with mana traces. The assailantwhoever they werewas either moving too fast or using something so advanced that even Overwatch couldnt pin them down. A shadow shifted in his peripheral vision. Lowe had only a moment to turn before something slammed into him. It was like being hit by the world itself. The impact drove him off his feet and sent him flying through the air cobblestones. When he came to a stop, he realised he couldnt breathe. He looked down and saw why. There was a hole in his chest. Or rather, what remained of his torso was around a hole. A massive, ragged wound had torn through him, right where his heart and lungs should have been. Blood poured out in torrents, pooling beneath him in dark, sticky rivulets. His vision blurred. And then Roll with the Punches kicked in. The Skills familiar hum surged to life, flooding his body with mana and forcing the torn flesh to knit itself back together. Bones realigned. Muscles reformed. Within seconds, the catastrophic injury was gone, leaving only a faint ache where the wound had been. Lowe groaned, staggering to his feet. His Sending Stone buzzed weakly at his side, but he didnt answer it. There was no point. It seemed there was no one was left to talk to. The screaming had stopped. He looked around the park, now a carmel house of shattered cobblestones and smoldering debris. Bodies lay where his team had been stationed, their lives snuffed out. The bags of gold were gone. *** The rest of the day passed in a blura grotesque collage of questions, disbelief, and a suffocating sense of failure. Theyd found the boys body in a warehouse on the edge of the district. Or, more accurately, they were led there. The laughter had been with them every step of the way, a mocking, hollow sound that echoed through the Sending Stones like a malevolent hymn. It guided them, taunting and cajoling, to a place that stank of mildew and despair. Lowe recognized it the moment he stepped inside: the kind of place where things were hidden, forgotten, discarded. And there, amidst a pile of broken crates and damp refuse, was the boy. Small. Still. His body looked impossibly fragile, as if a single breath might shatter him completely. The ropes around his tiny wrists were crude, almost insultingly so, as if whoever had tied them hadnt considered him worth the effort of doing it properly. His wide, unseeing eyes stared up at the rotting beams above, his face frozen in the faintest shadow of terror. Lowe felt like he was drowning, his lungs pulling in something thick and acrid instead of air. He wanted to look away, but his eyes refused to move, as if they were paying penance for their failure by etching the sight into his memory forever. Moments, Lant said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the thick silence. The Deathcallers instruments hovered around the boy, faintly glowing as they read the echoes of life still clinging to the space. Hes been dead for mere moments. Moments. Lowes head swam. That single word gutted him more than anything else Lant could have said. He replayed the park in his mind: Faulkss head exploding, the sniper-like precision of the attacks, the chaos, the screaming. If wed been faster. If we hadnt wasted time. If Highberg hadnt No. None of it mattered. What mattered was that they were too late. By moments. He forced himself to kneel beside the boy. His hand trembled as he reached out, hovering just above the small, pale shoulder. He didnt touch him. Couldnt. The thought of his own handthe hand that had signed off on this entire operationtouching that lifeless body was too much. It felt like an insult. Lowe became dimly aware of his boss standing beside him, speaking. He forced himself to his feet, his movements slow and mechanical, and turned to face the man. Lowe, the boss began, his voice low and even, but carrying the weight of a thousand judgments. His face wasnt angry. It wasnt even furious, which would have been easier to take. No, it was worse. Disappointment radiated from him in waves, like heat off scorched metal. It settled in Lowes chest, heavy and sharp, more painful than any punch. I dont know what to say, his boss continued, his words measured and deliberate, like blows from a hammer. Your team. The boy. The gold... this is a clusterfuck. A catastrophic clusterfuck. Heads are going to have to roll for this. You know that, dont you? Lowe didnt respond. Couldnt. The words bounced off him, meaningless and hollow. The world around him felt distant, the sounds muffled, the light too dim. His team was gone. Good people. Smart people. People whod trusted him to lead them, and hed led them straight into their deaths. And the boy. Gods, the boy. That tiny, broken body would haunt him for the rest of his life. Every time he closed his eyes, hed see it. Every time he tried to sleep, hed feel the phantom weight of his failure pressing down on his chest. He thought of Faulkss laugh, Armans jokes, Codas sharp wit. Snuffed out like candles in a storm, their voices now joining the cacophony of guilt screaming in his head. The worst part was that Lowe didnt care about the consequences. He didnt care about his bosss disappointment, or the bureaucratic hammer that would come crashing down on him. He didnt care about the reports, the hearings, or the inevitable stripping of his badge. What could they do to him that he hadnt already done to himself? Lowe turned back to the boys body, his vision blurring with something he refused to acknowledge as tears. This was his failure. His fault. Every single step had led to this moment, and hed been the one guiding the way. The laughter rang out again, faint and far away, echoing through the warehouse like a taunt from the abyss. It crawled under his skin, a sound so sharp and cutting it felt like it was carving his soul into pieces. And that was when Lowe knew, with cold, sinking certainty, that things werent over. They were just beginning. Chapter 106 - The Long Goodbye, Now in Neon How long has he been sitting like that? Couple of bells now. What do you think we should do? Fuck knows. Im not disturbing the Commander to tell her that, first, someone pulled the fire alarm and now the washout is sitting staring into space and crying his eyes out. Dont be a dick! How am I being a dick? You know how the Commander feels about being brought in on her day off Probably similar to how she feels about investigators crying in their office . . . The voices drifted over from outside his office, low and indistinct. Lowe knew hed heard these guys talking before. Knew their voices well enough that he could match them to a set of faces in the break room if he tried. But their names? Right now, though, who they were was gone. Slipped straight through the holes in his mind like water through a sieve. Since his reinstatement, he hadnt bothered to learn the names of any of the new recruits in Cuckoo House. For one, he figured there was a good chance he wouldnt be around long enough to make it worth the effort. And for another, he suspected most of them were wankers. Listening to them whisper to each other just outside his door, pretending they werent watching him, he was comfortable that, at least with these two, hed made the right call. He wasnt sure how long hed been sitting at his desk, staring at the file in front of him without actually reading a word. Certainly long enough for his coffee to go ice-cold. And obviously more than long enough for the whispers to start. Lowes hands moved on their own, reaching for the file again. It felt so much heavier than it should have. But, then again, maybe that was just his imagination. Paper didnt carry weight like that. Guilt did. Regret did. Then, without making any conscious decision to move, Lowe stood up, the sound of his chair scraping against the wooden floor impossibly loud. He heard the guys outside stop talking as he moved and they were gone by the time he reached his door. He looked around the bullpen, seeing heads turned just enough to track him without being too obvious about it. He let them look. It didnt matter what any of these guys thought. Even back before hed lost everything, other peoples opinions never had. He left without a word, crossing the bullpen and pushing open the door to step out into the hallway and towards the stairs to the street. Cuckoo House was an old building, and on this overcast afternoon, it absolutely smelled like it. Pausing in the corridor for a moment, Lowe took a deep breath and sucked in the residue of damp paper, burnt-out mana residue, and cheap coffee so strong it could - and, from the look of things, on more than one occasion, had - stripped the paint off the walls. Considering the lifespan of most things made of bricks and mortar in Soar, the building had been standing longer than anyone should have had a right to expect. But its fragility showed in the way the floorboards creaked underfoot and in the way the mana lights flickered when someone with a strong enough Class walked by outside. The walls down this corridor were lined with old case files stuffed onto mismatched shelves, some so ancient the vellum had started to yellow and curl at the edges. The ceiling above his head was too low and the windows he passed as he walked were opaque with grime. In many ways, the whole place felt like a relic from another time. And the irony in that thought wasnt lost on Lowe for a moment. With the arrival of that file, Cuckoo House had gone from being a place where the ghosts of his bad decisions lingered just out of sight, to smacking him right in the face. Lowe? Assistant Commander Unances voice called after him as he started down the steps towards the front entrance. He didnt stop. Didnt turn around. He wasnt in the mood for whatever he had to say. He remembered Unance from his first go around on the Cuckoo House carousel. Hadnt liked him too much that time either. Lowe, you better not be walking out in the middle of your shift! Were getting reports of a hold up at the Vault. Its all hands on deck! Staffen wants you to meet her there. Lowe didnt answer, pushing the heavy door open and stepping out onto the mean streets of Soar, then letting it swing shut behind him to cut off the increasingly angry shouting of the Assistant Commander. The sounds and smells of Soar met him like an old friend to whom he owed money. The ground was, of course, wet, the cobblestones slick from rain he hadnt noticed and the smell of damp stone and sewage mixed, challengingly, with the scent of fresh bread from the bakery opposite. It was quite the bouquet. All sorts of people moved around him in that way they always did. Hurried. Preoccupied. Their lives too full of their own concerns to notice the man in the long coat, clutching a file like it might bite him if he let go. He was still holding the file. That surprised him. He hadnt intended to bring it with him. Lowe slipped it inside his jacket and turned to look up at the Celestial Temple. The late afternoon light caught, for a moment, on the polished stone of its roof, throwing a dazzling gleam into his eyes. Almost as if there was a halo surrounding it. He idly wondered which of the gods up there were looking down on him right now . . . You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. An old feeling, one he thought hed put behind him in the last year, suddenly took hold of him. A restless, reckless instinct to spit in the eye of something so much bigger than himself. Something so powerful the whole world bent its knee and scraped the floor in its presence. Rebellion stirred in his chest - hot and self-destructive - curling up the back of his throat like a swallowed shot of bad bourbon. Do it, a voice whispered. Stand here, right in the shadow of that fucking place and give the whole lot of them the bird. A slow, deliberate middle finger. He wondered how long it would take one of them noticed? Before some god decided to reduce him down to ash. Do it. Then it will be all over. Well, no. It wouldnt, would it? Because Blood of he Phoenix would kick in and hed be put back into shape straight away. He could always then repeat the insult, but - somehow - it felt like that would somewhat undermine the overall, you know, impact of the gesture With an effort, Lowe shook off that old self-destructive impulse. It had been just a flicker of the him that he had thought he had managed to lock away, and if he hadnt given in to that voice during the year of his Classtration, he sure as shit wasnt going to listen to it now he was pulling himself back together. He was pulling himself back together, wasnt he? The press against his side of that file suggested otherwise. Lowe took on more look up at the Temple - did something at the very top glint back? - then turned away, feet carrying him down the street before his thoughts could follow. He didnt take in much of the world around him as he moved. It was like his feet stepped on their own, taking him to his destination without needing any conscious input. The sounds of Soar blurred into the backgrounda carriage rattling over the cobblestones, a vendor shouting about Stamina potions, the distant clatter of steel from a forge tucked away in one of the alleyways. None of it really registered. Lowes brain was roiling trapped somewhere between memory and nightmare, and it took him a few blocks before he even thought to wonder where his feet were taking him. But once he did take notice, it felt more than appropriate to his mood. And then, in seemingly no time at all, the entrance to a graveyard was before him, its gates not so much rusted by time as aggressively themed that way. The stone archway above bore the name in ostentatious, freshly repainted gold lettersThe Grand Necropolitan Rest of Our Lady of the Lingering Glance .. Despite its appearance of possessing great age, it was one of Soars newer cemeteries - by Lowes reckoning, it had only been open for just over a year . . . And even in that time, it appeared to have undergone somewhat of a transformation. The last time hed stood here, it had been Soar Memorial Cemetery. He assumed that the Mayor, that ever enterprising twat, had sold off its sponsorship rights to one of the minor gods of the Underworld. Now, thanks to Her Opulent and Eternal Benevolence, Mictavros of the Lingering Glance - it was funny that the weaker the deity, the more ostentatious its name, Lowe thought - the place looked less like a solemn resting place for the Security Services fallen and more like a fairground that had lost its way and accidentally turned into a mausoleum. Even the most distracted of observers - and Lowe was certainly that right now - could see that someone with far too much enthusiasm and absolutely no taste had been let loose on the graveyard with a budget normally reserved for royal weddings and last-day-of-the-dictator military parades. Grinning skeletonsand far too many of themlined the walkways, all cast in bone-white marble and frozen in poses that suggested theyd been halfway through an extremely cheerful jig before death had so rudely interrupted them. Draped over their shoulders, through their bony fingers, and around their ribs were banners of violently coloured silk, fluttering in the breeze with all the solemn dignity of an enthusiastic whore that had taken a wrong turn and set up shop in a morgue. A somewhat fitting metaphor for Mictavros, Lowe thought. And for the first time since hed had that file delivered, he smiled. Every tombstoneno matter how modest it might have been originallyhad been lovingly desecrated with a little enchanted lantern that flickered in a slow-burning mana glow, as if the dearly departed had requested some subtle mood lighting for their eternal rest. The lanterns colours shifted unpredictably: snot green one moment, garish pink the next, before settling on a shade of blue that Lowe thought could best be described as aggressively whimsical. And, because the universe appeared to have a particular hatred for Lowe today, there was also music. Soft, twanging guitar notes drifted through the air, slow and sorrowfulexcept when they werent, abruptly switching into something that sounded suspiciously like an advertisement jingle, complete with a voice over and some rather jaunty tambourines. Lowe picked out the source, an enchanted skull, bolted onto the top of a mausoleum, which was letting out a tinny The dead are never truly gone when they are cherished in memory! before adding, in a more conspiratorial whisper, Special blessings available at the gift shop! Lowe sighed. It wasnt that he objected to honouring the deadfar from it, that was why he was here after all. He just would have preferred not to be upsold will he did so. Suddenly, he stumbled and looking down, he saw that the gravel path was segueing into a mosaic of skulls made of mother-of-pearl, their eyes twinkling with embedded sapphires. He stepped slightly more heavily down on them out of spite. "Remember, dear visitorloves last gift is remembrance," the Skull suddenly said and, for a moment, Lowe almost let himself appreciate it. It was a nice sentiment, reallypoetic, even. A rare bit of grace in a place which was treating sentimentality like a disease. But then, inevitably "Brought to you by the faithful of Lady Mictavroscontributions welcomed at every exit! Ask about our premium afterlife assurance plans for preferred placement in the underworld!" Lowe closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Gods save him from the rampant, unrelenting capitalism of Soar. Or, he supposed, not. They didnt have much percentage in doing that, did they? Why had he come here? He hated this place. Not because of the dead. The dead had never been his problem. It was the living, the ones who had turned a graveyard into a goddamn tourist attraction, who pissed him off. Turning, he made his way towards the section of the graveyard that his feet had brought him, pushing his way through a gate that let out a dramatic, entirely artificial creak. Because, of course it did. Chapter 107 - The Man Who Stood at the Door So he sent you a message, too? Lowe had been standing in place for about ten minutes before the others shadow fell over him. But he didnt turn towards the voice right away. He tried telling himself that was because he was showing the appropriate amount of hardboiled stoicism. Ive seen too much and lived too long for anything surprise me anymore. In reality, though, it was because his brain had completely short-circuited at hearing that voice. For a few long, stretched-out moments, he just kept staring at the graves of Faulks and Arman, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. The weight of the file in his pocket seemingly almost doubling in the silence. The Mayor had given a whole song and dance routine about how the fallen heroes of Cuckoo House deserved a proper burial site here. The speech had been a masterpiece of political sinceritymeaning, at the time, it had sounded completely heartfelt but had, when Lowe had thought about it afterwards, amounted to the sum total of jack shit. "Today, we honour the brave souls who gave everything in service of our great city. Their sacrifice will never be forgotten, and this sacred ground will stand as a testament to their dedication. It will be a place where future generations can reflect on the courage and commitment of those who protect us and who have given everything in that service. We owe those interred here a debt that can never be repaid. However, in acknowledgement of their heroism, we can ensure their names live on, etched into the heart of Soar itself." Lowe had thought the Mayor had even managed to squeeze out a single, dramatic tear at the end as he laid the first wreath. It had been all very moving. Extremely dignified. Lowe had clapped politely, nodded in all the right places, and resisted the urge to ask if, instead of planting officers in the ground, Soar might consider passing a few laws to make it slightly less attractive to murder members of the Security Services. But maybe that had just been him. Everyone else seemed pretty pleased with the arrangement. Maybe he was just built different. And now, in this place and at this time, a voice from the past had reached out and grabbed him by the throat. With one last look at the two pathetically small headstonestoo small for what theyd given. And far too small for what had been takenLowe turned towards the speaker. He already knew who it was, of course. Already dreaded who he was about to see. Afternoon Rook, Lowe said. "Long time no see." The man standing behind him hadnt changed much. Which was damn impressive, considering Lowe had identified his body. Rook had never been a big guy, not in the way Arman had been. But hed been solid. Compact muscle, quick on his feet, always moving like he was two steps ahead of whatever poor bastard he was about to put into the ground. All that athletic energy had meant his clothes had always been just a little rumpled, his boots polished but never pristine. The joke had always been that Rook spent too much time pounding the pavement and not enough time preening in front of the mirror for Commander Cenorth. Scruffy he might have been, but hed definitely been the kind of officer who got things done. Hed never been one to rely too much on Skills. He hadnt been obsessed with flash or appearance. Rook had been the poster child for possessing good instincts, respecting his training, and having a stubborn refusal for letting go of a case until it was solved. Apparently, that same pig-headedness had extended beyond his death . . . The two of them stared at each for several long moments. Lowe wondered what the man saw. Whether he was pleased to see him. Whether he was surprised he was still in one piece. What he felt about making eye contact with the man whose complete professional failure and recklessness in planning had, according to all official records, been directly responsible for his death? Looking more closely, Lowe could see that Rooks face was still largely his own, but it had taken on a pallor that went some way beyond exhaustion. His skin was far too tight over his cheekbones, and deep shadows pooled beneath his eyes like bruises from the most brutal of prizefights. That brown overcoat hed perennially wore still hung from his shoulders, but it was faded now, like it had been left out in the sun for too long, its edges fraying and its fabric thin. Interestingly - funny what the brain chose to flag as interesting at moments like this, wasnt it? - his breath was coming in slow and shallow heaves, like Rook was having to manually remember how to inflate his lungs. But it was his eyeshis fucking eyeswhich were the biggest change. They werent milky or hollow like Rook was some back-alley Necromancers latest party trick. Nor were they burning with the tell-tale holy fire of being some gods undead plaything. They were just tired. So damn tired. Lowe thought he was somewhat of an expert in bone-weary cynicism. But he doubted he had anything on this guy. If he was putting gold on it, Rook was holding himself on this plain of existence through sheer cussed spite alone. "Let me guess," Lowe said, slipping his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing against the edge of the file. "This is some kind of post-mortem fuckery, isnt it? Youre the first of three spirits Im going to see this day who are going to teach me the profound error of my ways culminating in, I dont know, me spending my salary on a massive fucking chicken. Awesome." Getting Classtrated didnt rob you of your absolutely A1 sense of humour, I see. Just as dying left your childish good looks, wit and charm well alone. Rook held his hand out. After a beat, Lowe took it. The mans flesh was ice-cold. There were more than a few moments of silence as they stood there, looking at each other. Look, Lowe finally said, Im just going to come right out and say it. How the fuck are you here? "I never liked to leave a case unfinished. Turns out Arkola agreed with that energy." Arkola? "Yeah. Apparently, when push came to shove, my watch was very much not ended. One moment I was happily bleeding out on the grass and contemplating the afterlife and the next I was having my fucking Class reset and being told I still had an important role to play and was being given another chance. Bye bye, Bloodhound. Hello, Threshold Guardian," Rook said, and the length of that little speech really seemed to cost him. "A year in, and Im up to Level 49. So I have that going for me, I guess." Lowe swore. Threshold Guardian? In a world bursting at the seams with bizarre Classes, that was a particularly ugly one. From what Lowe could remember, it meant Rook was clinging to the very edge of life and death, balanced on the thinnest of lines. Every heartbeat would be a negotiation. Every breath would need to be forced in and out, manually, like working a pair of ancient bellows. It would take all of Rook''s mana just to keep his heart thumping and his lungs inflating. Forget for even a moment, get distracted by, say, a particularly interesting scroll, and hed revert to being dead. And once dead, well, jumpstarting from that position was no picnic. It was, in fact, a bugger. Like trying to get a rusted engine going on a frosty morningwith no starter motor and only a half-empty bottle of something vaguely flammable. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Not exactly the sort of Class that let you relax and smell the daisies. It did come with some perks, though. Being largely unkillable, for one. Lots of boosts to Strength, for another. But, as people had been quick to realise, unkillable didnt mean invulnerable. Rook could be dismembered, for example, and have his various bits scattered to the four winds. Which could be a bit of a logistical nightmare, really. There were, though, plenty of stories about Threshold Guardians managing to reconstitute themselves, given enough time. And time, when you were technically dead and being kept that way by some gods dubious sense of humour, was something Threshold Guardians had in abundance. Another downsideother than the minor inconvenience of having to remember to breathewas that people generally didnt like hanging around invincible undead monsters. They tended to find it somewhat unsettling, for reasons no one ever really wanted to articulate to them. So, the only real employment for Threshold Guardians was guarding warehouses, crypts, and other places no one wanted to visit anyway. Perfect for the socially challenged. Caretakers of Creepiness, they were known. Considering his own recent experiences with the Blood of the Phoenix, it wasnt like Lowe was completely unfamiliar with coming back from the dead. But Rooks Class was nothing like that - he was stuck in an endless, grinding war against the inevitable. On the other hand, hed reached Level 49. That was almost a doubling of what hed been as a Bloodhound on the day of the . . . incident. So there had to be some upside. Almost from the first moment in basic training, the two of them had been locked in the same pissing contest. A level here, a solved case thereone of them would inch ahead, only for the other to pull even and then overtake. It had been a game, a good one, back when gaining XP had still been about skill, luck, and sheer bloody-minded determination. Thinking back, it was only because Cenorth had taken a particular interest in Lowe that hed finally begun to pull ahead in the months before . . . well. Before. That was going to have to do for now. But now - thanks to the supreme fucking being overseeing Soar changing his Class to something utterly rancid, Rook had hit Level 49? Lowe pulled up his own stats. Name: Jana Lowe Level: 26 Class: Removed Primary Attributes: - Strength: 120 - Dexterity: 90 - Intelligence: 295 - Wisdom: 238 - Charisma: 60 - Constitution: 76 Secondary Attributes: - Perception: 95 - Willpower: 99 - Luck: 63 Health Points (HP): 1200 - Regeneration Rate: 2 HP/min (natural); 15 HP/sec (via Roll with the Punches) Mana Points (MP): 410 - Regeneration Rate: 1 MP/min (natural); 2 MP/min when Mana falls below 10% Stamina Points (SP): 560 - Regeneration Rate: 5 SP/min Skills:
  1. Roll with the Punches(Passive) - Mythic. Blood of the Phoenix
  1. Grid View(Active) - Rare - Level 31
Records events with perfect recall of details. - Mana Cost: 50% of total MP. - Cooldown: None.
  1. Slugger(Active) - Rare - Level 32
- Next melee attack deals triple damage. - Cooldown: 10 minutes.
  1. Medic!(Active) - Rare - Level 12
Heal a companion at a 2:1 MP to HP ratio. - Cooldown: None.
  1. Mental Fortress(Passive) - Legendary - Level 50 (Rank Up Rejected - balanced stat bonuses granted in place of upgrade.)
Skill slots 4 and upwards are blocked as per Council decree Not too shabby, especially considering his Classtration. Of course, most of that was due to following Lathams advice and using Essence Transmutation Theory to reset his Skills. This meant that, although he might look like a Level 26, his actual stats were twice as pure as the majority of other people. If Rook fancied making something of the circumstances around his death and push came to shove in this graveyard, Lowe was pretty confident hed give a good account of himself. Threshold Guardian, mate? Pros and cons, I guess. Sure, you look like shit, but already one level below 50? Youre pretty close to playing with the big boys. Well, not playing, obviously; I imagine most people give you a wide berth. But, you know what I mean." Rook chuckled, but there wasnt a shred of warmth in it. "Sure, I know what you mean. To tell the truth, Lowe, Im not loving life/death right now. Im sure. You ever have a Skill you wish you could turn off?" Lowe frowned at that, thinking about the perfect recall of that small, broken body which Grid View allowed him. Rook obviously felt some kinship in that expression. "Yeah, I see you do. Well, thats me, Jana. All the time. Arkola apparently wants me constantly right on the line between this world and the next. And one of those Skills doesnt just let me stay on that line. It lets me see." "See what?" "Every time someone steps over the line. Every time they go from breathing to not. And I dont just see it." He tapped two fingers against his temple. "I know." Lowe stared at him. Rook held his gaze, and there was no humour left. Just an exhaustion which Lowe now completely understood. Rook was witnessing every death in Soar. That would be an almost constant ticking over of lives . . . Had Arkola saved his friend, or had he singled him out for some sort of brutal, everlasting punishment? "You remember what happened in the park?" Rook asked, voice quiet, then shook his head. "Sorry. Of course you do. You wouldn''t be here if you didnt." Rook exhaled slowly., and Lowe thought he could see gaseous mana leak out of the mans mouth as he did so. "Well, once the fucker tore my heart out, I got to watch it. The whole thing." Lowes throat tightened. When theyd pieced things together, it seemed that Rook had actually been the first of them to be slaughtered. But, if what he was saying about Arkolas intervention was true, the poor fucker hadnt just seen his own death. Hed got to feel every single one of the rest of their team. Every officer blown apart in that park. Every second of agony. Every drop of blood spilled into the dirt. All of it. Burned into his mind like a brand. Lowe didnt pretend to understand the mind of Arkola - such a thing would be impossible - but the dweller at the top of the Celestial Temple had never struck him as wantonly cruel. What was being done to Rook felt . . . vengeful. What the Council had done to Lowe had been shitty. Of course, hed be the first to shout that from the rooftops. But at least he hadnt been singled out by a fucking god for special attention. You fancy a drink, Rook? I think weve got some catching up to do. Do you know what, Jana? I actually think I do. Chapter 108 - The Black Knight Rides Again As it turned out, of course, Rook couldnt drink. Something about his Class meant that alcohol interfered with his mana regeneration. And considering how important mana was in keeping him well, Lowe didnt want to say alivebut he didnt exactly have a better term right now. "But that doesnt mean I cant enjoy watching you," Rook said, leaning back against the bar, arms folded like a man who had all the time in the world. Which, Lowe supposed, wasnt an entirely fanciful simile. Lowe didnt need much convincing. The file arriving through the window had shaken him up. Standing over the graves of his friends, even more so. And now? Now, finding out that Rook was still about, still existing by some grim technicality, bound to the threshold between life and death like a bad debt that refused to clear. Yeah. He was amazed he wasnt utterly paralytic yet. He lifted his second glass of bourbon and drained it in one go, wincing at the burn. The bartender, wisely, was already pouring the next. "I nearly came to see you plenty of times," Rook said. You know, after your thing." Lowe stared into his drink, watching the amber liquid catch the light. His thing. That was one way to put it. He turned the glass in his hand, feeling the condensation bead against his fingers. "So why didnt you?" he asked. Id have liked to have known at least one person had survived that colossal fuck-up. "Too angry, I guess." Lowe glanced up at that. "At what?" "At everything. The job. The way it all played out." He shrugged. "Me." Why were you angry at you? For not putting my foot down more strongly that you were fucking everything up. Neither of them spoke for a while after that. The bar - more of a dive - really - was quiet, everyone just a little too far into their drinks to keep up the pretence of cheer. The hum of conversation drifted from the far corner, punctuated by the occasional clink of glass on wood. Behind the counter, the barkeep shuffled bottles, the sound crisp in the stillness. It had been the only place that Lowe knew of that was seedy enough that Rook wouldnt be barred entry but not so seedy hed be shanked just for walking in. It was funny, he thought, how often we all sit on those lines of threshold . . . Rook broke the silence first. "Before we get into this, may I?" He gestured toward the now-full glass in front of Lowe, his fingers hovering just above it. "Be my guest." Rook bent his head over the glass and inhaled deeply, eyes slipping shut like he was savouring the scent alone. "Yeah. Thats the stuff." Then he straightened. "Sorry, where was I?" "You were being angry at me." "Actually, I think I said I was angry at me. I knew what you were like. I knew the way youd been operating since Cenorth pretty much gave you free rein. If anyone was going to avoid the whole thing turning into a shitshow, it was going to be me. And I fumbled it. Mate . . . It was just that you kept saying it," Rook continued. There was a coiled tension beneath his words, more than a year of anger compressed into something controlled but not yet gone. "Over and over again. You had it covered." "I thought I did, Rooky." "Yeah. I bet you did." He looked down at the bar, rubbing his fingers together like he could scrub away the memory. "You thought your Skills meant you could handle anything. That no matter what happened, youd be fast enough, smart enough, strong enough to keep the whole damn house from caving in on us." "Im not going to argue with you. Thats exactly what I thought." "And I told you we were too exposed," Rook said, his voice rising, just a fraction. His fingers clenched into a fist before he forced them to relax. "I told you again and again. You didnt listen." "I listened, Rook." Lowe said quietly. "The fuck you did! You heard me, maybe. But listening? Actually considering that maybe you werent some invincible Golden Boy who could solve every problem with a Skill and a cocky grin? No. You didnt listen. And everyone died because of it." If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Lowe closed his eyes briefly. "You told me we needed a different plan," he said eventually. "I begged you for one," Rook corrected. "I told you a half-dozen different ways that we were sitting ducks out there. That we were walking into a situation we didnt understand and didnt have anything like enough control over. That none of it smelled right. That Highberg was involved in things we didnt fully appreciate." Lowe didnt argue. He didnt have the right. Not with Rook. "And then," Rook went on, voice suddenly quiet, "I had a hand coming out the front of my chest, Faulks'' head came off like a fucking cork. Coda got cooked. And Arman went down next. And the rest" Lowe wasnt sure which memory hit harderthe way the blood had looked as it sprayed across the grass, or the second between the first kill and the next when hed known - known - that he had made a mistake, and there wasnt a single fucking thing he could do to fix it. "And you know the best part?" Rook said, leaning back in his chair. "The real kicker to the whole shitshow? You werent wrong." Lowe frowned. "What?" "You," Rook said, pointing at him. "Your Skills. The way you move, the way you should have been able to react. You werent wrong. You had it covered." His jaw clenched. "But we werent you, Jana. And you forgot that. You thought you could be everywhere at once. That if shit went sideways, youd just fix it. That if something went wrong, youd catch it in time." He let out another one of those bitter laughs. "Turns out, youre only one man. And one man wasnt enough." The silence stretched between them, not awkward, not tense. Just heavy. "And then," Rook added after a while, "when it was all over, when Arkola had brought me back, when the Black Knight was gone and the kid was just meat in a chairyou know what the worst part was?" Lowe forced himself to meet his eyes. "Tell me." Rooks fingers drummed once against the table before stilling. "I wasnt angry at you anymore." "Thats the worst part?" Rook nodded. "Because by then, it wasnt worth it. Because by the time I was enough of myself to do something about it, youd been Classtrated and were already carrying every ounce of that guilt yourself. Nothing I was going to say would make it any heavier, would it? And that? That pissed me off even more. So, no, I havent felt like come around to reminisce about old times." "I guess theres not a lot I can say to that, is there?" "No, Jana. There isnt." Lowe tipped his head back and downed the rest of his drink in one go. "Figured youll need about another three of them," Rook said, gesturing to the barman. Put it on the guy-who-got-me-killeds tab. Hes good for it. "Fuck you, Rook. If were keeping score, I saved your arse more times than I didnt." True. But its a pretty high learning curve, isnt it? One day youre stopping me from submitting the wrong expenses form, and the next . . . Rook enacted his heart exploding out of his ribcage, which made everyone in the dive go pretty quiet. Lowe shrugged at the other patrons. What can I say? He wants to take things further and Im not sure Im ready. You know what they say, once you go Threshold Guardian, you never go back. And Im not sure rough, primitive, undead bareback sex is for me. Apparently, that breaks his heart. Three drinks appeared pretty quickly then. It was almost like the barkeep wanted rid of them . . . Once everyone went back to their drinks, Rook actually laughed. A real one this time. "I missed this, Jana." "Yeah," Lowe admitted, voice quiet. "Me too." Then, without any more ado, the Threshold Guardian reached into his overcoat pocket and withdrew a familiar, heavy file which he dropped on the bar. Lowe stared at it, feeling something tighten in his chest. He didnt reach for it immediately. He didnt need to. He already knew what it would say, what it would contain. Instead, he dragged his gaze up to Rooks face, scanning it for any hint, any flicker ofhell, he didnt even know what any more. Expectation? Resignation? But Rook just met his eyes, expression steady in the way only the deador something close enough to damn itcould be. I got mine yesterday morning, he said, tapping the cover with one finger. Figured it wouldnt be long before you showed up if youd been given your own copy. Id been hanging about those graves for about twenty four bells. Sorry to keep you waiting. Oh, dont worry, Rook said, tone dry. Ive had plenty of time to get used to disappointment. Lowe finally reached for Rooks file, flipping it open just enough to see the message inside. The handwriting was the same. That same infuriating flourish at the end and that same casual arrogance laced through every word. I feel our previous game ended a little early. He ran his thumb over the words, feeling the indentations in the parchment. What a fucking prick. Any idea why you got one? Lowe asked, closing the file again and pushing it away like it might burn him. Rook shrugged. I assume for the same reason you did. Yeah? And whats that? Rook smiled, but it wasnt a pleasant expression. His too tight skin looked like it might split. Because the Black Knight doesnt just like to kill people, Lowe. He likes to ruin them. Lowe said nothing. He took your team, Rook continued, voice quiet. Took that kid. Took your career, your rep, your fucking name for a while. And me? He tapped his own chest. He left me standing at the door. Now hes calling us both back to the table. I should let Staffen know. Yeah. You go ahead and do that. Im sure shell put a nice report together while the Black Knight slits his next victims throat. Lowe didnt rise to the bait. He just drummed his fingers against the file, staring at the cover. Unsolved. Hed seen that word before, stamped on a hundred different cases. But never like this. Never in a way that felt so fucking personal. After a long moment, he looked back at Rook. You in? Rook picked up his own glassempty, because of course it wasand tilted it in a mock toast. Oh, I was never out. Chapter 109 - Vault of No Return Nice of you to fucking show up, Lowe, Staffen barked, ducking as a wave of boiling mana flew towards her head. Although her figure was grandmotherly, there was nothing remotely sweet about her expression as she glared at him. Sorry if a little bank robbery got in the middle of your bloody social life! She grabbed Lowe roughly by the collar and slammed his back against the wall as another attack whistled past his ear. The stone bit into his shoulder blades, and his shirt tore a little more. Another one for Mylaf to fix tonight. Well, you know. I just assumed, since you keep telling me what a complete waste of space I am, one of your other ads or lasses would be able to handle something like a little bank job. Eight or nine pairs of eyes glared back at him from behind improvised barriers of conjured stone and mana constructs. Central among them, Commander Pernille Staffen looked like she was on the verge of exploding herself. Dont quote me back to me, wanker! Have a shufty and tell me what you can see! Lowe poked his head out from cover and looked at the Vault across the street. It was a colossal banking house that had stood in the heart of Soar for longer than anyone alive could remember. All blackened stone, iron-barred windows and heavy, arched doorways guarded by intricate wards of protection. Its existence was a pretty visceral reminder that mana and money were old, old friends. Above, the buildings upper levels were demonstrated by stone balconies jutting out over the street like the jaws of some great beast waiting to swallow the world whole. At this precise moment, however, that jaw was spitting out a pretty continuous boiling wave of mana that shrieked as it tore through the air, warping space around it before smashing into the mana wall Staffens people had erected in the street. Even as Lowe looked, a wave of energy came his way, and he darted back in, the protections the Security Service had thrown up shuddering under the impact as it absorbed the hit. Taking a chance, he popped back out again, this time trying to see into one of the shattered windows. Inside, a figure movedshadows distorted by the lingering aftereffects of whatever Skills had been slung about. He could properly examine that glance with Grid View later if he needed to. I could be wrong, but it seems like someone in the bank would like the Security Services to go away, Lowe said. Stop being such a motherfucking pain in my arse! Staffen hissed. Whoevers up there is throwing a shitstorm our way, and not everyone I can call on is a fucking cockroach. I need you to take point on going in there and, I dont know, earn some of your fucking salary. Adjusting his torn shirt, Lowe pulled up Grid View, eyes tracing the broken windows and the distorted shadow that danced behind them. The Vaults interior was, oddly, pitch black. There was no line of sight and no clean entry points. Which was not exactly ideal. He looked again at a building whose exterior was very much designed to deter thieves, and was positively bristling with defensive glyphs and enchantments. This sort of old mana security measure was meant to keep people out, what on earth had happened for someone to fucking take the whole place captive. A heavy, wrought-iron door stood at the base, bolted tight, the original mechanism replaced with more contemporary wards. A crack ran up the stone beside it, a reminder of the last time someone had tried to brute-force their way in. Hed only been on the force for a few years when that little shitstorm went down. Was that the last time someone had tried to rob this place? He thought so. But it hadnt worked back then. And Lowe didnt think thats what had happened this time, either. Whoevers in there has taken all the staff hostages, Staffen said. As well as a bunch of rich fuckers playing a game of look at how much money I have. Theyre not interested in negotiating. Theyre just throwing all sorts of deadly shit at us whenever we try to move in. Who let us know it was going down? Lowe asked. Staffen looked at him and then at one of the other officers. Well? Answer the man. There was a pause and then an officer who looked young enough to be Lowes daughter spoke up. We actually dont know. We dont fucking know?! Staffens voice was loud enough to drown out the noise of molten death pouring out of the Vaults windows. How the fuck are we all here then, Lund? The female officer - Lund, Staffen had called her - shrugged. A message came in over the Public Sending Stone. It said: The Vault is breached. The ledger is open. Old debts stir. Morning comes, and the rider is already on the road. We sent someone to have a look and, well, someone started firing. Lowe went still. Hed heard words like that beforejust over a year ago, carved into the wall of a childs empty bedroom: The tally is made. The coin is blood. Dawn breaks, and the road is taken. Another wave of mana screamed out of the upper windows, sizzling through the air. The protective wall behind them shuddered again, its glowing surface spider-webbing with cracks before slowly repairing itself. Do you have anyone on suppression? Lowe asked. Couple of lads on the roof, Staffen replied. Theyre stopping it so that were able to get this close without getting our heads blown off. The rest are spread out along the street, keeping bystanders from getting curious and, you know, getting blown to fucking pieces. Lowe scanned the area, picking out a couple of reasonably familiar faces in strategic positions. He didnt know any names, but they all looked like they were making a competent enough effort at holding a perimeter. And they were all so fucking young. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Then, for a moment, his eyes blurred and it was Arman across the street, hidden behind an abandoned vendors cart, his massive frame barely concealed by the flimsy wood. Faulks was stationed at the alley entrance, wiry figure perfectly still, a loaded crossbow aimed at the shattered windows, eyes never leaving the shadows within. And there was Rook, shaking his head sadly at the whole thing. Then he blinked and his vision cleared. Anyone been hurt? Lowe asked. Just a lot of fucking pride, Staffen growled. Were looking like a bunch of morons here., stood around with our thumbs up our arses. Im going to rip that twats arms off and fuck him to death with the wet end once I get my hands on him. Okay, Lowe said. Understood. So give me the rundown of the place. Staffens eyes remained fixed on the building. Two entrancesmain door and a service alley around the back. Both sealed. Ive tried to bruteforce my way in the backalley myself - I better not see you fucking smiling at that, Lowe! - but no dice. Lowe carefully ensured his grin stayed smothered. If Staffen didnt have the power to blow the doors off the service alley, there was absolutely no one in Soar - short of a God - who could. Theres no way in without setting off a dozen different alarms, his boss continued, and whoevers inside apparently knows how to use the Vaults defenses. Theyve somehow rigged up a mana feedback loop to that cannon, meaning its spitting out offensive Skills every time weve tried to crack the wards. Every single attempt at breaking the barrier had been met with a pretty brutal counterattack. And no demands at all? Staffens jaw clenched. None. No messages. No communication. Just floods of mana flying out the second anyone gets within twenty feet. Lowe took a moment, his mind in Grid View tracing the glyphs etched into the stone walls. Some of those sigils were old. Older than him, probably older than the rest of Staffens entire team combined. A small, broken body in an abandoned warehouse. Okay, Lowe said. Heres the play. Im going in. Staffen frowned at him. Yes. I know. Thats the whole reason why I wanted you here, Lowe. If theyve got a mana feedback loop up, that means theyre running low on power. Sure, itll still probably kill you, but youre the only guy I have on staff who is likely to bounce back from a direct hit from that. Too fucking right youre going in. There was a pause. Sorry, were you making that offer in the spirit of heroic self-sacrifice? Piss on your chips, did I? I love how valued and appreciated I am as a member of this team. Oh, and just to be clear at the outset, if this wanker drops you and it sticks, Im absolutely putting it in the report that you volunteered. Wouldnt expect anything else from you, boss. Lowe summoned back his glance of the Vault via Grid View, and really examined the crack in the stone beside the door. Then he looked up, about the flickers of movement from one of the shattered windows. Okay. Im ready. Keep the others in position. If this goes sideways, send in the cavalry. And what exactly are they supposed to do if youve been turned into a red smear on the floor? Be really disappointed in me, I suppose, boss, Lowe said, walking toward the Vault. Staffen opened her mouth to retort, but the words died as a blast of mana howled from one of the upper windows, roaring toward Lowe like a carriage made of liquid fire. Lowe didnt stop walking. He did his best not to even look up. The bolt screamed past his head, close enough that he felt his hair lift from the wind of its passing. It smashed into the manawall behind him, nearly obliterating it and making Staffen swear a blue streak. Lowe just kept walking. Another blast hurtled toward him, this one an electric blue arc that crackled with enough voltage to fry his bones to ash. It slammed into the cobblestones at his feet, sending shards of stone spraying in all directions. His left ankle buckled as the ground shifted beneath him, a red-hot piece of cobblestone slamming into his shin. He staggered, pain flaring bright and hot up his leg, but then it was gone as Roll with the Punches activated. Thats impossible, one of the rookies from behind the manawall said. Hes not even trying to deflect them. How is he still alive? Just dont know any different, mate, Lowe thought, feeling the ground shudder beneath his feet as another blast impacted just behind him. He felt the pressure wave push against his back like a hand shoving him forward. The rubble from the next explosion shot outward, turning more cobblestones into shrapnel. Several shards smashed into his side, into his shoulder, his neckeach impact registered for a heartbeat before fading away, the pain evaporating as Roll with the Punches asserted itself. Lowe just kept walking, eyes fixed on the iron-bound door ahead. A further bolt of mana seared the air, striking the ground directly in front of Lowe and disintegrating the street where he had been about to step. He paused, his foot hovering over the edge of the pit, the ground crumbling away beneath him. Lowe took a step to the left, his balance shifting effortlessly. Motherfucking cockroach, Staffen whispered under her breath. Lowe was only a few steps from the Vault now, and he could feel the defensive enchantments woven into the stone resisting him. These were layered wards meant to obliterate anyone stupid enough to approach when the place was in lockdown. Well, that was the plan, anyway. At the last moment, another blast of mana began to pulse within the upper window. As it shot out, he stepped to the left, into the crack that ran through the stone wall. The crack was blackened, scorched with old mana burns, a gaping wound in the fabric of the Vaults defenses. The mana blast faltered as it approached, then fizzled out, the charged energy dissipating into thin air. Lowe exhaled slowly. A dead zone. Just as hed hoped. It was nice to be right sometimes. He ran his fingers along the edge of the crack, feeling the absence of power, the hollow cold that only a dead zone could produce. There was no resistance, no buzz of defensive energy. This close he hoped the enchantments couldnt touch him. They couldnt even see him. A high-pitched whine signaled another spell being charged, and Lowes eyes flicked up to the window above. The attacker clearly hadnt figured out why he hadnt been obliterated yet. He watched the mana accumulate, swirling into a condensed point before releasing in a blast that hurtled toward him. The spell sizzled out before it even crossed the cracks threshold, the energy unravelling and fading into the air. Safe now, he placed his hand on the cold metal of the Vaults door, fingers splaying over the intricate glyphs etched into its surface. The mana beneath his palm shivered, reacting to his touch, a faint glow radiating from the runes. There was a pause. Then the door shuddered, the enchantments rippling outward in concentric waves, shimmering like oil on water. The ancient wards trembled, their intricate network of protections bendingthen breaking. The Vault groaned, a sound like old bones cracking, before the iron door swung open with a creak that echoed through the empty street. Lowe stepped over the threshold, his silhouette swallowed by the darkness beyond. The door slammed shut behind him, the echo of its closing ringing through the street. And somewhere deep inside the Vault, something started laughing. Chapter 110 - The Message in the Dark Wasting no time, Lowe moved deeper into the Vault, the strange darkness wrapping around him like damp wool. His footsteps echoed on the floor, swallowed almost immediately by the cavernous silence. Behind him, the heavy iron door sealed shut with a hollow boom, cutting him completely off from the other officers outside. The air around him tasted stale and tinged with something. Expelled mana? It smelt like someone had let loose an insane amount of energy in here. Something was epically wrong here. Soar Vault was not a bank in the normal sense of the word. It was a place where fortunes were not simply stored but cultivated, and all shielded behind layers of security measures that could make even the most battle-hardened criminal think twice before testing them. Or at least, it should have done so. The last time hed been here - it was a perk for the Security Services that they were provided with an account here and no one had thought to close it when he was fired the first time - it had been buzzing with life. And not in the way a marketplace bustled with chaotic energy, but in the way an engine hummed with quiet power. Every surface had gleamed with polish and shine. The walls had been smooth black stone, cut exquisitely and inlaid with gold filigree, the runic wards forming an intricate lattice of security enchantments. Well, it wasnt much like that now. Whenever hed popped in to deposit his meagre loot, there had been hundreds of wealthy patrons, finely dressed, moving with the slow, deliberate confidence of those who had never once needed to consider the weight of an empty purse. Behind the counters, Clerks attended to their ledgers with an almost religious devotion that made them look more like Priests at mass than employees. And he remembered there had been at least ten Security Mages, stationed at key checkpoints. But now? Now, it was dead. Not empty. Dead. The walls had, somehow, been drained of their lustre. The golden filigree that had traced elegant warding sigils across every surface was blackened, as though something had reached into the heart of the Vault and sucked the mana right out of the stone. The marble staircase that had dominated the centre of the room, leading up to the upper offices, was cracked down the middle, its edges flaking away like old bone. Above it, the great crystal mana-lamps that had cast everything in a warm, golden glow were completely dark. Lowe had never seen anything like it. The enormous wrought-iron cages that had separated the bank tellers from their patrons stood eerily open, their bars warped, bent outward as if something inside had pushed its way free. Behind them, the Clerks'' desks were abandoned, papers scattered haphazardly across their surfaces, quills snapped mid-sentence, inkpots spilled and dried in thick, congealed smears. The vault doors, giant slabs of reinforced metal inscribed with more security glyphs than a royal treasury, were ajar. Not shattered. Not blasted apart in some dramatic robbery. Just open. Like someone had walked in and turned the locks with a whisper. Oh, and they were empty. Someone had a pretty full inventory right now. Lowe took another step, feeling the wrongness of it settle deep into his bones. This wasnt just a robbery, was it? This wasnt some desperate criminals forcing their way in for a payday. Something had hollowed out the Vault. Drained it. More had been stolen here than just gold. Where the fuck was everyone? The Clerks. The customers. The guards. The hostages. There should have been people here. Scared. Tied up. Wounded. Dead. Something! But the vast, cavernous halls of the Vault were completely and utterly empty. It was as if the building itself had digested its occupants. Considering his most recent investigation in Soar Museum, he had quite a lot of experience with that sort of thing. But this felt . . . different. Lowe swallowed, trying to push back the creeping unease slithering up his spine. He checked his mana levels - all good - and spooled up Slugger. With his stats the way they were, he was pretty confident he could handle a common-or-garden bank robbery. But was this what it was? He wasnt sure. This didnt feel normal. The way this place looked wasnt something that just happened when you were gathering up piles of cash. Something was very wrong. A muffled whimper broke the silence. Lowes head snapped toward the sound. Apparently, he was not alone. The whimper had come from behind one of the massive teller cages. Theyd been built to keep clerks safe from the riffraff. It shouldve been a barrier, not a hiding place. He didnt move. Something about the place felt watched. Not in the obvious, sniper-on-a-rooftop sense - but, of course, this place had that going on too - but in that deep, primal way a man gets when walking alone in the dark and knows something is out there. His Grid View was recording everything, running through layers of heat signatures, mana traces, movement indicatorsbut there was nothing that obviously grabbed his notice. Just him and the Another ragged breath. Lowe rounded the counter, fist glowing gold in preparation. A man cowered there, a heap of bruises and torn fabric, his hands bound behind his back with a length of expensive silk that had once been a merchants cravat. A Junior Clerk, by the looks of him. Young. Pale. Probably still green enough to think his career in the Vault would lead to a quiet, respectable life counting other peoples fortunes. Instead, he was on the floor of a dead bank, his left eye swollen shut, dried blood crusted against his temple. Lowe let Slugger fade and held his hands up to show they were empty. He didn''t move too close. He made no sudden moves. The man still flinched anyway. But then his eyes focused on Lowe and he smiled. Oh, thank the gods I thought I thought you were Lowe didnt like that smile. It didnt look . . . normal. Who did this to you? The Clerk swallowed. His throat worked like it was trying to strangle the words before they could get out. And still he smiled. The grin growing wider. And wider. The the man in black. His lips cracked at the edge on the last word. Blood welling at the edge. He took the others upstairs. Said he was waiting for you. He gave the Clerk a once-over, scanning with Medic! for anything fatal. No broken limbs, no immediate risk of bleeding out, but the kid was rattled. Rattled bad. And that fucking smile . . . Lowe had seen men like this beforehostages whod lived through the start of something horrific but hadnt yet processed the worst of it. Okay, Lowe said.Listen to me. Can you walk? The Clerk nodded. Hesitated. II think so. Good. Heres whats going to happen. Youre going to get up, youre going to head for the main doors, and youre not going to stop until youre clear of the building. Lowes eyes flicked to the shattered windows. And youre going to do it fast, before I find out what the hell is waiting upstairs. The Clerk didnt move. Lowes patience thinned. Kid. I need you to move! The Clerk blinked rapidly, his working eye darting around the ruined Vault like he expected something to lunge out from the darkness and drag him back. They His breath hitched again. They didnt scream. The Clerks hands were trembling now, the silk restraints slipping down his wrists. When he took them. The others. Theythey didnt scream. I He swallowed. I think he did something to them. I dont know what. But they just they went quiet. Right, Lowe said, standing. You really need to go. But the Clerk didnt move. His gaze was locked past Lowe now, wide and unfocused. Lowe turned sharply, Grid View flickering back to life. He checked it. Still nothing. No movement, no heat signatures, no mana fluctuations This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. But the feeling of being watched? Stronger than ever. Something was here. And it was waiting. Get out of here, Lowe said, turning toward the stairwell. He started to leave, then paused. Does he have a name? He... he said to tell you he was your next reminder. Lowe barely had time to process the words before the Clerks mouth twisted, his lips stretching even wider, the smile becoming grotesque. It stretched across his face like a wound, his teeth bared in a rictus of something that most certainly wasnt amusement. The Clerks jaw creaked, strained beyond what was natural, the skin at the corners of his mouth splitting open in thin, weeping cracks. And still the grin got wider. And wider. Lowe tried to trigger Medic! but it didnt seem to have anything to latch onto. This wasnt an injury in any way that his Skill recognised. Then a wet pop sounded as something inside his jaw dislocated, his cheeks tearing further, the exposed gums glistening, pink and raw. Lowe took a step back as the Clerks breath turned into a thick, gurgling wheeze. Blood trickled from his nostrils, thin lines of red sliding over his upper lip and into his too-wide grin. His fingers twitched, his spine curving inward as though his entire body was revolting against whatever was happening to him. Lowe had seen some bad ways to die. Hed caused a few himself. But this? Fucking hell. And he couldnt even heal him. The Clerks whole body jerked onceviolentlylike something had just pulled hard on his nerves. A fresh crack echoed from his jaw, and his already-widened smile stretched even further, the flesh at his cheeks finally giving way in a wet, meaty tear. And then his head exploded. No fanfare. No slow crescendo. Just boom. A spray of blood, bone, and shredded meat splattered across the floor, a thick, wet noise accompanying the sudden and catastrophic disintegration of the Clerks skull. The force sent fragments of his teeth skittering across the ground, chunks of grey sliding down the counter in lazy trails. Lowe flinched, his coat catching the worst of the arterial mess as the Clerks body slumped sideways, his twitching hands smearing streaks of blood over the counters surface before finally going still. The Vault went silent once again. Then, with an effort, Lowe stepped forward. Not too close. His boots were already speckled red, and he had no intention of making things worse. Lowe crouched just enough to look at the Clerks headif you could even call it that. There wasnt much left. Just an open ruin of flesh and shattered skull, the mess fanned out like someone had taken a hammer to a ripe melon. Then he straightened, turned, and looked toward the stairwell. Upstairs. At the top of the staircase, the corridor branched off in two directions, one on the right leading toward the main vault chamber, the other to the offices. Both were draped in darkness. Both felt wrong. He remembered something Latham had told him when theyd been doing those bloody awful Dungeon runs. If in doubt, always take the left. And all Lowe had right now was doubt. The hallway was lined with doorways, all of them ajar, revealing shadowed offices and storerooms littered with broken furniture and discarded papers. Lowes fingers twitched, instinct urging him to resummon Slugger. But he resisted. There was something about the air, something about the way it pressed against his skin, that made him think some sort of . . . Skill was waiting for him to do just that. His Mental Fortress wasnt flaring, so it wasnt anything psychic . . . He reached the door and placed his hand on it, feeling the faint tingle of an enchantmentold, weary, but still functional. With a firm push, he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was a charnel house. An absolute abattoir. Lowe stepped over a bodyanother one of the Vaults Clerks, slumped forward over the body of one of the Security Mages. Both of their heads were gone, the mess fanned out in two halos across the polished wood. The stench was unbearable, thick with the iron tang of blood and the sour stink of something burned. The others were the same. Tellers. Guards. Customers. The people who should have been downstairs, shuffling papers and weighing gold, were instead strewn across the floor like discarded carcasses, each of them missing the top half of their faces. The sheer scale of it made Lowes stomach twist. This wasnt just a slaughter. It was . . . Lowe didnt have the words. And at the centre of it all sat a man behind the grand mahogany desk of the bank managers office. But not the bank manager himself, Lowe thought. There was something about him he thought he recognised . . . The mans fingers twitched where they rested on the wood, his shoulders shaking. He looked like he was on the verge of flying apart at the seams. His hairmatted and damp with sweathung in greasy clumps over his forehead. Lowe tried to get his brain firing. He needed to make sense of this. Now. The Vault had been drained. Of gold. Of people. Of something far deeper than that. Had this man been the one to do it? And if so why? Lowe took a slow step forward. The man jerked violently, his chair scraping against the bloodstained floor. His lips moved, forming half-words, aborted syllables, but nothing made it past the tremble of his mouth. Lowes eyes flicked to the mans hands. Calloused fingertips. Ink-stained. Far too many years of doing this told him that those werent a killers hands. Then even as he thought it, he knew that was a bullshit bit of reasoning. If he had a silver piece for every time hed caught a killerswhod been fucking childrens entertainers . . . well, hed have two pieces of silver. But it was still fucking terrible it had happened twice. Hands didnt tell you jack. But he was right on this. He knew he was. Wasnt he? Lowe looked above the mans head and concentrated. The words Accountant. Level 16 momentarily appeared and then faded away. This nonentity had killed an entire banks worth of people? And held the Security Services at bay from the window? Nah. Not so much. Something was very wrong here. Whats your name, mate? Lowe couldnt have done much more to keep his voice soothing. Even to his own ears, it sounded like he was coaxing a scared dog out from under a table. The Accountant licked his lips, eyes darting to the bodies slumped across the room as if they might save him. W-what? Your name, Lowe said. What would you like me to call you? Right now, youre just a guy in a room full of corpses. Thats a bad place to be, so I thought itd be worth us starting with something easy. Nothing wrong with telling me your name is there? A flicker of confusion crossed the mans face, and for a second, Lowe thought he might shut down entirely. But then his eyes focused intently on Lowe. Elias, he rasped. Elias Sten. Lowe nodded. Okay, Elias. Good. Nice to meet you. You can call me Jana. Now, I need you to understand something. He gestured at the bloodied office. You seem to be the only person left alive in here. Which is pretty odd, isnt it? You want to tell me what happened? I could be wrong, but Im not seeing an Accountant as the architect of . . . well, of this. Elias swallowed hard, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles went bone-white. His breath was coming in fast, uneven gasps and Lowe could see his pulse hammering visibly in his throat. Did someone do this and leave you behind to carry the can? Lowe gave the room a slow, measured glance. Did someone hurt you? Are you okay? Elias trembled. He didnt answer any of those questions. Not right away. He just sat there, shoulders hunched, his whole body vibrating with tension. Then, finally, in a thin, dry whisper: No. Lowe narrowed his eyes. He wasnt sure that was true. The man looked like hed been wrung out. Every drop of colour had been completely drained from his skin. And his pupils were too wide, almost swallowing the brown of his irises. Shock could do that, Lowe knew. Fear could do that. But this was wrong. There was something else coiling just below the surface. Lowe took another step closer, but didnt break eye contact. Okay. Talk to me, Elias. Did someone put you up to this? The Accountants breath hitched, his Adams apple bobbing like a thing drowning. It was like he was physically forcing himself not to move. Dont make me ask twice, mate. You need to work with me if Im going to try to fix things. Elias made a soundthin, high-pitched. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. His entire body twitched and he opened his mouth, but at first, nothing came out. Then, in a voice like spider silk stretched too thin: The Black Knight. Lowe gave him a slow nod. Trying to show no reaction. No flicker of horrified recognition. Just business. Okay, Lowe said. Thats a name. So I need some details. How did he contact you? Did he meet you in person? Did he send a message? When did this start? Could you recognise him? Elias was breathing too fast now, eyes wild. His pulse was a visible hammering in his throat. Lowe took out his Sending Stone and set it to record. Look, tell you what. Heres the deal. You give me something usefulsomething I can act onand Ill do my best to make sure you live through this. I cant say further than that. That got Elias attention. His gaze snapped to Lowes face. Live through this? he echoed. Yes. Heres my reading of things. You dont seem like a killer, Elias. But something terrible has happened here. Something that killed every single person except you. The best way we can both get out of this and get on with our lives is for you to tell me how. Elias shuddered. It was my Skill. Okay. It was your Skill. Explain how in Soar that happens, Lowe said, keeping his voice steady. Elias made a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. IIm an Accountant! I have Skills for money! Not for this! But hehe made me do it! Made you do what? Elias was shaking now. I have a SkillLiquidate. It drains assets, collapses accounts, pulls resources from failing institutions. Ive used it a thousand times. But nevernever on a building. On people! Lowes blood ran cold. He did something to me, Elias went on, voice cracking. Gave me something to drink. Made me sick. Told me it would work. Then he gathered everyone up here and told me to to activate it at them. And II did. Lowe felt something sick crawl up his throat. He could see it now. A perfectly normal financial Skill, one meant for numbers, spreadsheets, and failing bankstwisted into something monstrous. He needed to know what could do that. Then he said I had to sit here and wait for someone to come in. He said hed rigged it so that only one person would be stupid enough to try to come in. That this was the first payment on account for someone called Jana Lowe. Elias eyes opened. You said your name was Jana. Was this all for you? Lowe shook off the question. Where is he now? Where did he go? Elias gave a strangled laugh. I dont know! Elias, think very carefully before you lie to me. II swear. I dont know! He justappeared. He forced everyone up here and gave me the instructions, told me to follow them. Told me I didnt have a choice. And then His breath hitched. When it was done, he left. Lowe stared at him. And then he saw it. The twitch. The strain at the corners of Elias mouth. His lips were starting to curl. Lowes pulse spiked. No. Not again. Elias. Stay with me! The Accountant whimpered. His lips peeled back further. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Lowe moved, fast, grabbing Elias shoulders and trying to link Medic! Up with him. It wouldnt take. Dont listen to it. Whatevers happening, fight it! Elias was trembling violently now, his whole body spasming against the chair. His mouth was opening wider. Too wide. His skin was splitting at the corners of his lips. Blood welled up in bright red streaks. And then Elias skull detonated. Lowe stumbled back, his face and coat splattered red. The corpse twitched once. Then, from somewhere deep in the Vault, a voice laughed. Chapter 111 - Monsters in the Margins Lowes flat wasnt much to look at, but it was home. Or at least, it was where he ended up when he had nowhere else to be. The furniture had seen better decades, its various scratches and stains telling stories he hadnt been around to witness. The lighting was dim, not out of any conscious preference, but because he hadnt gotten around to fixing the overhead rune in the sitting room. And because Mylaf, his Drudge, did not like to overstep her boundaries. If the master wanted to stumble around his flat in the dark, she was the last person to interfere. A half-empty bottle of something extremely strong sat on the low table beside him. But it was untouched because he knew exactly how this night would end if he let himself get too comfortable with it. So, instead, he was sipping a Banana and Strawberry smoothie through a straw. It gave him a 15% increase to his Intellect and Lowe figured he needed all the help he could get. The Highberg file lay open on his lap, pages spread out like an autopsy. Hed been reading the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes, not really seeing the words, just feeling them. Letting them settle deep in his ribs, carving out space where there wasnt any left to give. But this wasnt just about Highberg anymore, was it? There was Rook. And then there was what had happened in the Vault. Lowe had seen a lot of ways to die. But nothing like that. It wasnt rage. It wasnt desperation. It was brutal control. And to leave the only man left breathing in that place as an Accountant who kept babbling about the Black Knight. The words squatted in his head like a slow-acting poison. He leaned back into the battered couch, rubbing his temple. He should sleep. Should rest. Should do anything but sit here, picking at the edges of something he couldnt yet see. But instead, he reached for the next page in the file. And kept reading. He was so engrossed that he didnt even look up when he heard the bedroom door creak open. Mind you, he didnt have to. The scent of soap and something faintly floral drifted through the air, and that was enough. "Are you not coming to bed?" Arebellas voice was soft, causing Lowe to look up. She was leaning against the doorframe, one arm crossed under her chest, the other resting lightly on the wood. She was wearing one of his shirtsit was far too big for her and the collar was slipping just slightly off one shoulder, the sleeves rolled up to keep from swallowing her hands. Her hair was still damp from the bath shed taken earlier, a stray curl clinging to her collarbone. He knew the look on her face. Knew that she already had a read on the situation before she even spoke. Lowe gestured vaguely to the mess of papers around him. "Homework," he said. "Cramming for my next inevitable disaster." "Right. Because youve always been such a diligent student." "Hey, Ill have you know that I passed my last psych evaluation with flying colours." "And that, my dear, is a big fat lie." "It is," Lowe admitted, tapping a finger against his temple. "But you cant tell for certain, can you?" She frowned at that. "You know I cant." "I could get used to being deeply, profoundly unreadable. Im liking being an enigma wrapped in a mystery stuffed inside a cynical bastard. Feels like were playing on a level playing field." "You know, where Im from, we call that sort of attitude being obnoxious, not being enigmatic." No reason I cant be both," Lowe said, grinning despite himself. Arebella moved to sit beside him, close enough that their knees brushed. Jana, I dont need to switch on any truth-telling Skills to know youre struggling." She picked up a few pages from the table and grimaced at some of the images. The Black Knight? Again? "Hey, I didnt go looking for this. But its found its way back to me." I know. Rook called me. Rook?! What the fuck, Bella? Did you know he was still alive? No! Arebella glared at him. No, I did not! My Sending Stone lit up while you were out. I didnt know who it was and then there was Rooks voice. Hes still pissed with you. How does he have access to your Sending Stone? This again? For fucks sake, Jana! Arebella opened her mouth to say more, and then closed it. No. Were not doing this now. I know whats going to happen if you let yourself get lost in it again. You cant tangle with the Black Knight again." "Its not like I have a choice, is it? He slaughtered a whole bank full of people tonight and left me a message." That gave her a moments pause. "Just like before? Just like before. Okay. But that doesnt mean you need to throw yourself back into it like its some kind of penance." "What? You expect me to let it go?! After everything?" Lowes voice came out sharper than hed meant, the words bouncing too hard off the walls of his flat. Arebella flinched back, but before she could respond, a creak sounded from down the hall. Mylafs head poked around the doorframe, her expression somewhere between concern and sleepy irritation. "Everything okay, sir? Miss?" Lowe ran a hand down his face, willing the sharp edge in his voice to smooth out. "Yes. Sorry, Mylaf. Didnt mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep." The Drudge didnt move immediately. Her gaze flicked from Lowe to Arebella, the assessment quick but thorough. Arebella gave a slight nod, something almost imperceptible passing between them. Only then did Mylaf retreat, her door closing softly behind her. And then came the silence. It went on so long that Lowe almost wished Mylaf had stayed to chew the fat. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. "Jana, what I know is that this case broke you last time," Arebella said eventually. "I was there, remember? And they were my friends too. I saw what it all did to you. Is still doing to you. I dont think I can cope if you open all of it up again." Lowe turned his head, staring at the far wall like it might have answers for him. "No," he said. "Me neither. Mind you, if it all goes tits up, at least youll have Rook to keep you warm, eh?" There was a beat of silence, and then she laughed. "Youre impossible!" "Thats what they tell me. Mind you, I should warn you. Having met with him, Im not sure body heat is really his thing." "Come to bed, Jana." He hesitated. "Not because Im telling you to stop," she added. "Just because you need to sleep at some point. And because I dont want you sitting out here all night alone, staring at something that isnt going to change just because you glare at it long enough. Things will look brighter in the morning." Lowe looked down at the closed file in his hands. He could still feel the weight of it, even without reading the words inside. But Arebella was warm against him, solid and real. And, for the first time in hours, he felt something other than the slow, gnawing pull of guilt from the past. He sighed, pushing the file onto the table. "Youre a terrible influence." "Actually, I think Im the best influence youve got," she corrected, standing and holding out a hand. "Come on, before I start using the nice voice." "You fight dirty." "Absolutely." And, just this once, Lowe let himself be pulled away. *** Lowe squinted blearily at the Dungeon console. Early morning starts were very much not his thing, and voluntarily showing up to one of Soars public Dungeon Gates before the sun had fully risen suggested he was going through some kind of psychotic break. But here he was. And he was serious about this. If the Black Knight was back, then he needed to be back to his fighting weight. The last time hed gone up against this guy hed had all of his Skills and his team at his back. And hed still had his arse handed to him. The queue behind them was shorter than he had expectedbut he guessed most of Soars early risers were coffee-fuelled Merchants or disgruntled Clerks rather than Level-hungry adventurers. Still, a few high-Level types were already turning up, and he figured most of those were ones who viewed Dungeon delving as a job. A dangerous, high-wire act of a job. But a job nonetheless. The console in front of him was a circular block of ancient stone, its glyphs barely visible beneath layers of weathering. In its centre, a polished gem pulsed lazily. The various levers and dials beneath it were less mystical and more an example of whatever arcanist first designed this thing overcomplicating a fundamentally simple process. Okay, Lowe said, cracking his neck. Remind me what I do again. Latham, standing beside him in a freshly polished Temple Warder cuirass, cuffed him on the back of the head. Roll with the Punches kicked in and healed the concussion. Little man, dont piss about. You put your hands on the stone, you clear your mind, and you try not to make a tit of yourself. Ive got a reputation to maintain here. I can promise you two out of three. Latham ignored that. Okay. Well, lets have a quick recap here so that you have a chance to pussy out. Were going to be running a Level 60 Heroic, here. Hel and I do this every morning and its a nice way to wake us up before work. Youre here because . . . I dont know. Arebella finally noticed youre going soft around the middle or something. Thats not entirely fair, Hel said, ostentatiously flexing her muscles. Its just as likely our mutual friend here has read the runes and realised its just a matter of time before a certain cute Veritas Assessor decides to trade up for someone who, I dont know, can truly bring the thunder. To be fair, this is probably just a common-or-garden suicide by Dungeon attempt. Neither of you is remotely funny, you know? I dont know, Latham said. I think Im a hoot. I was stood in the middle of an absolute bloodbath just a few hours ago. A little something approaching sympathy would be nice. Oh boo-hoo. Did the poor Inspector have to do some Inspectoring? Seriously, mate, if the two of us are your go to for a bit of TLC, youve absolutely misjudged your audience. Lowe smiled at that. Its absolutely not TLC Im looking for. Thats why Im here. I figure a bit of recreational violence and power levelling will be just the ticket. On the other hand . . . He placed both his hands on the stone and, immediately, the pulsing light steadied, then flared, and a translucent screen popped into view in front of him. Welcome, Jana Lowe. Please select your chosen difficulty. A flood of greyed-out options filled his vision. Because of the ticket hed bought - at Lathams urging - all but one unavailable to select. Lvl 60 - Heroic Well. No backing out now. He tapped the option. More options appeared. Select Dungeon Environment: - The Smouldering Ruins - The Bone Orchard - The Gauntlet of Chains Lowe frowned. The Gauntlet of Chains? Isnt hats a bit on the nose. Pick that one, Latham said. Straightforward. No puzzles. Just mobs, a mini-boss, and then a solid big bad. Exactly what you need if you want something to punch in the face. I usually leave him to the little lady - ow! Hels eyes glittered as she let a second bolt of lightning strike Latham. People who wear that much metal armour probably should make sure they dont chat quite so much shit. Look guys, I appreciate you letting me join you. Especially what with me paying for this morning and all. Its always been your selfless altruism Ive most respected about you. But what I need from this is for it not to turn into an embarrassing death march. Something about this case makes me think Im going to need the levels. I cant promise you anything, little man, Latham said. But Im very much appreciating your moxy right now. Trust me, weve got you as you make your hesitant, baby deer steps into becoming a real man. Oh, I am just drowning in sloshing man juice, right now, arent I? Hels white-and-gold Wind Tyrant coat fluttered in the morning breeze. All of these early morning Dungeon runs - as well as her recent combat against a rampaging Dreadnaught - had helped her finally breach Level 50. She was radiating the easy confidence of someone whod already killed something before breakfast and was looking forward to seconds. Lowe selected The Gauntlet of Chains. The screen flickered. Dungeon Party Formed: - Temple Warder Latham (??) - Wind Tyrant Hel (50) - [No Class] Lowe (26) Entry Fee: Paid Initiating Delve in 3 2 1 The world of the Undercity vanished in a whirl of light and gut-wrenching disorientation. When Lowes vision cleared, he found himself standing in a place that made absolutely no effort to be inviting. The Gauntlet of Chains was exactly as advertised. A long corridor stretched ahead of him, lined with rusted manacles hanging from the walls, each linked by lengths of chain that rattled softly despite the lack of any visible wind. The floor beneath them was slick with something that might have been water, but - somehow - Lowe doubted it. A distant thud sounded from up ahead. Then another. Something was waking up. Lowe sighed. So whats the plan? Latham rolled his shoulders. We kill everything. You stay alive. Sound good? No need to overplan these things. Hel cracked her knuckles, lightning dancing at her fingertips. Oh, and if you do die? Try not to be too annoying about it. Oh, and dont worry about Arebella in the event of your untimely demise. Ill make sure that Arebella is appropriately comforted. Great. Fantastic. Loving this party dynamic already. Then the chains started moving. And the Dungeon run began. Chapter 112 - Not in the Loot Table All things considered, Im going to be giving you a solid Six there, little man. Lowe sagged against the cracked stone wall, breath coming in ragged gulps. The completed final boss of the Gauntlet of Chains lay behind them and, for the first time in what felt like forever, he could hear himself think. The Dungeon itself wouldnt complete until someone looted the fallen Guardian and it appeared none of them was going to be doing that until Latham took the piss a little more. A Six? Lowe said, sincerely wishing there was a way to pick up XP that was less stabbed in the kidneys intensive. Being generous, yes. Latham grinned, pulling off his gauntlets with a theatrical sigh. The things looked like theyd been forged in the heart of a dying star and were probably worth more than Lowes entire career earnings. Now, dont get me wrong. For a man running a Heroic version of the Gauntlet while beinghow do we put this kindly, Hel? Woefully unqualified? Hel suggested. Woefully unqualified, Latham agreed. Harsh but fair. Still, all things considered, you didnt do half bad. He stretched, letting out a satisfied groan at a click that sounded suspiciously like several tectonic plates colliding. Of course, you also didnt do half good. Id say more of a five-point-five, personally, Hel said. You think? I mean, he did survive until the end. Sure, but in the same way a man finishes a drinking contest by throwing up on his own boots, Hel said. Technically, he crossed the finish line. Less technically, hes going to be paying for new boots. Have you two thought of taking to the stage? What with being such a funny, funny double act. Latham reached out a hand and dragged the unwilling Inspector back to his feet. Now, you started strong. Well, relatively speaking. Entered the Gauntlet, kept your head down, didnt immediately piss yourself. Youd be surprised how often that isnt the case. Are we saying strong, Hel cut in. He tripped over his own feet when the chains first started moving. It was all a bit newborn-giraffe-trying-to-ice-skate. Okay. So not strong-strong, Latham said. But Level 26 in a Heroic 60? I think we can make allowances. Dont you remember being as weak as him? Not really. I think I got my fourth Epic Skill around when I lost my first tooth. I can only think back so far. I have literally no friends that do not suck, Lowe said. Anyway, Latham carried on. Initial enemy engagement. First wave of Chainbound Thralls. You held your ground. I got choked by a possessed chain. Sure you did! Latham agreed brightly. Took it like a champ. And by like a champ, I mean flailed around like a horny ferret until Hel fried the thing.. Youre welcome, by the way. Frankly, Id have left you to it, but I figured youd have whined about it later. And Arebella would probably have comments. Oh, and as Id already taken care of business on my side, I thought Id throw you a bone. Now, the second wave. Latham tapped his chin, a sound like granite grinding against granite. That was when you got ambitious. Saw an opening, gamely went for it, andwhat happened next, Hel? Was that when he dodged left when he shouldve dodged right, got caught mid-roll, and immediately took a chain to the ribs? No. That was later on. The second wave was when he ran straight into a pit trap and then tanked two Thrall attacks while trying to crawl out all on his little lonesome. Lowe was pretty sure hed coughed up a lung after that. I got back up, didnt I? You did! Latham beamed. You got up, dusted yourself off, and immediately got knocked back down again. The sad little noise you made when you went down the pit for the second time was pretty cute, Hel added. I believe theres a nice dent of you still embedded in that Thralls fist. You do know that healing Skill of yours is stupidly OP, right? Hel said. I get you have all sorts of random shit going on under your hood, but theres still no way you should be making it through a Heroic 60 in one piece. Its the only reason you made it through without needing to be carried out in a bucket. Or several buckets. Yeah, yeah. Im Chachi the Wonder Cockroach. We done with Masterpiece Theatre yet? Not in a million years, Latham said. Next up, was the miniboss. What was she called again? The Shackled Warden, Hel supplied. For the record, I usually drop her in two hits. Thats the one. And lets take a moment to really appreciate how you handled that, little man Lowe shifted. It wasnt that bad. You charged her. Screaming, Hel said. Was there a different approach I should have taken? I wasnt getting much advice in the moment. Stolen story; please report. Well, the fact she sent you flying across the chamber should have given you a hint. Never seen someone somersault quite that many times without meaning to. Now, Ill admit, you rallied after that. By which I mean, you stayed behind me and Hel and let us do most of the work. Tactical. Smart. You let us do all the heavy lifting, conserved your stamina, and, most importantly, didnt die. Which brings us, finally, to the Gauntlets final test. Right, Lowe said, looking at the body behind them. The Chainlord. You know, for all the joshing, Latham said. Ill actually give you props there. That fight shouldve put you down. Permanently. But you kept getting up, you kept swinging, and eventuallyeventuallywe killed the bastard. With minimal intervention on our part, even. Hel tilted her head. Well. Some intervention. You threw a lightning bolt the size of a carriage, Lowe said. Yes, but you were distracting it, Latham grinned. Like a legend. Right. And that, my friend, is why Im giving you a six. I still think youre being generous, Hel said. You survived, you contributed, and you learned. I think. And, what is more, you get to loot a Level 60 Heroic Dungeon Boss and speak to the nice Merchant over there. Lowe looked over at the NPC Merchant that had materialised near the dissolving corpse of the Chainlord. The figure was nothing like the Merchant he remembered from his last Dungeon run. This one was hunched beneath layers of tattered cloth, the hood drawn low enough to cast its face in deep shadow. Rings adorned every visible fingertwisted bands of tarnished silver and iron, some set with cracked gemstones, others carved with sigils. Then the air around the merchant shimmered, reality bending at the edges, and a voice came outnot the dry, scripted tone of an NPC, but something rich with amusement, like a storyteller who already knew how the tale would end. Lowe recognised it instantly. Well, look at you. Still standing. Mostly. Alright, kid, lets call this a bonus round. The house rules say you shouldnt have access to anything like yet. If ever. But, eh whos gonna stop me? Take it, try not to die too quickly, and maybejust maybeyoull start seeing the bigger picture. And if you get really struck, pop up and see me sometime. From memory, you know the way. Oh great, Lowe thought, just what I need in my life on top of everything else right now. The defeated Dungeon boss lay in a heap, its armour rusted and broken, the massive chains that had once coiled around its whole body now slack and unmoving. He remembered hitting it once with Slugger which meant he was able to loot, and his mind was suddenly filling up with a list of rewards. Of course, most of it was completely useless to him. Level 60 weapons and armour, far out of his ability to equip. There was some heavy plate, an executioners axe nearly the size of his whole body and a pair of boots still dripping with blood. He didnt think Latham or Hel would be very interested in any of it, but he was sure they could offload it to the Merchant for a decent sum. It might even cover the cost of the entry fee. Then something caught his eye at the bottom of the list. It was a relic, bound in chains of some sort of spectral metal, and the name of it kept shifting and flickering as though uncertain whether it should be seen at all. The Shackled Grasp. That was it. That was all the description said. Lowe frowned, reaching out for it and the moment his fingers brushed the surface, the chains unraveled, dissolving into curling wisps of darkness that then slipped around his wrist like living ink. The item settled tightly at the end of his arm, surprisingly light, the surface warm against his skin. It looked like the remnants of a broken manacle, its shattered links trailing off into nothing. Hel put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to look at it.Fuck a duck! Thats very much not supposed to be here. Yeah. Whatever the fuck that is is not in any version of this loot table Ive seen, Latham said. Lowe looked between them. Youre sure? Absolutely, Hel said. Weve run this Gauntlet countless times. Ive never seen that thing show up. Which means, Latham said, someone wants you to have it. The work that the Temple Warders eyebrows did there was not especially subtle. If he could have signed Arkola with the movement alone, he would have done. Lowe rolled the manacle over and over on his wrist, watching the way the broken links seemed to suck in all the light. Theres no description, he said. Well, no, said Latham. It looks like a Unique Soulbound item. Youre going to need to bind it before you can examine it. Well, that sounds like bollocks, Lowe said. I have to bind the thing before I know what it does? What happens if it, I dont know, one-shots me? Dont be wet, Lowe. Its a Dungeon reward, not a fucking trap. Unique items dont fall from trees. If you dont want it, hand it over to someone with the balls to wear it. Hel held out her hand. The Merchant cleared its throat and then shook its head. Seems like this is meant for you and you alone, little man. Come on, bind it and put us all out of misery. Remember, theres a reason you came in with us this morning. If youre looking for power, I think - by hook or by crook - youve found a big wodge of it right there. Lowe looked at both of them for a moment and then closed his eyes to concentrate on his tentative connection to the manacle. Cuckoo House had all sorts of relics in their storeroom and, once upon a time, hed been able to check them out whenever a case demanded. He assumed binding with this item would be similar to whenever he linked with one of those. The Shackled Grasp A relic of broken pacts and forgotten chains. No known record exists of this item. Its existence is an anomaly. Its purpose? Unclear. But it fits you well. Effects:
  1. The Board is Set (Passive) "Every move is answered. Every weight, balanced." Damage received does not disappear. Instead, it becomes Pressure which is stored in invisible chains that tighten with each attack - mental or physical. Bearer can unleash this Pressure in three ways:
Retaliation: Converts accumulated Pressure into a single devastating counterstrike or a chain of lesser attacks. Endurance: Spends Pressure to restore Stamina and Mana, granting unnatural longevity in a drawn-out fight. Dispersal: Releases stored Pressure as an area shockwave, knocking back enemies and breaking minor bindings. Warning: If Pressure is not spent before combat ends, it drags bearer down instead, applying debilitating fatigue until he rests.
  1. Chains of the Unseen (Active C No Cost, No Cooldown) "A shackle is only as strong as the will that forged it." Allows bearer to suppress an opponents Skill for one minute per combat encounter.
  2. The Gambits Bindings (Passive) "Every chain has a master. Every master, a chain." Bearers resistance to control effectsboth physical and mentalis heightened to an unnatural degree. Attempts to bind, ensnare, silence, or force obedience falter in his presence.
Well, Latham whistled, I think breakfast is going to be on you . . . Chapter 113 - Chains and Ledgers Lowe looked out of the cafes window, watching the way the Celestial Temple caught the morning light. From this angle, it looked almost benign as it stood gleaming against the sky. It might have been his imagination, but somewhere up therejust at the edge of sighthe thought something twinkled at. If you get really stuck, pop up and see me,, the Merchant had said. Or whoever had been wearing the NPCs skin. Lowe didn''t need to bring all his considerable powers of deduction to bear to figure out Arkola was meddling in his life again. Because that always worked out great for him, didnt it? At least Hel still had her traditions. Crazy Xims Cafe was a relic of a simpler time. It was a place that had seen generations of adventurers pass through, some to rise, some to fall, and some to disappear altogether. It also happened to be where she and the rest of her fugitive Out of Bounds squad had plotted the death of Gianna dAvec. Latham was already working through his third plate of bacon sandwiches, a mound of greasy bread and meat that he was dismantling with almost religious reverence. Hel was nursing a cup of coffee so black it looked like it could swallow midnight whole. We heard about what happened in the Vault, Latham said between mouthfuls. You okay? Now that they were free of the Dungeon, both of his friends seemed a little more like themselves. Looser. Less on show, as it were. Hel was slouched in her chair, while Latham, when stuffing his face, didnt look quite as epically intimidating. Although, considering the speed in which the Agency Server delivered a new plate of sandwiches, it did suggest all such things were very much relative . . . Lowe shrugged the big mans question away, pushing his own fried food around the plate with a fork. He hadnt really had much of an appetite for anything that wasnt Mylafs cooking lately. Im fine. It was what it was. From what I heard, Lowe, it was more than that. Hels gaze was suddenly sharp over the rim of her cup. Bodies everywhere. And you were called out. Mentioned by name just before the guy who murdered the hostages went boom himself. Your work or Despite being a supposedly retired Out of Bounds agent, Hel had an infuriating knack for keeping herself suspiciously well informed. Wasnt me, he said. And I dont think it was self-inflicted either. Someone was pulling a whole lot of strings back there. A someone who mentioned you by name? she said. Yeah. Hel raised an eyebrow. A someone who you might have the teeniest bit of history with? Maybe. And youre going to pretend it doesnt bother you? Ill summon the mental reserves to get over it. Latham wiped his mouth, washing down his latest bite with a long swig from a chipped ceramic mug. So how are you going to play this? I presume youve got more going on in that head of yours than just seeking to power up? Though I dont think thats a bad move. Even with, you know, all your blatant cheating, a Level 60 Heroic boss kicked your arse. Thanks for the pep talk. But Ive got nothing much yet. I met up with a guy from my old team. Hes got his own version of an Im back! message too. The Black Knight, Latham rumbled. He was a nasty fucker. Even we were put on watch for him at the height of it. Though he never came for an Avatar, mores the pity. The way I heard it, you nearly caught him . . . And then Lowe was back in a different cafe, the warm glow of Crazy Xims being replaced by a very different vibe. Although similar faded wood. Equally greasy tables. Hed been sitting in the far corner, hadnt he? Back to the wall, where he could see both the entrance to Goldleaf Park and that all-important bench. It had been perfect for the job. And then Rook was whispering bad vibes into his Sending Stone. You should turn that frown upside down, Rooky. Were all about to be heroes. In a blink, the memory faded, leaving only the clatter of plates and the worried faces of his friends in front of him. Sorry? Lowe said. I didnt hear what you said. Im not surprised. You were fucking miles away! Hel said. If it wasnt for your insane Mental Fortress Skill Id have thought someone might have possessed you. You okay, little man? Lowe shook his head, as if he could dislodge the memory, As if Grid View hadnt made it a permanent fixture in his mind. Once I catch this fucker, I will be. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Hel and Latham exchanged worried looks. From your lips to Arkolas ears, Latham said. So Ill say again. Whats your play? Ive apparently got a meeting with some grand wanker called the Warden of the Reserves scheduled for this morning, Lowe glanced at his watch. Right about now, in fact. He stood and offered his hand to his friends. Cheers for the boost today, guys. I really appreciated it. Not all the bullshit comedy routine around it, but, you know. Thank you. Latham grabbed a sandwich and stood. You want some back-up? Be just like old times. Not this time, mate. Look, far be it from me to be a hand wringing panty-wetter, but I dont think you should be walking around on your own, little man. Even with that, he pointed at the manacle, youre still far too squishy for my liking. Anyone that can rob the Vault and leave your name in the mouth of a ticking timebomb is going to be worth keeping an eye out for. Appreciate it, but I actually have someone else to ride shotgun on this one. Figure I owe him that much. *** "You know, I don''t get out too much in the daylight anymore," Rook said, pulling his overcoat around himself self-consciously. "Youre sure you want me in on this?" They were sitting outside the most expensive office Lowe had ever seen. The whole building made some of the better houses in Jewel Town look like slums. The domed building towered over the rest of the street, all polished marble and enchanted glass. And once inside this place, money didnt just talkit dictated the laws of reality. Lowe looked again at the golden plaque in the middle of the heavy double door: Warden of the Reserves, Aven Morholt. Sovereign Bank of Soar. You got the same message as me," Lowe said, watching Rook pull his coat tighter around himself. "If the Black Knight is back, then you know as much about him as I do. And that was true, wasnt it? Rook had been the key information officer in the investigation, the one who was tasked with spotting things others didnt. Not just because he worked harder than anyonethough he did. Not just because he followed the threads until his fingers bledthough he had. No, Rook had a Skill for it. Pattern Recognition. It wasnt flashy. It didnt set off fireworks in a fight, but it had saved plenty of lives. It was the reason their squad had suspected the Black Knight was going to change it up and look to take a child after all. Theyd been pouring over data for weeks, looking for a pattern in the killings that had been plaguing the well-to-do of Jewel Town. The victims had all been bankers, politicians, a few trade officials. A brutal, methodical culling of the rich and famous and each murder had been staged and heavily dramatic. The Black Knight was the name on everyones lips. Lowe wasnt surprised the Temple Warders had been put on alert. Dropping an Avatar would have been right up that wankers street. He was the dashing shadow who stole from the rich and . . . well, if he hadnt got around to giving to the poor yet, then that was surely just a matter of time. So much so, in fact, that it would be fair to say that the level of public interest in catching the guy was massively inversely proportional to how much pressure was being put on Cuckoo House from the Mayors office. Lowe had assumedwrongly, as it turned out in the endthat the next target would be another figure at the top of society. Someone high-profile. Another statement kill. But it had been Rook who had been the one to make the necessary intuitive leap. "Not the powerful," he had said to Lowe, running into his office carrying a case file, eyes fever-bright. "Not this time. I think hes going to target the protected." And just like that, they had almost got ahead of the bastard. Almost. But they hadnt been able to predict which kid hed take. They hadnt guessed it would be the Highbergs child who would be the one taken. Lowe saw the way Rook''s fingers flexed, remembered the way they had clenched back thenwhite-knuckled, shaking, pressing against his forehead as though he could force the truth into place faster. Rook had blamed himself when the report of the kidnapping had come through. Theyd been so close to preventing it. Just as Lowe blamed himself for what had happened in the park. And for what had been left in the warehouse. For the things neither of them had stopped. Which was why, if Lowe was going to finally bring this guy down, he was going to ensure that Rook was going to be right by his side. I probably should have asked this beforehand, but did you retain your Abilities when you, you know, came back from the dead? Fraid not. New Class, new rules, Lowe. Everything Ive got now is a bit more . . . shall we say death orientated? Actually, shall we not say that? Lowe said, as the door to the office opened. It sounds fucking creepy. A willowy blonde wearing glasses and holding a clipboard appeared in the doorway, her expression politely neutral. Her suit was white and crisp, her posture impeccable, and the glint of a was that a warding pin on her lapel told Lowe she wasnt just here to take notes. Bodyguard? he thought. Was it usual practice for the PA of the Warden of the Reserve to have game? Mr. Morholt will see you now, she said. Lowe stood. Rook hesitated, fingers tapping against the arm of his chair in a nervous rhythm before he sighed and followed suit, pulling his coat even tighter around himself. The blonde had already stepped aside, turning on her heel and pushing back through the doors, expecting them to follow without question. The hallway beyond was exactly as Lowe had expectedpolished marble floors, chandeliers with bound-light enchantments, and the hush of wealth. Rook muttered under his breath as they walked. How the other half live, eh? But Lowe wasnt really paying attention anymore. His gaze had drifted upwardto the soaring ceilings, to the intricate carvings of celestial constellations inlaid above them. And somewhere up there, through the massive arched windows that overlooked the city, the Celestial Temple gleamed. Then there was a bright flicker. A twinkling of the light. Coincidence? Or was someone watching? Chapter 114 - The Warden’s Leash The office of Aven Morholt, Warden of the Reserve, was not what Lowe had expected. Given the ridiculous opulence on display in the rest of the building, hed anticipated something particularly grand. An overstuffed chair made from something extinct. A desk so large it could double as a duelling platform. Giant paintings of Mr Morholt looking ever so patriarchal positioned, imposingly across every inch of the walls. However, the reality was surprisingly different. As much as it pained Lowe to note, the space was actually quite tasteful. Restrained. Understated, even. And in the way only true wealth could actually afford to be. The office was all dark wood, soft lighting, and with an antique grandfather clock ticking away happily on the far wall. Even the sigil of the Sovereign Bank of Soar was a simple brass plate affixed behind Morholts desk rather than an ostentatious display. Money talks, Lowe thought, but the kind that lasts doesnt need to shout about it. Morholt himself sat behind the desk, a big, heavyset man whose bushy mustache and small eyes made him look like a walrus who had taken a brief but promising detour into human affairs. He was impeccably dressed, of coursetailored waistcoat, polished cufflinks, and the whiff of expensive aftershave clinging to the airbut, even so, there seemed to be a tightness to him. Which was weird considering, as far as Lowe had been able to ascertain, the Sovereign Bank had pretty much insisted to Staffen that he personally attended this meeting. A faint sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead that suggested he was very much not enjoying the prospect of talking to him. That or he was just hot, Lowe thought. Sometimes, you could read too much into body language. Then he felt the massive impact of someone aiming an absolute cannon of a mental skill at him, and he started to rethink his opinion. Someone in this room really wasnt happy to be answering questions. A squeezing attack tried to snap around his brain, seeking to tighten like the ghost of a noose. It sought to move downwards, coiling over his arms, around his ribs, and the white-hot fire of the psychic attack was weightless and crushing all at once. However, even as Mental Fortress shredded through the attack, effortlessly swatting aside the attack, something else kicked in. The manacle around his wrist went ice-cold and The Board is Set triggered. Pressure. It wasnt pain. Wasnt damage. But it felt epically heavy around his chest as it was stored. Banked, Lowe supposed, like some sort of unseen reserve. A tension curled through his limbs as he could feel the chain waiting to be used. It was holding still, but it didnt want to hold for long. The pain of the attack might be gone, but the Pressure remained. That was interesting. But not as interesting as the fact that either Morholt or his blonde PA had just tried to influence him. Fuck influence. Someone in this room had just tried to lobotomise him. He looked to Rook on his right. If the attack had hit him too, there was no sign of it. Maybe Threshold Guardians had some sort of natural defence against mental attacks? Once again, he wished hed spent a bit longer learning about his friends new Class before blundering into this meeting. As it was, Rook was simply looking vaguely uncomfortable and was continuing to fidget with his coat. Lowe turned his attention to the blonde, Miss St. Clair. Morholts personal assistant. A quick check showed Personal Assistant, Level 13 floating above her head. Lowe had come across plenty of low-level assistants in his time. This was not one of them. The young woman stood off to the side, clipboard in hand, expression cool. But it was the way she stood that set off alarm bells in Lowes head. Too balanced. Too still. She reminded him very much of Hel. And Hel could hide her Level and Class. So she was definitely a bodyguard. Maybe an assassin? Probably both. And she hadnt so much as pretended to look Lowe in the eye since theyd entered the room. For shits and giggles, Lowe concentrated and turned the Pressure into Retaliation, interested to see who it would focus upon. His manacle suddenly heated up as he let the power of that mental attack back towards its point of origin. Yeah, suddenly Miss St. Clair wasnt so disinterested in him anymore. The mental impact damn near knocked her off her feet. Are you okay, Miss St. Clair? Morholt asked as the woman visibly swayed against his desk. Absolutely fine, Mr Morholt. I just went a little light-headed there for a moment. Morholt blinked at her for a moment and then steepled his fingers before him in what was clearly a well-practiced expression of concern. As you can imagine, Inspector Lower, this whole thing had been a huge shock for everyone at Sovereign Bank, he said, his voice a rich velvety baritone. It has been years since there has even been so much of an attempt at a robbery at one of our institutions. Let alone a successful one! For the Vault to have been emptied out in such a fashion is . . . appalling. Appalling, Lowe said. Yes, I am sure. And as for the loss of life . . . Morholt sighed again. But it was all a performance, Lowe thought. A man playing at being troubled by all the death rather than there being any real emotional weight to it. He wondered what the Warden of Reserves wanted out of forcing this meeting. Time to stir that particular pot. I wonder what you are able to tell me about the deceased, sir? Lowe asked, hoping Rook was watching the P.As reaction carefully. He was very much focused on Morholt. The bankers brow furrowed slightly, but not in grief, more in mild irritation. He really didnt want to go down this road at all, did he? The deceased? Im sorry, I dont understand. I am afraid I have absolutely no idea about the individuals at all. Miss St. Clair, having regained her composure, flicked through the pages on her clipboard and put a piece of paper before her boss. Morholt did not so much as glance at, batting it away. He didnt seem especially delighted that the woman was hovering so close to him, did he? Guilty? Scared? This is all a regrettable situation, for sure, he said smoothly, as though he were discussing an unfortunate clerical error rather than a massacre. But I have not asked you here today to talk about the deaths. And, in any event, I have been assured that all proper reparations are being made to the families of our lost employees. That is correct, is it not, Miss St. Clair? I appreciate it might not be on the agenda, but just for my own clarity, Lowe said, before the woman had time to speak. I would like to know a little more about those who were slain. Im funny that way. He is, Rook said. Not funny ha ha, perhaps. But he always does get worked up about dead bodies. Its a fault. Morholt frowned, then nodded at St. Clair. Tell him what he wants to know. Lead Clerk Jaron Whitlow, aged fifty-six, she said, voice crisp. Branch Security Officer Harlen Vost, thirty-two. Senior Account Manager Ellise Drennan, forty-two. Several junior clerks, three interns, six accountants including, of course, Mr Stern, and a number of she paused, glancing briefly at Lowe. customers. We are, of course, not free to share information about those. However, if this is something you are especially interested in, I am sure that we would be happy for you to have the personnel files of our ex-employees. Would that would be helpful? Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. A stack of files appeared on the desk and Lowe transferred them into his inventory. Yes. Most helpful. Thank you. I have to say, though, I am not sure I understand the purpose of looking at the people, Morholt said. Its not like any of the dead bodies emptied the Vault is it? We all know who did that, dont we? Perhaps, Rook said. But you must recognise that it appears you are oddly unconcerned about the fate of those who worked for you. Morholt spread his hands. What can I say? The whole thing was a tragedy. An undoubted horror. But you must understand, Inspector, my first priority - indeed the basis of my whole Class - is to secure the Banks interests. There are others - he waved a hand airily in a gesture which, regrettably, looked nothing so much as if he was requesting his next fish supper - who I am sure will be concerned with the . . . erm, the human details. However, assets can be recovered. Lives, regrettably, cannot. Therefore, from my point of view, there is no sense at all in dwelling on what cannot be undone. No sense at all, Lowe echoed. Morholt gave a small nod, entirely missingor entirely ignoringthe disgust curling around Lowes words. Now, Morholt said, making another flappy gesture for St. Clair to come forward. Perhaps we can move on to what I have requested your presence here today for? Miss St. Clair laid another file in front of Lowe. But this one was different. It was bound in supple black leather, embossed with the Sovereign Banks sigil in gold leaf. Much more impressive than the ones that held the human details. She opened it for him with a flick of her fingers before taking a step back, once again assuming her carefully neutral posture. This file did not contain a ledger of names, nor was it a straightforward financial spreadsheet. At least, not in any way that made immediate sense to Lowe. He flicked through the pages, eyes scanning the words, trying to find something to give what he was being shown real context. Instead, however, he found himself looking at rows upon rows of generic, unclear descriptors. They were vague and infuriatingly unhelpful. Asset ID: 00012-F - Category: Secured Holdings - Description: Archival Material (High Sensitivity) - Disbursement Status: Unauthorised Removal Lowe flipped to another page. Asset ID: 09384-K - Category: Restricted Inventory - Description: Unclassified Object (Internal Reference Only) - Disbursement Status: Breach Confirmed A third entry. Asset ID: 57921-X - Category: Contingency Stock - Description: Executive Access Required - Disbursement Status: Clearance Violation Pending Review "Im sorry, Mr Morholt, what am I looking at here?" There were no itemised values, no specific breakdowns, no actual descriptions of what had been stolenonly a collection of deliberately vague, bureaucratic labels. It was almost impressively unhelpful. Almost. Naturally, certain details must remain confidential, Morholt said with oily insincerity. Hang on. Let me get this straight, Lowe said. Youve clearly pulled rank to get me here today because you want me to recover something. Fair dues, not the first time that has happened. But it would be oddly unique for me not to be told what it is Im looking for? Miss St. Clair didnt move, but Lowe caught the barest flicker of amusement in her eyes before it was gone. Morholt dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. I believe you are an intelligent man, Inspector. Im sure you will manage. When you locate the . . . the Black Knight, you will doubtless find the assets contained in that folder. When you do, you are not to examine them in any way. You are, instead, to contact me personally. Do you understand? Oh, absolutely, he said. Ill just keep an eye out for a mysterious unclassified object of high sensitivity that requires executive access and has been stolen by persons unknown. Now I think of it, that really narrows things down. Ill probably have this knocked out by lunchtime. Morholts mustache twitched. Miss St. Clair remained still. Rook let out a quiet chuckle. Well, Lowe said, tapping a finger on the folder and standing, this has been illuminating. I trust you understand the discretion required, Morholt said, noticeably not rising. And, to make things worth your while, I want to make it clear that the Banks sole interest is in those assets. Any gold that may or may not have been within the Vault is neither here nor there. Oh, loud and clear, Lowe said, pulling the folder into his inventory. He didnt miss the way Miss St. Clairs fingers twitched. If he had to guess, she had been expecting him to leave the folder behind. But he wasnt feeling that cooperative. This meeting had never been about all the lives lost in the Vault. To this man, they were just irritating collateral damage. Unfortunate statistics in an event that had rocked the bank to its foundations. Morholt wanted Lowe here because something had been taken, not to actually find a murderer. Then St. Clair adjusted her glasses and something else brushed against Lowes mind. He let it sit as Pressure for now as she spoke. For absolute clarity, Mr Lowe, the Warden is asking you, in a private capacity, to work with Sovereign Bank on this matter. she said. She might as well have been dictating meeting minutes for all the emotion in it. Whilst he understands that you will, doubtless, have conflicting loyalties with the Security Services, he does not wish there to be any muddiness here. You can catch The Black Knight for Cuckoo House, but you recover the assets for the Bank. And anything else you find is yours to keep. Isnt that right, sir? Lowe turned his head just in time to see the sweat on Morholts brow go from a damp sheen to a visible stream. Yes, Miss St. Clair, Morholt said quickly, dabbing at his forehead with a silk handkerchief. That is perfectly right. Just let me know, personally, Lowe, when you have a line on the sneaky bastard and, well, we will not be unappreciative. Lowe watched the way Morholt tried to maintain his composure, but the Warden of the Reserves was utterly rattled. Whatever had been taken, it was something big. I can assure you, sir, Lowe said, that when I bring the murderer of all those people to justice, everyone who needs to know about it, will be informed. Morholt opened his mouth, but Lowe wasnt finished. If, at the same time, I happen to stumble upon some unnamed trinkets he let the words hang there I will, of course, ensure they return to . . . their rightful owner. The sweat on Morholts brow thickened, trickling down his temple as he adjusted his collar with a nervous cough. And then Lowe let the Pressure go. St. Clair stumbled. Not as much as last time. Barely a falter, really. But it was there. And this time, she reacted. Lowe saw it in the tightening of her jaw, the sudden fury in her eyes as she straightened too quickly, her grip on her clipboard going white-knuckled. No polite neutrality anymore. Just raw, unfiltered rage. If looks could kill, Lowe would already be ashes. And he suspected she might be taking that beyond mere looks in the near future. It was always good to make new friends. Rook must have noticed something too, because he pushed back from his own chair, and moved to stand between the two of them. Well, he said, that was just as delightful as I think we all expected it would be. Should we show ourselves out? Morholt cleared his throat, clearly trying to regain control of the room. We appreciate your time, Inspector and, Im sorry, Im not sure I know who you are? That makes two of us, Rook said. Morholt clearly didnt know what to make of that. Well, we will await your findings. Lowe nodded back. He was buttoning his coat as he turned for the door, with Rook ahead of him. The delectable Miss St. Clair hadnt moved from her spot next to the Warden, but Lowe could feel her watching them, feel the white hot wrath roiling off her as she stepped forward to usher them toward the exit. Inspector? she said. Lowe stopped. Half turned. Her expression had smoothed back into something neutral, but there was intent behind it now. A razor-edge of warning just beneath the surface. Ill be in touch, she said. It wasnt a question. Lowe gave her his best lazy grin. Looking forward to it. This didnt seem to improve relations. Then they were stepping through the door to leave the office of the Warden of the Reserves behind. Did that fucker just try to bribe you? Rook asked as they walked away. Right after the blonde tried to kill me. Twice. Really? Really. Fuck. Youre lifes aint dull, is it? Tell me about it. Chapter 115 - Exploding Accountants and Other Workplace Hazards Following that joyous meeting, Lowe had returned to Cuckoo House. He spent the next few bells buried in the personnel files from the Bank, flipping through hundreds of pages with a patience that he didnt actually feel. He wasnt exactly expecting to find any great revelation buried within all the information Morholt had begrudgingly provided, but he had learned the hard way that sometimes the smallest detailsome forgotten note, a discrepancy in a reportcould be the key to unlocking something bigger. Hed left Rook with the other folderthe redacted oneand theyd agreed to catch up later. Lowe wasnt convinced there could be all that much to gain from a collection of intentionally vague descriptions, but the Threshold Guardian had been keen to take a look. And, frankly, Lowe couldnt think of a good reason to say no. If Rook wanted to waste his time cross-referencing nonsense, that was his look-out. Still, the way Morholt had sweated when Lowe had pressed him about the missing assets lingered in his mind. Something in that folder was important enough that the Warden of the Reserves had all but begged him to let the Bank handle it privately. That meant someoneand very much the wrong someonehad taken something they werent supposed to have. As Lowe had expected, though, there was nothing in the mound of discarded paperwork growing around him that was ringing his bell. That should have been reassuring. But it wasnt. Because somewhere, naggingly, at the back of his mind, an itch was developing about all this. He felt he had noticed something important and, since he had recently levelled up his Intellect and Wisdom to a significant degree, he figured it would be worth listening to gut instinct. Just because his conscious mind hadnt caught up with things yet, didnt mean it wasnt there. Lowe rescanned his notes, feeling the dull ache of fatigue creeping in behind his eyes. He remembered what his old commander, Cenorth, had drilled into him, the memory of his voice cutting through the years as sharply as it had in the field. "Stop looking for what jumps out at you, Lowe. Thats how you get caught up in distractionshalf-truths, red herrings, misdirections some bastard planted just for you to find. The real trick? Look for what isnt there. The details that should be, but arent. The story they forgot to tell." Lowe could still picture him, pacing the length of his dingy office in Cuckoo House, hands clasped behind his back, boots scuffing the floorboards with each deliberate step. There had always been an edge to Cenorth, a simmering, controlled violence beneath the surface, but when he talked shopwhen he dissected a case, peeling it open layer by layerhe was something else entirely. "Most people think investigations are about piecing things together. Theyre wrong. Its about picking them apart. People try too hard to make things make sense. Thats where they go wrong. When something doesn''t fit, doesn''t feel quite right? Thats where you start digging. Thats where the bodies are buried." Of course, Cenorth had turned out to be the sneakiest of all the bastards. Not only had he tried to set Lowe up for all sorts of bollocks, hed nearly murdered Arebella and, generally, been a pretty bad guy. Which rather took the shine off all those little pearls of wisdom. Still, a stopped clock was right twice a day. And, attempted murder aside, the advice had been solid. Lowe started with Lead Clerk Jaron Whitlow, aged fifty-six. Hed been with the bank for twenty-seven years. A lifetime spent in the quiet, meticulous world of ledgers and balance sheets. From everything Lowe read, Whitlow had been the man who made the Vault run smoothlynot with ambition, but with reliability. He had spent his career quietly correcting the numbers of his betters, ensuring decimal points never slipped, that accounts always squared, that the great machinery of wealth continued its relentless churn. There was not a single black mark on his record. No disciplinary actions. Not even a whispered reprimand for lateness. He had never taken a sick day. Never filed a complaint. Never so much as raised his voice in the workplace. By all accounts, he had been someone the Bank hierarchy had liked because he never caused trouble and the kind coworkers trusted because he never let things fall apart. Lowe grimaced at the final page. Whitlows pension paperwork had already been filed. Six weeks from retirement. And now he was very, very dead. There was nothing else there. No secret debts. No suspicious connections. No reasonno reason at allfor Jaron Whitlow to now be lying in the Vault with his head exploded around a massive fucking grin. Lowe paused, letting the info run through his mind. Was there anything in this file that was causing the itch? Anything in that litany of blameless service? No. No he didnt think there was. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Lowe closed that file and turned to a new one. Branch Security Officer Harlen Vost. Thirty-two and a former Soldier. Compared to Whitlow, he had a far shorter amount of service. There was nothing noteworthy recorded in the file about the mans time in the military. No medals. No dramatic battlefield heroics. No scandalous discharge. Just another young man who had done his time, served competently, and then slipped back into civilian life like countless others before him. Vosts transition into security work had been predictable. Ex-military types gravitated toward jobs like thislow-risk, steady pay and work that required discipline but rarely called for real danger. Hed taken the job at the bank three years ago and, according to his appraisals, had done it pretty well. His personnel file was dry, almost painfully so. Two commendations for diligence, both from supervisors who had praised his attentiveness and steady hand. A single minor note about an altercation with a drunk customer, though it had been ruled justifiedVost had done nothing excessive, had followed protocol to the letter. There was nothing in his record that suggested he might have been involved in what had happened. Just a man who had signed up to guard a bank and ended up dead inside it. Lowe could feel his frustration rising. He picked up another of the files hed already gone through. Senior Account Manager Ellise Drennan. A forty-something widow with one daughter, currently studying at the University of Soar. That had interested him, initially, and hed spent a bit of time tracking her down. For all the good that did him. She was a promising student from what little information Lowe could find, studying Manatechnical Finance, likely seeking to follow in her mothers footsteps. Although probably not all the way to the exact same conclusion . . . Drennan had worked at the Vault for nearly two decades, steadily rising through the ranks. Not because she had been a careerist, not because she had played cutthroat politics or courted favour with the right people, but because she had been good. Steady. Trustworthy. Someone clients didnt just rely on but confided in. She had handled high-value clientelethose who preferred their assets unlisted, their transactions discreet, and their records conveniently opaque. That didnt mean she was involved in anything illegalat least, there was no sign of itbut it did mean she had been trusted. He bet shed have been able to tell him what was on the list Morholt had passed over. Shed been the quintessential safe pair of hands. Another reliable employee. No complaints against her. No whispers of scandal. No cause for grudges Lowe could see. Nothing in her file suggested enemies. Nothing at all. Lowe sighed, closing the file and picking up another as he continued reading. Several junior clerks. Three interns. Six accountants. All with similar profiles. All ordinary. All people who had come to work that day expecting it to be like any other. Nothing jumped out to suggest there was anything unusual in them. And yet, they were all dead. And then there was Elias Stern. Lowe flipped through the personnel file, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the page. Elias Stern. Fifty-five years old. Nearly twenty years with the bank. No significant promotions, no disciplinary actions, and no flagged transactions. A quiet, steady career in the way only an Accountants could be. His gaze dropped lower. No military background. No history of mental instability. No ties to radical organisations. No unusual purchases. No large debts. Activating Grid View, Lowe reviewed the mans last few moments. The way he had looked. His expression, the tremor in his voice, the sweat gathering at his temple. The way his hands had shakenbut not with fear. With something else. Resignation. And then the growing grin. The explosion. The moment of silence before his headhis whole skullhad torn itself apart in a flash of blood. The way his body had collapsed inward, leaving nothing but ruin. Lowes head was starting to ache. Hed been sitting here too long. He wondered if Rook was having more luck with his folder of redacted info. He certainly couldnt be doing any worse. Lowes eyes drifted back to Sterns personnel file. He scanned the page again, as if rereading the same words would suddenly give them new meaning. His fingers hesitated over a line in the report. Elias Stern, Fifty-Five. Fifty-five. The number caught in his head, snagging on something just beyond reach. Fifty-five. Lowes frown deepened. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the memory settle in properly. The man he had spoken to in the Vaultthe one who had looked him in the eye, named the Black Knight, and then self-destructedhadnt been old. He hadnt had thinning hair or the slightly stooped posture of someone who had spent two decades hunched over ledgers. He fucking well hadnt been fifty-five. Lowe turned back to the file, flicking through the pages with fresh intent, looking for an image. Of course there wasnt one. There wasnt in any of the files. He retriggered Grid View. The Accountant he had seen, the man who had murdered an entire bank floors worth of people, had been younger. Mid-thirties at most. That wasnt Elias Stern. Which meant the killerthe one who had executed his colleagues, whispered Lowes name, and turned his own head into a firebombhad been someone else. Someone using Sterns name. And able to spoof his profession and level. Who the fuck had murdered those people? Chapter 116 - The Art of Misidentification "Call me a bluff old traditionalist, Lant, but I kind of assumed that, when identifying bodies, you might have, I don''t know, some sort of fucking process you use by which to ensure some degree of accuracy!" Lowes voice echoed off the tile, bouncing between the exposed pipes and low-hanging light fixtures of the Deathcallers mortuary. The smell was as bad as evera rancid, chemical mix of rot and preservation fluids - and that was even before it got to Lants stench itself. Soars Deathcaller - Penarth Lant - was, on his best day, a goblin-shaped stain on Lowes peace of mind. Today was not shaping up to be one of those. "Inspector, Inspector, Inspector. Lant said, voice oily with condescension. You always did have a charming way of implying incompetence when you simply didnt understand something too complicated for your silly little mind. Its a shame to see that your fall from grace didnt do anything to adjust that. "Oh, forgive me, you lecherous piece of shit! I was under the naive impression that when you, personally, are in charge of identifying dead bodies, you might actually inform those of us responsible for investigating murders whats in your cold storage before we go out there with our facts wrong! If you dont clear this up for me, right now, my next stop is Staffens office and I think we both know shes just itching for the opportunity to rip your balls off and stuff them up your arse!" Lant didnt flinch. He never flinched. The man had all the social instincts of a carrion birdhe just stared back. "Inspector, Lant said, As I have been trying to explain to you, since you appeared here in your customary shambolic way. As far as the massacre in the Vault is concerned, I havent told Cuckoo House a damn thing yet. Lowe stopped mid-rant. ...What? The Deathcaller rolled his eyes and waddled over to a drip-covered gurney, his wide belly shifting as he moved. He gestured vaguely at the row of bodies covered in stained cloth. Some were largely intact, others less so. I, Lant continued, am still in the process of establishing a clear, confirmed identity for each of these poor, headless souls. Which means that any presumptions made by your little nest of underpaid malcontentshe waggled his fingers in the air dismissivelywere nothing to do with my office at all. Lowe blinked. Then blinked again. Youre telling me, Lowe said slowly, that Cuckoo House has already filed identification on all these bodies without you signing off on it?" Absolutely. Quite hilarious, isnt it? Lowe could feel his head pounding as all of his righteous indignation drained away. So let me just get this straight," he said. "Youve been sitting on a pile of unidentified corpses, and instead of actually doing your fucking job Hang on, Lowe. My fucking job?" Lant interrupted. "First you come in here telling me Ive fucked up by not identifying these wankers properly. And now you want to pivot to balling me out for not doing it quickly enough? Are you fucking kidding me? Its not my fault you guys jumped the gun. What Ive been doing in the handful of fucking bells since this lot were dropped off here is, first and foremost, making sure theyre actually deceased . . . Oh, don''t start with your weird-ass definitions of death, Lant Youd be amazed at how many bodies are only mostly dead, Inspector Not the point! The point is, youre letting an entire department move an investigation forward assuming the corpses have been positively identified, and you didnt think to mention to anyone that was absolute bollocks? Ah, Lowe. You are, as ever, a treat. He made an exaggerated flourish toward the bodies. You see, these are my problem. You and your fellow investigators acting like complete tossrags is - and I cannot stress this enough - absolutely not my circus. I dont like sharing unfinished work. The fact Cuckoo House is happy making assumptions about who was to be found amongst that slaughter is neither my purview, nor my issue. I really hope none of your colleagues have informed the next of kin yet. Im sure it would be . . . awkward should any of that needed to be walked back." Lowe stared at him. Lant stared back. "You," Lowe said, "are a horrible, horrible little man." Lants grin widened into something deeply unsettling. Why, thank you, Inspector. I do try. The worst of it was that Lant was right. If assumption was the mother of all fuck-ups, then Lowe had made a big one here. Hed gone off to see the Warden of Reserves assuming that the bodies were bank staff and customers. Not that anyone had suggested anything otherwise to him. And Morholt and St. Claire had obviously thought that too. Hadnt they? And what about Elias Stern? Or, more to point, not Elias Stern. What the fuck had he stumbled into here? And how in Soar was the Black Knight involved? Okay, Lowe said, voice forcing himself to be calm. Theyd jumped the gun. He needed to get things back on track So, lets resolve this, shall we? What, exactly, do you have here? Lant sighed dramatically, as if he were being deeply inconvenienced, and waddled toward the nearest corpse. He pulled back the stained sheet with an air of theatricality, revealing something that might have once been a man. The stump around its head was blackened. Twisted. Charred beyond recognition. Lant waved a hand over the body. As you can see, other than losing his head at the wrong moment, this chap is positively pristine. Extremely fit. Very athletic. I tell you what, you should have a look at one of the girls. If I leave the bag over her head I can almost get interested. Can we do this without the colour commentary please, your fucking chaos goblin? "Ah-ah!" Lant wagged a finger. Temper, Inspector. We mustnt be unprofessional. As all the little HR meetings I keep having tell me. Respect in all things. No, what is interesting here is that this chap, Lant gestured to all the other bodies packed around them, and all of the other lads and lasses is that not only are they headless, but they appear to be fingerprintless too. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. I dont understand. No, Im sure you dont. Im using all sorts of complex polysyllables, arent I? Would it help if I drew you a picture? Maybe if I located a more than usually dim eight-year-old to explain it to you? You know, someone on your level? Lowe bit down on his tongue. Youre saying, Lant, that none of the bodies in the Vault have fingerprints? No. No, they dont. Isnt that interesting? It seems that whoever killed them succeeded in not only removing their faces, but also any identifying marks at all. I have to say, I respect that sort of thoroughness. Thats a Skill I think we can all agree would be very helpful indeed, in certain circumstances. Now, perhaps, you will appreciate why my report to Cuckoo House is, as yet, somewhat incomplete. No faces. No fingerprints, Lowe said. So youre telling me you do not have a way of figuring out who all these people actually are? Lant beamed, as if this was the exact question he had been waiting for. Oh, dont despair, dearest Inspector! I am no mere Graveteller. You stand before Penarth Lant, the foremost Deathcaller in all of Soar. I am not so easily discouraged. However . . . However, what? However, you havent asked nicely. A silence stretched. Rage swelled deep in his chest, rising like a goddamn volcano "Fine," Lowe gritted out, with all the warmth of a dying sun. Please, oh mighty Deathcaller, if it isnt too much trouble, would you be so kind as to share your deeply insightful wisdom about the actual, proper identities of the people who died in the Vault? Lant giggled. Fucking giggled. Then, with obnoxious levels of satisfaction, he flicked through a stack of notes, pulled one free, and tapped it against his palm. Well, Inspector, since you grovelled so prettily For the record, I absolutely hate you. I will, out of the graciousness of my heart, reveal to you that at least five of these bodies are not who I was told they were supposed to be. What do you mean by that? I mean, Inspector, he said, voice thick with mock patience, that the initial report I was given about what occurred in the Vault suggested that I would be examining the corpses of a bunch of bank workers and a number of well-to-do customers. As is policy, the mana signature of all those who are employed by Soar Bank are on record and, I can tell you, they are absolutely not a match for the first five bodies I have been able to complete the required activation ritual over. Okay, so youve started with five customers, then? What a lovely example of the legendary Lowe intuition I have heard so much about over the years! It really is a pleasure to see a master in action. Fuck off! I do wonder, Lant mused, if Im not the only one who would benefit from a course in Sensitivity Training, Inspector. But hey ho, never mind.Yes, indeed, it was my assumption I had, coincidentally, picked out five customers first. Five beheaded corpses. Five hapless customers in the Vault at the wrong place and at the wrong time. Tragic, really. He flicked a page over with obnoxious precision. So imagine my delight when I was actually able to find records of these five particular customers. Lowe didnt miss the inverted commas. Why customers? "Because, Inspector," Lant said, "I do so enjoy accuracy in language. He waddled toward a workbench cluttered with stacks of parchment and the charred remnants of personal effects, fingers twitching over a burned leather bag. And while these five individuals were present in the Vault during the unfortunate events of that evening, it appears that in the strictest sense none of them were actual customers. Excuse me? Lant placed a hand to his chest like a put-upon saint. I know! Shocking. Youd think a Vault would contain actual Vault clients, but no. Turns out, these five had no registered holdings at the Sovereign Bank, no active accounts, no transaction historyand yet, they were all in the Vault at the exact moment of the unfortunate massacre. Lowe looked around at all the bodies. What were the chances that the first five bodies Lant tried to identify would not be workers at the Bank. There were what? Twenty-five? Thirty bodies here? And what about that fucking Accountant? He hadnt been who he said hed been either . . . Lant was continuing with his lecture. Well, naturally, I assumed these five ladies and gentlemen must have been extremely important. High rollers. Perhaps private Vault clients with unusual ledgers. So I did what any diligent Deathcaller would do. I cross-referenced their mana signatures with some of my more . . . secret databases. And would you believe it? He spread his hands, voice dripping with faux innocence. Every single one of them matched a sealed record. Sealed? Oh yes, Inspector. Lant rocked back on his heels, satisfaction rolling off him in waves. And not just lightly sealed. Not minor-bureaucratic-inconvenience sealed. No, these files are to be found in a vault within the Vault sort of sealed. The kind that doesnt like being opened. "Lant," Lowe said, voice edged with warning, "what kind of records are we talking about?" Lant paused and put a finger to his lips and clearly activated some sort of Skill, Mental Fortress dispelling what Lowe assumed was some sort of Silence Ability. Now, whilst I do not necessarily believe that the walls have ears, I do not want to take any chances. Should anyone be eavesdropping on us, they will simply hear us continuing our line of amusing banter. Okay . . . Lowe felt Lants Skill turn into Pressure via his manacle. He had a moment wondering how fun it would be to sit Lant down on his arse, but then restrained himself. The Deathcaller was being helpful for once. So what sort of records are they? Military, dear heart. Military. And while it is entirely plausible that a member of the military might find themselves in the Vault at the wrong moment He lifted a scalpel from the workbench and twirled it theatrically between his fingers. "And even two might be possible. But five out of five of the customers Ive examined thus far?" Lant''s grin was grim. "Well, Inspector, Ill leave that up to your own brilliant little brain to unpick. What the fuck? There were five members of Soars Military in the Vault when it was robbed blind? Lant, I swear to every god listening, if you are wrong about this, I will make sure that sensitivity training is the least of your problems. Lant gasped in mock horror, clutching his considerable belly. You wound me, sir! Oh, I, too, thought it must be a mistake at first. A bureaucratic hiccup, perhaps. A case of clerical incompetence. Impossible, I know, given how well-run our institutions are. But, when I realised all five of our dearly departed customers had their mana prints tied to sealed military records, I began to lose all my curiosity in this situation. Why, should it turn out that everyone in this death heap have their own files, I imagine I will forget any of this happened at all. Lowe couldnt blame him. This was some deep shit. The Vault robbery. The Black Knight. The unidentified Accountant, and now this? Five, at least, military personnel - with sealed records - in the wrong place at the wrong time . . . except, no, that wasnt it, was it? They hadnt been in the wrong place. They had been exactly where they were meant to be. And then they had been murdered. "Lant," he said, voice deceptively casual, "exactly how much trouble do you think Ill be in if I start digging?" Lant cackled, a high-pitched, obnoxiously gleeful sound. Oh, Inspector, he said. I do hope you start digging. And why is that? Because I am dying to know what youll find. Chapter 117 - Threads He Could not Hold Lowes first instinct was to storm into Staffens office, shouting the odds, kicking down doors, and demanding someone start making sense of it all. But somehowsomehowhe managed to restrain himself. Lants use of that Silence Skill had meant that if anyone had been listening in to their conversationand Lowe was beginning to suspect they very well mightthen they hadnt been able to hear a damn thing. He didnt have many advantages right now, but no-one knowing what he knew might be the only one going for him. So instead of blowing the only card he had left, he went instead back to his office, shut the door, and slumped into his chair, staring out the grimy window at the Soar beyond. But the thing is, what did he actually know? Something important had been taken from the Vault. Something which was being kept there that was so important it had dragged the Black Knightwho had been dormant for over a yearback into play. Lowe had checked. Almost from the moment of his Classtration, there had been no further crimes linked to the Black Knight. Not another murder. No more kidnappings. Nothing. It was like the laughter in that desolate warehouse had been the final act in a game no one else had really understood. But now he was back. And his nemesis had, apparently, made off with something that had the Warden of the Reserve rattled. And not just the standard level of rattled that came with having a Vault full of dead people and a lot of cash vanish, but properly, ball-shakingly rattled. Morholt had basically been sweating blood through his expensive suit. And hed tried to bribe a member of the Soar Security Services to give Soar Bank the heads up on the investigation. That was the sort of thing that got people executed with extreme prejudice. And yet hed been quite open about it. And then there was Miss St Clair Thinking of her, Lowe activated Grid View. His memories flashed up in crisp detailevery recent meeting, every moment of his day, every interaction clear as day. And when he pulled up his conversation with Morholt, the vision played out exactly as he remembered. Morholt sat behind his ridiculously expensive desk, sweating through his collar, talking about those redacted files. Everything was exactly as it should be. Except for one thing. Miss St Clair wasnt there. Or ratherthere was a blurred, smudged distortion where she should have been. He rewound the memory and played it again. Nothing. Her voice was there. Her presence was there. But visually? It was as if something had reached into his own memory and smeared vaseline over the lens. The only time hed ever experienced something similar was when hed had to wade through necrotic slime. The presence of it had corroded Grid View, leaving gaps in his recall that hed had to rebuild from written notes. But that wasnt possible now. Mental Fortress negated that sort of effect. And the Shackled Grasp he was wearing should have reinforced that protection. Shouldnt it? Lowe pushed away from his desk, opened his office door. Kenny! he called out. The receptionist, sitting at the centre of the bullpen, continued writing something down, ignoring him. Kenny! The man finally looked up. Sorry, are you calling for me, sir? Yes, you. Kenny! My names Osbourne, sir. Is it? Are you sure? Osbourne looked mildly bewildered. Pretty sure, sir. Lowe narrowed his eyes. So, wheres Kenny? Out for lunch? I dont know anyone of that name, sir. One of the other Inspectors looked up from his paperwork. Do you mean Kenniel, sir? Tall guy, wore thick glasses? Yes, Lowe said. Kenny. Osbourne and the other Inspector exchanged a glance. Theyve not worked here for a while, sir, the Receptionist said. Lowe felt a flush rise to his face. He really needed to start learning some new damn names around here. He coughed, covering his momentary lapse, and waved a hand. Right. Osbourne. Thank you. Osbourne nodded. Sir? Can you bring me everything we have on a Miss St Clair who works over at Sovereign Bank HQ? She might, officially, be the Warden of the Reserves'' PA, but I wouldnt be surprised if thats bollocks. Osbournes eyes glazed slightly obviously a Skill activating as he pulled up files from Cuckoo Houses records. His fingers twitched, indexing information, drawing reports from the archives. Would that be all, sir? Osbourne asked, tone polite, but distant. I would also be happy to make you a coffee. Lowe waved him off. No, just the files, thank you. He sat back down at his desk and ran through the case again while he waited. Something important had been stolen. The Black Knight had resurfaced after a year of silence. At least five military personneldisguised as customershad died in the Vault. Morholt was sweating bullets over something he wouldnt name going missing. Miss St Clair had spoken to him, but left almost no trace in his own memory. And, most importantly, someone who had been pretending to be the Accountant, Elias Stern - who had actually committed all the murders - mentioned the Black Knight, and then killed himself. Lowe closed his eyes, replaying the memory of the Vault massacre in Grid View. Stern - or whoever had said they were Stern - had been traumatised. He had trembled when hed spoken, his eyes darting like a trapped animal. But . . . But . . . Okay, Lowe thought. Lets make some investigatory jumps. Say it wasnt just a massive coincidence that the first five bodies Lant had tried to identify were military personnel. Say that, in reality, everyone in there had been. That, for reasons he didnt quite understand, everyone who usually worked in the Vault had been . . . replaced by some heavy hitters. That Elias Stern had been another one of these sealed record wankers. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. So, whoever Lowe had spoken towho had named the Black Knight before blowing their own head openhadnt been Stern at all. Which meant the real Elias Stern - and all the rest of the Vault workers were still out there somewhere - had been swapped out before the robbery. Maybe. Were the military there to protect something? Did someone know the Black Knight was back in play and had tried a little bait and switch to catch him? Fuck, he said to no one in particular. This is a shitshow. There was a knock at the door and he turned around in his chair, expecting to see Osbourne with the file he had requested. But no. It wasnt the Receptionist. It was his boss, Pernille Staffen. And stood with her was someone Lowe had hoped never to see again. It was the Mayor of Soar. *** The Mayor stepped into Lowes office like a man accustomed to owning space, his gait unhurried not slow, not deliberate, but precisely calibrated to suggest confidence without effort. Control without force. Staffen followed behind him and closed the door, blacking out the windows with a push of mana. The years had been kind to him. Or, more likely, he was powerful enough to ensure that they had been. His hair was too dark to be its real colour, and was cut short and slicked down into place. Beneath it, his skin was unnervingly smooth - almost glassy - the effect of whatever expensive tinctures and alchemical concoctions were available to those at the very top of Soars food chain. Lowe had always been lairy of the sense of constructed perfection about him, like a painting commissioned by a man with no interest in realism, and that feeling had doubled - tripled - since the events of last year. The man was wearing archaic robes which were a deep burgundy trimmed with dark gold embroidery so fine it barely caught the light. Just like the subtle display of wealth Lowe had seen in Morholts office, this was deliberate restraint on show. This was power wrapped in the very best of taste. A man with nothing to prove because he had already won at the game of life. Yet, despite all that graceful elegance, there was still something in the way he held himselfsomething at the edges. Something just beneath the surface that Lowe had always disliked: even when the Mayor had been feteing him as the future of Soars policing. A coiled sharpness, a tension that wasnt nervous, but hunger. His smile was pleasant, easy, like a man greeting an old acquaintance, but his eyes never quite matched it. But that wasnt the only thing that was strange, Lowe thought. Where were all his hangers-on? Where were the army of suits, the advisers, the assistants, the bodyguards? The men and women who usually formed the soft buffer between him and the rest of Soar? As far as Lowe knew, the Mayor never walked anywhere alone, and certainly never went anywhere unattended. And that was not out of fear - while not a powerhouse at Level 61, it would take quite some grunt to take him out - but rather because men like him were institutions in themselves. And institutions had hierarchies to maintain. And yet, here he was. In Cuckoo House. The Mayor of Soar in Lowes fucking office. No guards. No witnesses. Just him. And Lowe had no bloody idea why. Dont stand there like a fucking hole-and-corner merchant, Lowe. Take a seat, Staffen said, indicating for the Mayor also to do so and sitting herself once he had. If you dont mind, boss, Lowe said, I think Ill remain standing. Ive found its harder for people to fuck me over from this position. Fucks sake, Lowe! Staffen began, but the Mayor waved her into silence. "No, no. Inspector Lowe is quite within his rights to assume nothing good is going to come of this little meeting. It is, after all, how the last time he was in my presence ended." In my presence, Lowe thought. Fucking twat. The Mayor placed his hands in his lap as if he were a patient teacher indulging a slow student and surveyed the room with the idle curiosity of a man who had never before had to sit in a space he did not own. This is all a little bare, Inspector, he said, nodding towards Lowes desk. I always pictured one of our brave Inspectors offices to be filled with papers, scattered case notes, perhaps an ashtray overflowing with the weight of sleepless nights. But thisthis is almost ascetic. Well, Im not in the habit of leaving things lying around for just anyone to see, Lowe replied. Cant imagine where such paranoia came from. Sir! Staffen said. Its alright, boss. I dont need you to call me that here. Just in private, you know. Lowe felt the buffet of a smorgasbord of mental Skills slam into him. Fuck knows what Staffen had just thrown at him for his impertinence, but the amount of Pressure he suddenly possessed was double that hed had when St Clair had attacked him earlier in the day. For a moment of pure insanity, he considered firing it back at her. Then he remembered some of the stories hed heard of her, and used it instead to refresh his Mana and Stamina. That made him feel better than he had in days. He winked at her instead, which he sensed might have made things worse. The Mayor, though, gave every sign of having missed their interaction. Paranoia? The Mayor gave a pleasant laugh. No, I think not. You have always seen patterns, Inspector Lowe, and were very good at recognising threats. A good quality to have in your line of work. Unfortunate, though, that such attributes also makes you very difficult to decide how to deal with. That wasnt too much of a problem last time, was it? Ah, yes, the Mayor said, as though discussing a minor inconvenience. Your Classtration. That was all very unfortunate. But entirely necessary. Surely even you see that now? Your outstanding incompetence left the Council with no option. Heads needed to roll. And yours rolled so very well. Staffen frowned at that, but then reset her face into the same neutral expression. Lowe, however, didnt think he needed to be especially politic if the guy was going to be a complete wanker about it. Get to the fucking point. Sir. Lowe, Staffen growled, for once in your life, can you try to at least pretend youre not spoiling for a fight. No, no, no, Penny. Thats exactly why I like him, the Mayor interjected smoothly. Inspector Lowe isor wasan absolute force when pointed in the right direction. It was such a shame, really, that we had to cut that short. Thus, my delight has no bounds now that it appears hes back to his fighting weight. The Mayor looked above Lowes head, Level 26? Impressive. I dont think Ive ever heard of a Classless living more than a month. And then you cleared that nastiness with the High Priestess and took down Grackle Nuroon a peg or two. You really are becoming quite the man to watch. Lowe would have liked it if that last word hadnt sounded quite so much like murder horribly and scatter the ashes. But let us not dwell on the past, shall we? the Mayor continued. I would like to talk about the present and, in particular, what has been recently stolen. You mean from the Vault? Lowe said. Or do you mean what you took from me? Clever. The Mayor smiled. You are so very clever with your little word games. But no, I am not here to discuss the Councils decision around your Class. I would like to talk about what had been recently, and bloodily, removed from the Vault. And why would that concern you, sir? The Mayor chuckled. Because, Inspector, as I am sure you are starting to become aware, the Vault contained far more than money. More than jewels. It held a number of secrets. And, in Soar, secrets are much more valuable than gold. And, what, you want me to find out who stole yours? Oh, no, no, no. I was not so foolish as to entrust anything of mine to the dubious safety of the Vault. I am, though, extremely motivated to get my hands on what has been removed. Knowledge is power, and all that. What I need is for you to retrieve it. Quietly. Before things that should not be known are shared. It may be held that sunlight is the best disinfectant but, and I promise you this, the people of Soar are more than comfortable in their current crepuscular state. None of us need that situation . . . disturbed. At least, not until I have access to that information first. Well, at least this fucker was being honest. And if I say no? The Mayors smile didnt waver. Then, with the deepest of regret, I suppose well have to see if theres anything else of yours that I am able to take away from you. Chapter 118 - Legally Screwed, Officially Fucked "Well, wasn''t that a complete shitshow!" Staffen said, anger rolling off her in waves. And, where a Guardian of the Wall was concerned, this was entirely literal. Lowe''s desk exploded, wood splinters scattering across the room, and the chair the Mayor had been sitting in liquified into a dark, smoldering puddle. Osbourne poked his head around the door and then quickly retreated when he caught her expression. Staffen slammed it shut behind him with enough force to rattle the frame and turned back to Lowe, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "What the fuck have you got Cuckoo House mixed up into? The Warden of Reserves! The fucking Mayor!" "Me! How is this possibly my fault? You called me to the Vault. You sent me into that fucking place. How didnt you know there was a fucking military sting taking place?" "Don''t you take that tone with me, you wanker!" "Have you seen the bodies, boss?" Lowe said, unwisely stepping towards her and then stepping back. He had absolutely no interest in discovering exactly how much heat his new manacle could withstand. The stories about Pernille Staffens anger back in the day were legendary. "There''s a whole roomful of corpses down there with Penarth Lant. All with their heads fucking blown off through finding a joke far too fucking funny. So, dont come at me about my tone!" Staffen growled, a low, guttural sound, and the window behind Lowe blew out, shards of glass scattering across the floor. The air crackled with residual energy, the static pressing against his skin. For a moment, it looked like she was going to let loose again, but then she stopped, clamping her jaw shut and taking a long, measured breath through her nose. She exhaled, flexing her fingers like she was forcing herself to let go of the rage. "Come on," she said, turning abruptly and yanking open the office door. "Come where?" Lowe asked, falling into step behind her. "I need a fucking drink." As she went, she shot a glare at Osbourne, who was still hovering outside, looking like he very much wanted to be anywhere else. "Make sure Lowes office is back in one piece by the time we get back." Osbourne nodded quickly, already halfway out the door to find someone else to delegate the mess to. Lowe sighed. It wasnt just Staffens temper that was reported to be legendary. This was going to be one hell of a night. *** No, Jana. I am not giving you a . . . sorry, what was it you asked for? The-Mother-of-all-Hangover-Cures. Come on, Mylaf, Im dying over here! Mylaf folded her arms and gave him a look so dry it could have absorbed the entire bar spill from the night before. Well, as my mother always told me, the Drudge said, people who live in glasshouses shouldnt drink their body weight in alcohol with their boss. Lowe groaned, draping himself dramatically across the kitchen table. I told you, it was a tactical decision. Like a strategic bonding exercise. She was angry with me, the least I could do was share a few drinks with her. You wouldnt understand. You lack the necessary male frailty. Oh, forgive me, Mylaf said, deadpan. I didnt realise projectile vomiting was part of leadership development. Lowe cracked an eye open. Am I hearing this is as a no on the cure? Not necessarily. Im still considering it. Great, while youre at it, could you also consider never letting me drink ever again? Lowe said. I think my livers writing its resignation letter. Forgive me, but dont you have some sort of stupidly overpowered heal Skill, sir? Surely you shouldnt be feeling this unwell? Lowe dry heaved. Whatever Staffen and he had been drinking last night, Roll with the Punches wasnt willing to go anywhere near it. Considering the latest version of that Skill could bring him back from the fucking dead, it suggested his boss favourite drinking establishment had quite the cocktail menu. Please, Mylaf! The Drudge sighed, rolling her eyes with the long-suffering patience of someone forced to babysit an overgrown child. Which, Lowe thought, was kind of her life now. With a resigned flick of her wrist, she produced a steaming, bubbling glass beaker from her inventory, the liquid inside shifting colours like it couldnt quite decide whether to be alarming or outright fatal. Lowes kitchen lights flickered ominously. Somewhere in the distance, a thunderclap rumbled. This really isnt something I want to make a habit of, sir, Mylaf said, lifting the beaker high as if presenting it to the gods themselves. The Mistress had the occasional habit of drinking too much on Gravalks Day of Flame and I always found making this for her the following day to be . . . distasteful. It looks like something that should come with an emergency contact form. Oh, it does, sir, Mylaf said produced a scroll and slapping it onto the table. Sign here, here, and here to waive liability, and here to promise you wont come haunting me if this accidentally bestows eldritch enlightenment. Im sensing this is a bit, Mylaf and Im really not in the mood. If you wouldnt mind, could I have it, please? Mylaf smiled and swirled the liquid as a faint, high-pitched giggle emanated from the beaker itself. The drink was laughing at him. Bottoms up, she said, handing it over with all the gravity of a mad scientist bestowing forbidden knowledge upon an unworthy apprentice. Lowe downed it in one and almost immediately felt one hundred percent better. And then he very much didnt. At all. Oh yes, Mylaf said, as he pushed past her in the rush for the bathroom, I should have mentioned. It might be best if you thought of this as less of a hangover cure and more a very, very powerful emetic. *** Half a - very unpleasant - bell later, Lowe was showered, shaved and feeling a little bit more like himself. Whilst hed been . . . emptying out all sorts of undesirable compounds from his body, Mylaf had been working through the list of names hed left her to contact, and there was quite a collection of beings awaiting him in his living room when he was finally ready. Im just going to come right out and say it, Hel said, I dont think the whole inviting people around to hear me vomit thing is likely to catch on as a social experiment. No, Karolen agreed. And while were on things that it would be great for you not to do again, can we add having all our Sending Stones buzzed with a Help, Im really in the shit! message. Some of us have bosses that arent great fans of us taking personal days. Or, specifically, of you. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I can very much recommend self-employment, Auditor Mehan. Definitely beats toiling for the man, Rook said. Although, full disclosure, I probably wouldnt recommend having your heart ripped out to achieve it. Theres probably a happy medium to be found. Good point, well made, creepy new person. Thanks for that, Latham said. But Im going to agree with the Auditor, little man. This better be good. Some of us are actually, you know, crucial to the smooth running of Soar. On that note, Ortel said, I feel I should say again that I am not really sure what Im doing here amongst such illustrious company. The one-armed Druid blushed as he spoke and then refreshed the three Totems of Silence Lowe had insisted were in place before any of them spoke. Youre here, Counsel Maybourne because youre the only person who works in the Tower of Law who I think I can trust right now - Arebella significantly cleared her throat - at least, the only person Im not sleeping with, Lowe finished lamely. Well, if everyone has their refreshments, I think Ill retire to my room, Mylaf said, standing. Actually, if you dont mind, Mylaf, I think I would rather you stayed. We might need some words of advice. The Drudge smiled at Lowes words and sat back down again. Okay, Lowe said. If were all settled, Ill make a start. As I think my message made clear, I think I might be somewhat in the shit . . . It took less time than he had anticipated to outline the current situation. For something that had taken on a somewhat colossal size in his own mind, talking it through in this setting actually helped him start to get things into order. So, to summarise, Latham said after Lowe had finished. The Black Knight is apparently back. Hes taken something lots of people want, and youve been given rather uncomplicated orders by the Mayor to get it back. On the other hand, the Warden of the Reserves is openly willing to bribe you to ensure he gets first dibs on whatever was nicked. And hes got some sort of scary bitch at his back, urging him on. Karolen said. And not forgetting that theres military involvement, Hel said. Probably an Out of Bounds squad which, for those at the back, are absolutely not allowed to operate on Soar soil. Oh, and there are a whole bunch of people who apparently have gone missing, which no one seems to care about, Mylaf completed with a frown. Dont forget them. Yeah, that sounds about the size of it, Lowe said. So, I guess my question to you all is, how screwed am I? Well, very, obviously, Ortel said, then realised everyone was looking at him. I mean well, yes. I think thats what I mean. Very screwed. Ortel shifted in his chair like a man who had accidentally wandered into a den of starving lions and just noticed he was carrying a slab of raw meat. Then he adjusted his spectacles, refreshed the Totem of Silence and licked his lips. But didnt say anything. Please, mate, Lowe said, this is why I asked for you to join us here. I need to understand my legal jeopardy. Ortel closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath, when he opened them again, his nervous energy hadnt vanished, exactly, but it tightened, became something purposeful. Lowe remembered this guy standing up like a baller in the Celestial Temple when all that shit with Cenorth went down. He wasnt as silly as his appearance suggested. Okay. Let me break this down for you. He tapped his fingers against the table. First and foremost, as a sworn officer of the Soar Security Services, youInspector Loweare legally and contractually obligated to ensure the return of any stolen property from the Vaults of Soar. It does not matter whether or not its a job you want. The law is clear on this matter: anything stolen from the Vault is a matter of state security, and as a member of the Security Services, you are bound by law to ensure its recovery. Yeah, Staffen was pretty heavy on that one last night. Oh, I am afraid it gets worse than that, Ortel said. Because, as you are no doubt aware, bribery - both offering and accepting - is a felony. That means you cannot accept any offer from the Warden of the Reserves in exchange for preferential treatment in this investigation. If you were to do soif, say, you were to quietly pass along any information to Soar Bank in return for a financial or professional favoryou would be in violation of statutes regarding corrupt practices in law enforcement. And that, Lowe, would earn you an execution, faster than you can say gross misconduct. That it appears he is willing to back up the bribery offer with manifest threat to your wellbeing should you not comply is neither here nor there. You cannot treat with the Warden of the Reserves, regardless of any threatened consequences. Fantastic. Unfortunately, though, Im still not finished. Because while you also cannot enter into any sort of private arrangement with the Mayor, of the two men, the Mayor or the Warden, that have offered you some sort of quid pro quo, it is actually the Mayors interference which is worse for you. Legally speaking. How? Lowe said. Surely doing what the Mayor asks isnt illegal? I am afraid it is not as simple as that, Ortel said. The Mayor recently had a law forced through by the Council - Section 14 of the Executive Oversight Act, if anyone is interested -which states that any municipal official found to be complicit in a criminal conspiracy is subject to immediate legal recourse, regardless of their position. Lowe blinked. Come again? It was meant as a power move against certainshall we saytroublesome trade guilds. But the wording is dangerously broad. In this situation, what it means is that if you enter into a personal arrangement with the Mayor - beyond the scope of your position as a member of the Security Services - and that arrangement is found to interfere with a state-mandated investigation, then you - not the Mayor - would be in violation of Section 14, which means you would be legally stripped of your rank, your authority, and detained for obstruction of justice. Rook let out a low whistle. So, in short: he cant pick up what the Warden is putting down, he definitely cant make any sort of personal deal with the Mayor, and hes legally responsible for returning whatever was stolen in any event. Yes, Ortel said simply. You need to tell him that its actually worse, Hel said. About the military? Oh, yes, indeed. It is very much. Much, much worse, Ortel said. Because that brings us to the possible involvement of Out of Bounds squads Ortel steepled his fingers. Out of Bounds units cannot be sanctioned to operate in Soar. Not by anyone. Not even the Mayor. Of course, we all know that they do. But the legal framework that allows them to function is lets call it deliberately vague. The one thing that is clear, however, is that they do not answer to local law enforcement. They answer to higher authorities. And if I need to work with them to catch the Black Knight? Lowe asked. Then you will be committing treason. And that is even if the Mayor tells you to. Treason? Latham said. Bit harsh, isnt it? Not in the eyes of the law, Ortel said, shaking his head. The moment Lowe knowingly assists an Out of Bounds unit in Soar, he is operating outside of his jurisdiction as a member of the Security Services and directly undermining civil authority. That makes himby any definitiona rogue operative. And rogue operatives, under current law, are to be treated as enemy assets. By doing what the Mayor is ordering me to do, Ill become an enemy asset? Lowe repeated. That sounds pretty much par for the course at this stage. Yes, Ortel confirmed. If you knowingly assist an Out of Bounds unit on Soar soil, youll not just be fired. Youll be . . well, they cant Classtrate you again. But Im sure theyll find something suitably unpleasant. Karolen let out a slow breath. Well. Isnt all this very cheerful? Its making me positively homesick for Soar Museam. So, just so Im clear. I have to recover whatever was stolen from the Vault, but I cant work with the Warden of Reserves because of bribery laws. I cant cut a deal with the Mayor because of his own legislation. And I cant cooperate with an Out of Bounds operation thats had a bunch of its members slaughtered because that would make me a fucking traitor. Ortel nodded. That about covers it. Brilliant, Lowe said. So what, pray tell, do you suggest I do? Ortel hesitated. Officially? Yes, Ortel, officially. Well, officially, I would suggest you solve this case without breaking any laws. Fantastic. Rook coughed. Well, I, for one, have full faith in you there, buddy. Okay. Well, thanks for that, Ortel. Cheery stuff. So, Im throwing it open to the floor. Everyone heres a certifiable monster in their own right. Looking for ideas. Latham was the first to speak. Look, this is all cart before the horse, isnt it? You dont even know what it is youre supposed to be looking for. As far as I can see, youre borrowing trouble. It doesnt matter what the Warden, or the Mayor or a fucking Out of Bounds squad wants from you. Its going to be the same thing, isnt it? You need to take the fucking Black Knight down. Everything else is fucking noise until we do that. We? Lowe said. Well, I presume you didnt gather us all here to hold hands and sing kumbaya. Were your guys, right? Ride or die. Can I just check, Ortel said. How committed do we all have to be to the second option? Chapter 119 - Live by the Sword, Die Horribly After leaving Lowes flat, Hel didnt change pace as she moved back onto the corner of Devastation and Contemplation, keeping her steps even, her posture relaxed. The tail was good. Not exceptional. But good. They hadnt done anything as stupid as staring directly at her or mirroring her movements, and they were keeping just the right amount of distance - blending into the morning foot traffic and sticking to the kind of casual, forgettable pace that made them difficult to pick out of the crowd. She might not have even clocked them if the habit of checking hadnt been beaten into her decades before. She was certain there hadnt been anyone there when Latham and she had made their way to Lowes apartment. So her sudden shadow meant someone had put professionals on Lowe. Which meant Lowe was exactly as deep in the shit as he suspected. Without breaking stride, she took Lathams hand as they strolled past a street vendor hawking fried dough and squeezed his fingers three times. Their code. It had started as a jokesomething shed taught him after a run-in with a particularly nasty pickpocket gang a few weeks back. One squeeze: Somethings off. Two squeezes: Eyes on me. Three squeezes: We have a problem. Latham squeezed back. A question. We fucking? She assumed he meant We fucking shit up? but it was sometimes hard to tell with him. Hel stopped, turned him towards her, and pulled him into a kiss, slow and deep, tilting her head just enough to whisper against his lips. No, she murmured. I got this. You head back to work. Cant have keep the gods waiting Latham didnt argue. He kissed her back, all heat and promise, but there was no hesitation in the way he stepped away. No lingering glance. No unnecessary bravado. That was what she liked about him. No posturing, no puffed-up are you sure, babe? nonsense. No insistence on taking the lead when shed indicated she had things in hand. Most of her past lovers had been, at least in theory, into the idea of a strong, independent woman. But in practice? The moment they saw exactly what that meantwhen they saw her duck a blade, snap a mans wrist, or pick a mark out of a crowdthey balked. Latham didnt. He had self-confidence to spare, and apparently, not a single worry in the world about his lady handling her own business. He shot her a wink and peeled off toward the Celestial Temple, leaving her to it. Hel cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders, and took a sharp right into an alley and had just enough time to register the man moving before he was on her. Apparently, it wasnt just following her that was on todays dance card. There was no hesitation. No circling. No attempt at conversation or gauging her skill. Just a knife in his hand and a sharp, downward arc aimed straight at her ribs. Ballsy. Also thick as pig shit. Hel twisted aside, one foot sliding back as the blade skimmed past her jacket, and sent three Wind Blades flying before she even had chance to properly think about it. Too fast. Too many. The first caught him at the shoulder, the second at the thigh. The third sliced clean across his neck. Hel landed lightly, watching as the mans momentum carried him forward another two steps before his body caught up to the fact that it had just been bisected. He collapsed to the cobbles in two pieces, a widening pool of blood seeping into the street. Yeah, that had been too much. She hadnt meant to liquefy the poor bastard, but she still wasnt quite used to the power surge that had come with passing Level 50. Sloppy. Interrogation 101. Dead mean didnt tell you who sent them Then a slight chill ran up the back of her neck. Not from looking at the body. Not from all the blood. She wasnt alone. Once more, Hel was reacting before her conscious mind got involved - ducking, pivoting, twisting - just in time for some sort of insanely OP energy bolt to graze the spot where her throat had been a second earlier. The sonic boom briefly disoriented her, so she barely got a look at the second attacker before she was there, pressing her advantage. She was blonde - tall and athletic - and fought with the kind of fluidity Hel had only ever seen in really high-level killers. Every attack was delivered without any wasted movement, and every block was instinctive as if she was running through an ingrained, well-grooved sequence. Hel grinned. This one was going to be fun. *** Arebella had been only half-listening to Karolen and Ortel as they walked back to the Tower of Law, her mind still turning over the tangled mess of legal, political, and practical impossibilities Lowe had announced back in his flat. Her heart went out to him. Not only was the Black Knight apparently back, but the whole situation stank. It was just like it was before. Too many conflicting interests. Too many people playing their own games with Lowe as a pawn. It was a wonder he wasnt already buried in a shallow grave somewhere. She turned to ask Ortel a question, when something in the corner of her vision glowed gold. It was only a flicker. But that was all it needed to be. Arebellas steps slowed, one of her Skills kicking in hard, honing in on an inconsistency in what she was looking at. A lie. And a big one. But where? Her head turned, eyes narrowing on the side alley they were just about to pass. There was a pile of discarded crates lying near the entrance. Next to them was a slumped figure in a cloak. Ordinary. Forgettable. But the glow coiled around the space, clinging to the edges of the crates and the fallen person like light catching the sheen of an oil slick. That wasnt right. She stopped, grabbing hold of Karolens arm. Wait! What? Karolen said. Arebella didnt answer. She took a half-step back, pulling the Auditor with her. Something about this felt extremely wrong. Her Skill more usually worked when it was people telling lies. But she supposed it could happen if things werent quite as they seemed . . . Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. And then the trap snapped shut. The crates exploded outward, shattering as figures burst from cover. Moving very fast. And they were armed. Fortunately, Karolen didnt hesitate. Her Balanceblade formed in her hand, and her weight shifted so that she could cover the other two. For a moment, she thought it might have been an elaborate mugging - maybe an ill-advised attempt at XP gathering? - but once the first attacker she tried to bisect blinked through her attack and kicked her in the back, she re-evaluated. These werent street thugs, they were professionals. Arebella, for her part, dodged to the side as something whipped toward hera binding hex, one of them had thrown outher feet barely cleared the arc of it before it could lock around her limbs. Sigh. Another one of Lowes advisories that wanted to take her captive. This shit was getting old. However, with absolutely no offensive skills, her best weapon was going to be avoidance. Karolen, on the other hand, didnt have that problem. There was a reason even someone as gnarly as Grackle Naroon hadnt want to tangle with an Auditor. Her Forensic Dissection Skill activated the moment she engaged, the world sharpening as combat data flooded into her mind. Five assailants. Levels 30, which wasnt ideal, but shed faced much worst. They were all armed with standard-issue mono-filament daggers and whatever Class they had, which was hidden from her, had minimal defensive Skills. Better than hired goons, but not much. Her Balanceblade lashed out, the first slash disrupting the nearest attackers mana flow, crippling their movement speed. A quick side step, and she drove the sword into a weak spot, severing all sorts of tendons. One very down. Then she was already pivoting, redirecting a second attack. And a third. There were too many of them and they were coming too fast. More than she could reasonably handle alone. A fist collided with her ribs, the impact jarring even through her Auditor armor, she headbutted the attacker and drove a knee into his midsection. In the corner of her eye she saw Arebella duck another Skill-based binding attempt, falling out of reach of the woman reaching for her, but trying to track all of what was happening at once was too much. Karolen might be holding her own, but not for much longer. And where the fuck was Ortel? Arebella risked a quick look behind her. Despite everything going on around them, the Druid was stood utterly still, his one hand raised, fingers moving through intricate gestures. His other arm pressed against his chest, his breathing slow. Then, with sudden, effortless violence, the ground beneath them changed. A totem flared to life at Ortels feetnot one, but threeoverlapping sigils of Earthen Strength, Natural Force, and something Karolen couldnt identify. And the world around them reacted. The cobblestones shifted, turning to grasping roots, thick vines snapping upward, ensnaring the attackers before they could react. Those they caught were dragged down to the floor. At the same time, the air thickened, pressing in on those the roots missed, slowing their movements further and turning their every action into something more sluggish and strained. Then came the final touch. Lightning crashed down from clear skies. A single, shuddering bolt slammed directly into the last standing enemy, sending them convulsing to the ground in a heap of crackling, smoking flesh. Silence. For a long moment, no one moved. Karolen moved her Balanceblade back into her inventory and turned to Ortel, raising her eyebrows at the unexpected destruction. What can I say, Auditor Mehan? I didnt always want to be a lawyer. *** Rook was surprised anyone was bothering to follow him. He''d felt the presence of those that peeled off to go after the others after they''d left Lowe''s apartment. He''d wondered if he was supposed to warn them about that? He''d been finding that sort of decision much harder since he''d been . . . what, resurrected? He wasn''t sure that was the right word. Prevented from passing? That might be more like it. In any event, he couldn''t seem to work out whether he should tell everyone that there were little groups following them all home. He didnt seem to know those sorts of things anymore. But then it was too late, and everyone had gone their separate ways. He didn''t think it had ended up mattering, though. Not if the visions he had of a number of violent deaths were anything to go by. Good on the lawyer. He was surprised the tubby little Druid had it in him. Rook didnt change pace as he stepped into the tree line, his boots crunching through piles of fallen leaves. Soars glow was already fading behind him, replaced by the cool hush of the deep woods, shadows pooling between skeletal branches. He didnt need to turn around to know he was being followed. Once upon a time, he thought he would have been able to evaluate them. Know what he was dealing with. But he didnt seem to have that skill any more. These guys probably were. But, then again, hed been aware of them since hed left Lowes flat. So how good could they really be? Mind you, a year of looking at the world through other eyes meant he had a pretty good sense of when something was hunting him. So whats the play here, he wondered. Ambush? No. If they wanted him dead, theyd have just done him in the streets. They would, wouldnt they? Thats certainly what he would have done. Following a target of unknown strength into the dark woods? That wasnt a smart play. Or was it? He supposed theyd find out - one way or another. The trees thickened as Rook moved deeper, the path narrowing into a ribbon of twisting roots and whispering underbrush. He heard those behind him adjust, closing in just slightly now that hed led them out of sight of the streets. Two at the back. One to his left, keeping parallel. A fourth somewhere ahead, waiting. Oh. He saw what they were doing. They thought they were boxing him in. Bless their souls. His footsteps slowed and he made out the sound of a branch snapping somewhere behind him. Rook thought it was probably time to cause an end to all this. He stopped walking entirely and loosened his shoulders slightly. Are you lot going to introduce yourselves, or am I meant to guess? No response. Fine. Well do it your way. He shrugged off his coat, he didnt want that getting dirty, and let it drop to the ground in a pool of dark fabric. Then he moved. Clearly faster than any of them could have possibly expected. One moment, he was standing, and the next, he had crossed the distance between himself and the nearest man, his fingers slamming into soft flesh as he drove a hand into the bastards gut and out the back. A choked gasp, and Rook pulled his arm back, letting the body sink to the floor beneath him. The second one came at him immediately, faster reflexes than the first. Good. It would almost be insulting if they werent. Knife. Reverse grip. Close-quarters discipline. Classy. Rook caught the wrist before the blade could sink in, turning the momentum against him, spinning him sideways and slamming a knee into his chest. The man grunted but didnt go down, twisting, moving to disengage. Rook simply let him go and crushed his windpipe with the heel of his palm instead. Rooks head snapped towards the third figure. A woman with a crossbow. A good one. Military grade. Already aimed. He moved before the trigger was pulled, twisting with unnatural speed, the bolt whipping past his shoulder as he closed the gap in the time it took to exhale. The woman wasnt fast enough to reload. Rook was. His fingers caught her by the throat, lifting her off the ground, holding her there just long enough to feel her struggle. Just long enough to let the realisation set in. And then he squeezed. Rook turned to the last man. The one who had been waiting. The leader. Unlike the others, he hadnt moved. He was watching. Assessing. Smart. Rook wiped the blood from his knuckles and took a slow step forward. The leader didnt move. He just tilted his head slightly as if reconsidering something. Yeah, that was the wrong time for that. Rook smiled, wide and wolfish. You thought you had me. Thats adorable. The leaders shoulders tensed. Rook took another step. You thought you were hunting me. Another step. But I dont think you understand. And then, suddenly, Rooks eyes were different. Something dark shifted behind them, something old, something not entirely sane. His voice lowered, something almost gentle in it now. Ive already had experience of being hunted. The leader took an instinctive step back as Rooks grin widened even further. And I really didnt care for it. Chapter 120 - The Devil in the Details It was quiet. For the first time in what felt like days, Lowe was actually alone in his flat. The murmur of conversation, the clink of cups against saucers, the weight of far too many problems pressing down upon too few shoulders Well, for now, all of it was gone. Hed given each of his friends something to run with - something he hoped they would be able to get done without drawing too much heat. He knew each and every one of them was more than capable of looking after themselves, but, well, hed spent the last year as a lone wolf, precisely because - after what had happened - he had promised never to be the cause of putting people in harms way again. It felt pretty shitty that, the moment the Black Knight was back, hed defaulted to the same old cavalier Lowe. Using people he was supposed to care about to help shovel him out of the shit. That they all seemed entirely happy to pitch in made it no less stressful. The last team hed worked with had been pretty happy to get involved too . . . Mylaf had made him a cup of hot chocolate before shed vanished to her room, as if shed known hed need something to keep his spirits up. He took a sip, and [You Have Consumed ''Soothing Chocolate of Calm.''] Effects: Warm Fuzzy Feeling (+40% Relaxation). Heartbeat of the Hearth (+10% Emotional Resilience). Blissful Composure (Immune to Stress Effects for 1 hour). Yeah. That would do it. Even as his mood began to shift to something more, if not content, then not as hyperventilating panicked, Lowe physically felt his shoulders slump as the tension drained out of them. As he, almost against his will, began to relax, he felt his mind drift away from the present, his awareness - Grid View bleeding open and across into his conscious mind - stretching backward. Backward And suddenly, he was in an older version of this room. He instinctively knew it was from about eighteen months ago. From after the third - or was it the fourth - murder? The table he was sat at back then was even more cluttered, strewn with reports, coffee cups, and a half-eaten bag of fried dough sticks that had somehow become a permanent fixture in their departments diet. What they would have done to have had access to Mylaf and her non-stop boosting snacks back then! The single enchanted light above them flickered on and off as the worn-out rune - he still hadnt got around to changing it, had he? - struggled to keep up with yet another unofficial overtime shift. Rook was sitting opposite Lowe, face in what, of late, had become its perpetual frown. To his right, Armanbroad as a bear, with forearms like tree trunkswas leaning back in his chair, balancing it on two legs with an impressive disregard for gravity. Coda had his boots up on the table, flipping through a mound of witness statements, while Faulksalways the most focused of themwas twirling a pen between her fingers as she absentmindedly added notes to the crime scene sketches spread out all around them. And all of themall of themhad their eyes on Lowe. "For fucks sake!" Arman said, wobbling alarmingly on his chair. "We need some cards on the table here, boss. Youve got to share with us what youre thinking about all this. You know well be with you whatever way you want to play it, but its shitty the way youre keeping us all in the dark." "What makes you believe Im thinking anything? I might be just as stumped as the rest of you." "Because, Faulks said, scribbling something out and drawing a few chest pieces in the margins, youre always two steps ahead of what you tell the rest of us. And it''s fucking annoying." "Seriously, Jana," Coda said, swinging his feet to the floor and tossing his files back onto the pile. "Youve had us running in circles for weeks now. Weve got to change it up! We keep almost getting close to this bastard, and then he still manages to slip away. Every single time. You keep saying youre right on the precipice of working something out, and yet, shockingly, none of us have seen it." "Look, it''s not that I don''t trust you" "Dont fucking kid a kidder," Arman said. "Its obvious you don''t! We all know youve been checking into our financials. Youve not even been subtle about it. What? Do you think one of us is tipping the Black Knight off? Because, newsflash, theres nothing to tell. Weve got nothing. I havent even been able to leak anything juicy to the press, and you know how I like doing that." Rook lifted a placating hand. "Arman, cool it. Its me thats being looking into us all. And thats just good sense, isnt it? Dont you want to know were all on the level? That were not taking backhanders? And trust me, considering the body count this fucker is racking up, the saddest thing Ive had to do this week is trawl through everyones porn and booze expenses. You should all be very much ashamed. What Lowe means," he said, "is that the boss doesn''t want to show his full hand until he''s sure it''s the right one to play. And" He shot Lowe a knowing look. "he also doesn''t want Cenorth jumping in and booting us off the case when it becomes clear how little, in reality, we have. No one here wants to be taken off this, do they?" That earned a round of murmured agreement. They all knew the Commander in Cuckoo House was as much a political animal as he was an officer. And it was no secret that hed let Lowe run with this case for far longer than any of them expected, especially considering how few proper leads they had. Thered already been more deaths than could be conveniently dismissed as just the way things are in Soar. They all suspected that it wouldnt be long before the Celestial Temple would be getting involved, and then the case would be pried from their fingers faster than they could blink. None of them wanted that to happen. Lowe, especially, didnt want to be pulled off this case. Which, yes, meant he was keeping the very few cards he had managed to scare up close to his chest. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "Look," he said. "Im sorry if anyone thinks Im being a dick about things. But, I promise, I do think were closing in on him. However, if were not careful, the Mayor will toss this to the Temple Warders, and we all know well be sidelined. And I dont know about you lot, but I am not watching a bunch of shiny god-arse kissing bastards come in and snatch the case out from under us just as were about to get a break in things." "No argument from me on that score, boss, Faulks said. But Cenorths going to pull the plug soon if we dont show some progress. The Mayors had a higher tolerance for dead aristocrats than I think any of us expected, but theres got to be a hard limit to how many of his mates hes willing to never see again." "Fuck that, Arman huffed. Cenorths all bluster. Lowes got him properly wrapped around his finger. It wont be him that tosses the case elsewhere. As far as the Commander is concerned, Lowes shit dont stink." Lowe rolled his eyes at that. He was getting bored of the Golden Boy bullshit. "If that were true, this case wouldnt have nearly gotten me strangled by one of his assets in a back alley last week." "Yeah, about that. Weve all had a chat, and we agree that was your fault," Faulks said. "Is it my fault that an informant wanted to kill me?" "Yes," the group said in unison. Rook chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, enough bullying of poor Inspector Low. Back to the actual casewhere do we stand? Lets go around the table. Faulks? What do you have?" The dark-haired woman leaned forward, resting her elbows on Lowes table and disturbing one of the piles of dirty dishes. Arman caught each of them before they hit the dirt, moving ridiculously quickly. One of the benefits of a Speed-based Class "Sorry! Faulks said. Look, we know the Black Knight appears to act within a tight pattern and a regulated time-scale. It turns out hes been targeting high-profile figures for months, but it took us a while to catch on. No harm, no foul. Unless you happened to be especially attached to rich wankers. However, we can see that theres been nothing random about when he acts. Were expecting his next performance in forty-eight bells, but we have no idea who will be the target. There has to be some connection between them all." Coda stretched, tossing a small stone in the air and catching it repeatedly. "I still say we just stake out all the guys and gals weve got flagged as the next likely targets and wait for him to show up. Then we kick his teeth in and call it a day." "Great plan," Arman deadpanned. "Nuanced. Very much within our wheelhouse." "Yeah? Coda said. Well, I save nuanced is for people with time to waste. We lose this case to the Temple and well never hear the end of it." Faulks tapped a finger against the case files, nearly knocking them over again. She really was the clumsiest person in the whole of Soar, Lowe thought. "Look, weve come this far, were nearly there. We know his methods. We know he loves to leave messages. Cryptic shite. Like he wants us to figure something out." "Like hes playing a game," Rook said. "Or testing us," Lowe added. "Well, we are very testable," Arman said. There was laughter, but it was strained. They were all running on fumes, and they all knew it. There had to be something they were missing. A puzzle piece that hadnt clicked into place. Lowe knew that theyd talk for another few bells before dispersing. It would be the following morning that Rook would come to him with his epiphany about the next . . . event being a kidnapping. Hed cross-referenced all of the weird clues that had been left at the murder scene and thought hed made sense of them. Of course, it didnt help them overly much as they still had no idea who the target was going to be, but it had been a moonshot of a development on the case. Then, just as that memory began to fade, Coda said something. Something small. Something insignificant. But "Wait!" Lowes mind snapped back to the present. He was back alone in his flat, with the warmth from the hot chocolate still lingering in his bones. However, his heartbeat was racing as if hed just run a marathon. He tried to slow his breathing as he forced himself to replay the memory, dragging his focus back to that exact moment. Coda. Hed been smiling, tossing that stupid little stone in the air. Lowe and Rook had been deep in discussion, and Arman was just bending down to catch something else Faulks had inadvertently knocked off the table. No one was really listening to him as he chatted. "I mean, if you think about it," he''d said, "hes obviously a psycho, but the Black Knights got style, youve got to give him that. All those little personal touches at the crime scene? The way he signs off in a way that is totally appropriate to the slaying? I tell you, hes got a real eye for theatre. Remember the use of the enchanted red rope at the third scene? Fitting, right? Proper storybook villain shit." Lowe didnt think hed heard him at the time, Coda chatted so much shit it was easy for him to just become background noiseespecially as yes, the bastard did have a sense of theatre, and yes, everything about his crimes had been deliberately performative. But But. Red rope? That method by which the corpse of Marin Sahult had been suspended from his chandelier had been shocking, for sure. Theyd had to wake a local Warlock to come and dispel whatever fucking Skill the Black Knight had used. But Coda hadnt been on shift that night, had he? And, seeking to have something that wasnt immediately public knowledge about the murder scenes, Lowe had deliberately withheld that detail from his report. Of course, he tried to reason, there had to be a million ways Coda might have picked the detail up. But. But. But. At the time, hed just been distracted. Too focused on tracking patterns, on fighting with Cenorth, on keeping the case away from the Celestial Temple to properly pay attention. But now, sitting here in his quiet flat, feeling the last traces of Mylafs hot chocolate humming through his system The description of the enchanted rope had been sealed behind every security clearance Cuckoo House had. There really was no way Coda should have known it was red. No way. How the fuck had he known? Lowes fist clenched against the table. The memory was slipping away again, details scattering like leaves on the wind, but that single linethose wordshung in his mind like a lead weight. What the fuck did I miss there? Lowe thought. Why was this memory coming back now? What was he supposed to be seeing? He was still struggling with it when his Sending Stone buzzed. He jolted at the sudden vibration, the sound cutting through the thick haze of thought. Lowe swiped it up, glancing at the glowing runes. Hel. He clicked the connection open, pressing it to his ear. "My place," she said. A pause. "Now." Chapter 121 - Burn Notice "Were you followed?" Lowe barely had time to blink before Hel had grabbed him by the arm and yanked him inside. He wasnt sure what hed been expecting, but this definitely wasnt it. For starters, hed never actually been inside Hels house before. Theyd met outside a few timesalways neutral ground, always somewhere she could keep an eye on her surroundingsbut shed never invited him in. He hadnt even been sure of the District in which she lived for the longest time, and it was only after she and Latham were official that hed learned that. Some people in Soar liked to make their homes known, marking their doorsteps with runes of status or banners advertising their profession. Which, of course, was very much not Hels style. It wasnt exactly surprising that someone whod spent most of her life in an Out of Bounds - only to get spectacularly fucked over by the Council - might have a few trust issues with sharing her post code. So to be suddenly dragged across her threshold with urgency? As far as Lowe was concerned, that wasnt nothing. The door slammed shut behind them, and Hel stepped past him, glancing out of a curtained window before pulling it shut. Only once she seemed satisfied did she turn to him properly, her expression tense. Well? Did anyone follow you here? "Not that I noticed. But apparently, my tail-spotting skills arent what they used to be." Hel gave a short nod, then stepped back, finally giving him a moment to actually look at where shed brought him. It very much wasnt what hed expected. If hed had to guess, hed have put money on the decor of Hels inner sanctum being entirely sparse. Cold. A survivalists bunker masquerading as a homesomething filled with weapons, tactical maps, and just enough furniture to keep the place from looking entirely abandoned. But instead There were windmills. Hundreds of them. Each spinning and swaying in all the way up her maintained front garden, their tiny enchanted turbines turning with a sound so soft it barely registered. Theyd lined the path hed just walked down in neat rows, gleaming silver and bronze. But what was crazy was that the theme continued inside. Countless windmills lined shelves that looked like theyd been purposely built to hold them. Some were old and weathered, others newer and much more polished. A mobile of them hung in the corner of the room, each little figure suspended by near-invisible threads, wind catching the faintest shifts in the air. Of all the things he might have expected from Hel, this hadnt been one of them. "You really like windmills, huh?" "You going to be a dick about it?" "Not at all," he said, raising his hands. "Just wasnt expecting it." "Its a Tyrant thing. Or, at least, a me thing. Winds the element of freedom, right? And a windmill it works with it. It doesnt fight it. It turns because it has to. Because its built to. Thought it was a nice idea when I was a kid. Guess I never grew out of it." "Honestly, Hel, I like it. I was expecting something more, I dont know stabby." Hel did smile at that, though it was brief. "Dont get me wrong, I have a whole dedicated to that." "Of course you do." She gestured for him to follow her through the house. It was small, Lowe thought, but not cramped. Functional, but not unfeeling. A fireplace sat unlit in one corner of the living room, a few books stacked haphazardly on the mantel. Of course, there was also a heavy punching bag hanging from the rafters, positioned next to a battered wooden table that had seen better days. Surprisingly, it struck him that it was a house that was very much lived in. His reading of her had always been that Hel was a transient person. A destructive presence that moved through the world without fully settling anywhere. Without ever letting people see too far past the surface. Not unlike a tornado, now he thought of it. He wasnt sure hed ever imagined her belonging somewhere. Let alone in a place that felt like this. He wondered what Latham made of it. "Now do you see why I dont have many guests?" she said dryly, catching his expression. "I can certainly see why you wouldnt want me in here. I have so many questions about the obsessive windmill collecting." "Yeah, well. You can save them for when youre dead. And, incidentally, if you bring them up again, I will kill you." "Noted," he said. Then, quieter, almost to himself: "Tilting at windmills, as ever." There was the briefest hitch in her step as she led him through to what looked like a small study. Then a sharp buffet of wind caught him on the side of the head, and he decided against any further jokes. This wasnt just a study. The papers on the wooden desk werent scattered, they were sortednames, routes, debts. Neither was the map of Soar pinned to the wall a travel guide; it was a hunting ground, key locations marked with quiet intent. Knives rested in easy reach, a coil of garrote wire lay beside an oil lamp, and a row of vials sat neatly in a caseliquids thick, dark, or strangely clear. Yes. This was much more like hed expected. She grabbed two glasses and a bottle of what looked like milk from a side cabinet, pouring them both a measure before sinking into a chair. This has been a day." Lowe eyed the milk with deep suspicion. He wasnt the sort to turn down a drink, but he also wasnt the sort to die foaming at the mouth in some backroom study. Before he could voice this concern, she sighed and gestured vaguely toward the shelves. The cheapest poison I own costs more than your house, she said. If I wanted you dead, Id justoh, I dont knowchop your head off. This did not help Lowe relax. Lowe took the seat across from her, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering effect of the hot chocolate buff. It had mellowed now, but the whole thing had left him far too comfortable. And he hated that. You sounded like something had really pissed you off. "Yeah, Ill get to that. Hel glared at him. You any further on what is going on here? Maybe. I think I remembered something," he said. "Something useful?" "Thats the problem," he said. "I dont know." She didnt press, just took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim. "I was thinking about the Black Knight. About the first time we were closing in on him. The last case we worked before well. Before it all went wrong." Hel didnt say anything. Didnt need to. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Lowe took a tentative sip and, as he didnt die horribly, took another. "I remembered sitting around in my flat with my old squad. Talking through the case. The way we used to. But, right at the end, I realised that something was wrong." "How do you mean?" Lowe set the glass down on the table next to him and drummed his fingers against the wood. "One of my team. Coda. He talked about something he shouldnt have known." "Okay. And thats enough to make you think Coda was working with the Black Knight?" "I dont know," Lowe said. "But it means something, Hel. It has to." She was silent for a long moment, swirling the liquid in her glass. Finally, she said "Okay. So what are you planning to do about it?" "I honestly dont know. Figure out what the fuck I missed, I guess. And why Im only remembering it now." Before Hel could say anything else, though, Lowes Sending Stone buzzed sharply. He frowned, reaching for it. The rune flared. Hel. Which was impossible, considering she was sitting right in front of him . . . He met her gaze, seeing his own confusion reflected back at him. Still, he activated the connection, pressing the stone to his ear. Lowe! Weve all been fucking ambushed. Dont worry, everyones still in one piece, but you need to get somewhere with lots of people. Preferably the Temple and Latham, if you can. Whoever they are, these guys are good! A hand snapped across the distance between them as Hel plucked the Sending Stone from Lowes grasp with the unhurried grace of someone picking up a teacup. The ease of it nearly fooled him as to the power in that grasp. Nearly. But beneath that action lay an unnatural strength. Not-Hel lifted the Stone to her lips and spoke but it was his voice that was coming out. "Thanks for the heads-up, Hel! Are you guys sure you''re all okay?" "Yeah," Hel answered. "Nothing we couldn''t handle. Apparently Ortel is an absolute beast! But we can catch you up with what happened later. Its more important that you get to safety first. We all got absolutely jumped the second we left your house. It looks like someone is trying to wipe you and yours." "Fuck! Well, thanks for letting me know. I''ll get to Latham as quick as possible," not-Hel said, still wearing his voice like a second skin. Lowe pushed himself up, mouth opening to shout a warning, but the backhand came before the words. Then he was flying through the air, his skull cracking against the wall with a crunch. Lowes world strobed white, and blood filled his mouth. Blood of the Phoenix triggered. That blow had one-shotted him. Not Hel had killed him. Whoever this was either knew about his Roll with the Punches Skill upgrade, or she''d just casually committed murder. Putting all his gold on the latter - especially as he was now incapable of being healed for the foreseeable - Lowe let himself stay limp as his killer kept chatting to his friend - with his voice - as if nothing at all had happened. "Well, Im sure glad you are all okay. But, now I think about it, Im not sure about going to the Temple on my own. Might be best if I catch up with you first? Maybe we meet up and then go to Latham together? Just to be sure. Somewhere safe." Sure, Hel said. Where do you think you can get you and Mylaf to quickly? Itll just be me. I cant imagine anyone will be too bothered with a Drudge. Ill leave her here. Its not like shes irreplaceable anyway, is it? Any rendezvous suggestions? There was a long pause.How about the place we first met? "Absolutely. Great call. Just in case my memory is on the fritz - its been a long day! - can you just remind me?" It was pretty memorable, Lowe. I cut your arm off. Not-Hel shifted slightly, adjusting the way they held the Sending Stone. "Oh, yeah! It was in Jewel Town, right?" Hel laughedlight, easy, but there was a steel wire running through it. Not even close. Try again. A longer hesitation. Too long. Not-Hel recovered fast, but the warmth in their voice had a manufactured edge now. "Hel, seriously, whats with the pop quiz? You just said everythings fine, didnt you?" "Yeah," Hel agreed. "Were fine. But you don''t sound like you believe me." Not-Hel hesitated again, then forced a laugh. "Look, I was just worried. You know mebig worrier." "Uh-huh. And that''s why you want to meet before going to Latham? Just to check in?" "Yeah! I mean, can you blame me?" Not-Hel let out another fake chuckle. "Better safe than sorry, right?" Sure. So, where did we first meet, Jana? Iwhy the hell does this matter? "It doesnt," Hel said, voice still easy, still unreadable. "Unless, of course, you dont know . . ." Not-Hel swore then crushed my Sending Stone to dust. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like ink spreading in water, Not-Hels form bled into something else. Arms and legs stretched, her features dissolved and reformed, and where the Wind Tyrants stolen face had been, there was now a nondescript man. He was average height, average build, and with a forgettable kind of banalness that would blend into any crowd. Without moving, Lowe focused on the space above the mans head. Shimmerskin, Level 62. Fuck, Lowe though. A shapeshifter. And a strong one. Well, that explained being one-shotted . . . The Shimmerskin reached into his coat and pulled out a Sending Stone of his own. Drefleck here, he said. Yeah, no dice. The fucking Wind Tyrant called him before I got anything good. Wasn''t Syncler supposed to have taken care of her? A pause. Then his expression darkened. Fuck, really? More pause. Okay. Well, add that to the list of colossal screwups this week. No, I had to drop him. Got nothing new. Lowe lay still. Dead men, after all, didnt move. Okay, well we go to Plan . . . where are we at? D? E? Ill finish up here and cycle back to base. See if you can get a line on where they all went. Drefleck said, then muttered something under his breath as he tucked his Sending Stone away. He looked around the study and took one last glance at Lowes crumpled body, before reaching into his inventory. A dull metal sphere settled into the mans palm, and by the way his hand dipped, it was heavier than it had any right to be. Lowe did his best to squint at him, brain working through the possibilities. Hed seen things like this before. This was a Scorcher. It was a device that was used when you positively, absolutely did not want to leave any evidence behind. They were actually prohibited in Soar as they didnt just make fireno, fire at least had the decency to leave behind a bit of ash and a moral lesson about proper storage. This would erase Held house so thoroughly that, years later, people would swear there had never been anything there to begin with. Drefleck rolled it in his fingers, then clicked a small switch on its side. Then he tossed it towards the corner of the room. Lowe didnt see where it landed, but he heard the whump of mana priming, the deep, pressurised hiss as whatever fuel Scorchers used began to spread across the floor. Drefleck didnt even watch. He was already turning, already walking away and out of the house. Almost immediately, a wall of heat slammed through the room, sucking the air from Lowes lungs. Fire bloomed, hungry and unchecked, seemingly swallowing everything in seconds. The walls of Hels house shuddered as flames licked up them, and smoke billowed thick and choking, turning Lowes world into a smothering haze. He stayed still. He had to. If Drefleck even suspected he was still alive, hed be back to finish the job. But the fire didnt care about that detail. It spread with terrifying speed, creeping across the floorboards and devouring the furniture in the study. The smoke was as thick as oil, and Lowes lungs were already screaming for air. He couldnt keep playing dead any longer, and his body twitched, coughing, every instinct screaming at him to move. It seemed Drefleck was gone. His fingers twitched against the charred wood beneath him, his breath coming in gasps. It wasnt so long ago hed allowed himself to be burned alive in order to kill a Dungeon monster. It was at times like this that he really saw the value of Roll with the Punches. The door out of the study was already filled with fire; there was no way he was getting through there without needing a heal. Think. Think. He had nothing. No Roll with the Punches. No escape item. There was nothing he could use No. That wasnt quite true, was it? Something curled deep inside him, faint but present. There was a whisper of Pressure around his ribs. He grasped at it. His Shackled Grasp. It had held on to something from the attack. Not muchthe power of whatever the Shimmerskin had hit him with had mostly bled away. Lowe assumed that was because, to all intents and purposes, it had actually killed him. But there was still the thinnest chain of it there, pulsing weakly in his Core. He swallowed against the smoke. Could he use it? Not in retaliation; that would be pointless. Likewise, there was no way it would work to heal him up with the Blood of the Phoenix countdown running. However, if he dumped what little Pressure he had into the AoE version of the release, would the concussive blast be enough to blow out the flames? Or would it just make everything worse? Could things be worse? Flames crawled closer, licking at the edges of his vision. His lungs burned. No time to think. Lowe made a choice. He let the Pressure go. Chapter 122 - Some Like It Charred I just dont think you quite understood the, you know, general thrust of the story of the Three Little Pigs. Were not supposed to see the actions of the Big Bad Wolf as an instruction manual. In general, blowing the house down should not be considered a first port of call in a crisis. And especially not in the fucking house of Wind Tyrant! Didnt it occur to you that Hel would have all sorts of defence runes ready to kick in the moment the flames got too bad? I dont know, Latham. Id just been killed. I guess I wasnt thinking too clearly. The remnants of Hels house still smoldered around them, the occasional ember flickering among the collapsed beams. Smoke curled lazily into the night air, and somewhere beneath the rubble, something popped as it finally succumbed to the fires hunger. There werent very many windmills left anymore. Lowe sat on a piece of charred wood, elbows resting on his knees, trying not to think too hard about how close hed come to cooking alive. He still smelled like soot and burning hair, which - in his vast experience - was rarely a sign he was winning in life. And hed ruined another suit. If the Shimmerskin didnt come back and get him, Mylaf was going to have his arse . . . Latham sat beside him, looking just as miserable, twirling a burnt splinter between his fingers like it was the most interesting thing in the world. You know, Latham said, most people who survive an assassination attempt lie low for a while. Yeah? Lowe coughed, still tasting smoke in his lungs. And what do you think Im doing right now? Not lying low enough. You could at least have the decency to look a little more corpse-like. Proper dead people dont sit up and start making quips about their own murder. Give me a break. Im between deaths right now. Little man, I swear, sometimes I think you just get into all this trouble for the attention Lowe laughed weakly and then coughed. He knew Latham wasnt really joking, not entirely. He could hear it in his voice, the way the usual humour had a thread of something heavier running beneath it. Concern. The kind neither of them was ever going to acknowledge directly. To save his friend his blushes, Lowe turned away and stared down the street. A couple of Temple Warders stood at attention, their gleaming armour catching the glow of the still-burning remains of Hels house. Their presence was a message in itselfnobody was getting through that perimeter unless they wanted to take on the personal wrath of the Temple. Lowe wondered whether this was Latham calling in some favours or if someone - or something - else was pulling strings on his behalf. The last time hed had official Warder protection - during the Gianna dAvec case - things had got very messy before they got much better . . . He knew Latham was anxious about Hel. Shed, apparently, gone to ground in the way only someone with Hels Skills could. It looked like, at the same time, shed gathered together the rest of their little group - other than Rook, whod messaged to say hed point-blank refused to go with her when shed showed up at his door- and vanished from Soar. If Lowe had to put money on it, hed assume she was calling in on the farm of a certain Berseker Balloon and Nightmare Reaver. Probably catching up with some family too . . . Lowe was glad that shed thought to gather up the rest of the team - and that Arebella, in particular, was out of the firing line - but worried that the necessity of this completely undermined the little investigatory plan theyd only just managed to put into action. Mind you, that had probably been the point of all the attempted murders, right? Didnt someone seem pretty well-informed about what Lowe had been planning to do? So, rather than a pretty effective group of people with exactly the right sort of Skills to help him unravel what was going on, Team Anti-Black Knight was down to just Lowe, Latham and Rook. That two of the three had already had their arses handed to them by that particular opponent didnt make it feel like the rematch was all going all that well. They hadnt quite received a knockout punch this morning, but it wasnt too far away. How much longer? Latham said. The urgency in his voice suggested Lowe wasnt the only one who wanted to get things moving. For what? For your stupid healing cooldown to reset. He gestured vaguely. Because before we do anything stupidly dangerous, Id like you to be less squishy if possible. Id like to be able to concentrate on delivering a little mayhem, rather than playing nursemaid. Fair enough, Lowe checked his Core. Looks like two minutes? Maybe five so that I have spare mana available? If I havent already made it clear, your Skillset is simply the worst. Ive got places to go. People to kill. I shouldnt be sat around like this. Hey, dont let me stop you, mate. Apparently, youre all about abandoning the people you love because you have other places to be. If you couldnt be bothered to stick around and have Hels back, why should I be the exception? Fuck you, little man! Right back at you, big fella. With knobs on. Which, considering some of the toys I saw in Hels study, looks like it might very much be your thing. Lowe paused. Yeah, that was too far, wasnt it? Sorry about that. Blame it on the smoke inhalation. Dont worry about it. You just died again. If you cant be a wanker when bouncing back from that, when can you? Fair enough. But, on any other day, youd be regrowing your teeth about now. Which would be entirely fair, Lowe said. He reached up and put his hand on the Temple Warders arm. Hel will be okay. If they didnt get her when he guard was down, they absolutely arent getting anywhere near her now that shes into hunter-killer mode. And trust me, Karolens no pushover here. Once they all meet up with the rest of her team, I doubt theres anything in Soar to touch them. Yeah, I know. Latham stretched out his legs, staring at the wreckage. But Im struggling to emotionally process that my best friend got killed tonight, someone tried to murder my girlfriend and then burned her house down while I wasnt around to do anything about it. Its a lot. Not a fan of the whole helplessness thing? No, Lowe, I am not a fan. Not even a little. Its put a dent in my whole day. That almost sounded like feelings. Latham reached over and thumped him on the back, hard. Im done sharing. Much more emoting and out periods are going to sync up. Lets move on. Lowe winced. There was still about a minute before he could begin to heal. Noted. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the flames continue to dwindle. Then Latham sighed. So, uh I dont suppose you have any ideas about why someone suddenly decided to take us all out, do you? Actually, yes I do. And none of them are good. Figured as much. They fell back into silence, the distant murmur of the Warders bitching about standing around the only sound in the street. Then Lowe felt something shift within him. A pulse of warmth hed never missed so much in his life. It was the slow, steady hum of mana returning to his body. His cooldown was up, which meant Roll with the Punches could get immediately to work. Okay, he said, finally able to take a proper breath. I think its time to get back to the land of the fully living. You sure? Or do you need another five minutes of being a dramatic little shit? Oh, Im sure. But hey, I appreciate all the epic concern. Lowe focused on Roll with the Punches and manually directed it as it surged through his veins. As a passive Skill, it was great, but sometimes it was necessary to focus on the parts of him he needed to have priority attention. Dont suppose you have any ideas where were going to start? Lowe said, standing up. Oh, yes, Latham said, and the way he suddenly grinned made Lowe very glad the Temple Warder was on his side. Apparently, Hel has left us both a goodbye present. *** All things considered, Syncler had experienced better weeks. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. For a start, spending the past forty-eight hours walking around in the skin of the Warden of the Reserves Personal Assistant had been nothing short of excruciating. The man was walrus-like in both appearance and temperament, shuffling through life with the unearned authority of a Grade A Wankpuffin who made Syncler want to punch his face in. Of course, what was even worse was that Morholt apparently had free and easy access privileges to the poor woman. Hed needed to nip that in the bud. Hard. Oh, and then, there was the fuck-up at the morning meeting. With that cockroach from Cuckoo House. Their files on this guy had described him as of minor concern. A useful washout who might be usable under the right circumstances, but hardly a threat. That file had, as it turned out, been somewhat wrong. Because somehow, against all reason, the little shit had peeled back Synclers Malign Influence like old paint, resisting in ways he shouldnt have been able to. And kicked back, into the bargain. Any hint that he possessed those sorts of mental resiliencies should have been mentioned in his dossier. Which, frankly, raised some very concerning questions about what else might have been missed . . . Oh, and to cap off this steaming, fly-ridden pile of excrement in his morning breakfast baguette he had then gotten himself thoroughly and professionally battered. Violently. By a disavowed Out of Bounds agent who should have been dead a year ago. Synchler had never, for a moment, thought hed need to step in against To be fair, theyd not taken Hel lightly. None of them had, and the hit on her had been meticulously planned. Their squad was formidable, but even that hadnt seemed like enoughnot for someone with her reputation. So, theyd contracted outside, pulling in a local specialist. A Soar knife professional with no allegiances, no hesitation, and a quickly growing reputation for making tricky problems disappear for the right price. Belt and braces. Nothing left to chance. And yet in moments, the pro went down, and Synchler found himself in the wrong body watching the entire plan go up in flames. It wasnt supposed to go this way. If hed knownif hed even suspected for a secondthat hed have to step in personally, against the fucking woman he wouldnt still be wearing the fucking Personal Assistant. There were far more appropriate forms for that sort of work. Ones built for combat. For durability. For taking a Wind Tyrant and not being turned into a fine mist of regret and shattered bone. But there hadnt been time. But that wasnt the worst of it. No, the worst of it was that she hadnt killed him . . . Then the darkness around him was abruptly interrupted as someone lifted the lid on the - very small - storage chest the Wind Bitch had crammed his unconscious form into and he was pulled roughly out and suspended in the air inches from the face of a very pissed off Temple Warder. Fuck. My. Life. *** You see, Latham said, the amazing thing about a Shimmerskin is that you can pull all sorts of pieces off them and, more or less, it grows right back. Synchler - if that was really this guys name. Although, Lowe thought, he was pretty sure there was limited value in him lying considering what was being done to him - screamed as Latham demonstrated his theory with a casual tug. This led to a wet schlck as an ear came loose between his fingers. The shapeshifters whole body shuddered as he struggled to mend himself even as his face twisted in agony. Of course, Latham continued, turning the ear over in his fingers like he was judging the quality of a gemstone, that cant go on forever. These sneaky fuckers have a core mass, and eventually, with enough persistence, you can whittle away at that and really start to make inroads Another sharp, wet tear. Another scream. A finger, this time, rolling across the floor like a discarded marble. Lowe stood to the side, face going increasingly pale.. This wasnt his first brutal interrogation. Fuck, it wasnt even his first interrogation where the floor was quickly swimming with blood and body parts. But still, there was something appalling about the detached way Latham was going about his work. But, funnily enough, that isnt even in the top five problems for anyone who chooses this Class has, Latham went on, crouching slightly to meet the Shimmerskins wild, panicked eyes. Chief among the reasons Shimmerskin isnt more popular is that their patron god absolutely does not give two flying fucks about them. Synchler was shaking now, sweat beading on his forehead as his flesh struggled to knit itself back together. He opened his mouth, maybe to spit some defiancemaybe to begbut Latham still wasnt finished. You see, for most gods, theres a whole these ants are made in my own image thing going on. I mean, most of them still dont care about us, but usually, with enough panicked prayers, most of them are, eventually, likely to step in if one of their worshippers is getting, for example, horrifically tortured. Another rip. Another scream. Lowe felt that one. Deep in his bones. The way the sound of the mans horror curled, raw and jagged, twisting through the air. His fingers clenched against his arms, and he forced himself to stay still. Latham, by contrast, hadnt even flinched. However, he said, the most famous of Jinoporans Commandments is that he really doesnt want to hear any ballaching from whiny mortals. Lowe had known about Jinoporans indifference to his worshippers. But theory was very different to practice. Watching the assassins face contort in the certain knowledge that no divine hand was coming to save him? That was something else. Dont get me wrong. This Class has some great Threshold rewards, Latham said, wiping his bloodied hands on a rag. But Im not still sure it makes up for the epically poor aftercare service. What do you think, mate? Any buyers remorse yet? Synchlers chest heaved. He was pale now, his regenerations coming slower and his breath rattling wetly in his throat. No answer? Latham said. Pity. You see, in my experience, the sort of person who doesnt mind if their god doesnt have their back means Shimmerskins tend to fall into one of two camps. Some of them are seriously brave motherfuckers. Great working undercover. Fantastic as spies. Perfect for really dangerous work Out . . . Of . . . Bounds, Latham stressed those last three words and then tilted his head. But then, of course, theres the other kind. He reached out, grabbed hold of Synchlers nose, and pulled. The resulting scream was raw and ugly. It made the hairs on the back of Lowes neck stand up. Latham let the bloody scrap of cartilage fall to the ground, watching as the shapeshifters face writhed, his body trying to rebuild what had been lost. But Lowe noticed somethingthe nose that was forming back wasnt quite right. Slightly smaller. The symmetry was off. They were getting to the core mass now. Latham, arent you going to ask him any questions? Of course, little man. But first, I think we all need to get on the same page. He turned back to the Shimmerskin. Another rip. Another scream. Lowe swallowed, watching as the assassins body tried to hold its shape despite the constant, methodical dismemberment. Latham was speaking again, his tone almost gentle. The thing is, this guy has made all sorts of choices for his life to reach this point. He turned slightly, gesturing toward Lowe with a bloodied hand. Think of all the things he must have decided to do in order to reach the stage where his next obvious action was to attempt to kill someone I care about. Whats happening here is not an unfortunate accident. He has selected this outcome with intent. This is something on which I think he should reflect. Lowe looked back down at Synchler, who was now shivering violently, his remaining fingers twitching in aborted attempts to clutch at himself. This is happening to him, Latham said, because he actively chose it. If it wasnt for the choices hed made, there would be an awful lot more of him left right now. It is important he understands that. Rip. Scream. He needs to appreciate that all this, Latham continued, is not anything to do with me at all. This fucker has put himself into this situation. He knelt slightly, looking the man in the eye. And I would really like to help him find a way out. Lowe made a face. Really? Latham stilled. For a moment, there was only the distant drip of blood, the wet sound of Synchlers trembling breaths. Then he turned to look at Lowe. And there were tears in his eyes. Of course, Latham said, voice quieter now. You think this is how I want to spend my time? Lowe stayed silent. I dont like this, Lowe. You think I enjoy pulling some poor bastard apart piece by piece? That I want to be the one who has to do this? Latham shook his head. I just know that if I dont, people I care about are going to die. He looked back at Synchler, who was now staring at the floor, lips moving soundlessly. Is this a private torture session, or can anyone join? Both Lowe and Latham spun at the voice. Lowe activated Slugger whilst a humongous sword was suddenly in Lathams hands.. Rook was stood just behind them. He looked entirely too at ease for someone who had apparently materialised in the middle of a secured basement torture session in the bowels of the Celestial Temple. His eyes flicked between them, then down to the Shimmerskins twitching, half-reformed body. How the fuck did you end up here! Latham said. Theres enough anti-teleport runes in the walls to stop a fucking Avatar getting in without using a portal stone! Rook grinned, slow and easy, like he hadnt just given both of them minor heart attacks. Chill your beans. He stepped forward, gaze still locked on the ruined sight of the Shimmerskin. Threshold Guardian, right? He tapped his chest with two fingers. This guys circling the drain so hard, I could hear him from the other side of Soar. I can zero in on this sort of pain anywhere within my range and puff here I am. Lowe blinked. "You could hear him? Rook lifted a shoulder. Well, not him exactly. He crouched slightly, head tilting as he studied the way Synchlers still-bloody skin kept rippling, warping, trying and failing to hold form. More like the part of him thats getting ready to pack it in and shuffle off. Latham gave Rook a long look. And what? You just followed that? Threshold Guardian perks, big guy. Rook tapped his temple. When someones straddling the line between alive and gently decomposing, it pings. And Ive got to say, youve really done a number on this one. Havent seen a soul cling to their body this hard in a while. We were in the middle of an interrogation, actually, Lowe said. And hows that working out for you? Lowe looked downwards. The Shimmerskins breath was coming in thin gasps, his body still trembling with the effort of holding together despite Lathams persistence. Rook was right. This guy was circling the drain, alright. Were getting to it. Yeah, well take it from me. Youre gonna want to hurry that up, Rook said. Lathams expression darkened. Why? Because hes about to slip. Rook brushed non-existent dust off his threadbare coat. And trust me, you do not want to have to go and try to fetch his soul if it ends up past the threshold. That sort of thing leaves a mark. Lowe glanced at Latham, who wasnt looking at Rook anymore. His gaze was on Synchler. It was time to wrap this up. Okay, he said, crouching next to the assassin. You said youd talk? Synchler let out something that might have been a laugh if it werent so wrecked. Ive been telling you I want to talk! He tried to lift his head, but his muscles gave out halfway. F-fuck, man, just ask me some questions. Time to get some answers. Chapter 123 - Blood and Banking Lowe had always considered himself a tea man. It was a small thing. A link to something resembling normalcy in a city where the lines between life and death blurred far too easily. The simple act of pushing mana into a rune, boiling the water, steeping leaves, and taking that first sip had always been an effective way to calm him down. It might not have been as effective as one of Mylafs mugs of hot chocolate, but it was a ritual that, over the years, had worked more often than it didnt Except, right now, his hands werent steady. Not at all. The porcelain cup rattled as he set it down. He reached for the pan - it was nice how Temple torture chambers came with all the modern conveniences - and it filled with cold water as he touched it. The sound of bubbling water was far too much like the gurgling, choking gasps that had filled the basement only a bell earlier. The Shimmerskin had died. Eventually. There hadnt been much of an option over that. Not really. You didnt fuck up a Level 51 assassin who could change their appearance and then pat him on the backside and wish him a good day. You just couldnt let someone like that walk away after tearing bits off him until he told you all his secrets. The Shimmerskin had told them everything he knew about what was going on, right up until his body started failing him. The core mass had been slipping, his powers of regeneration stalling after so much punishment, and his voice had turned thin and reedy. At the end, he was more fear than flesh. And then Rook had stepped forward. Lowes fingers twitched as he flicked the rune to ignite the heating mechanism of the pan, and watched as flames bloomed around it. He could still see it. The way Rook had crouched beside the dying assassin and murmured something too quiet to catch. The way his hands had been gentle when they settled on either side of the mans head. Then, a sharp twist. A crack. It had been quick. Cleaner than Lowe had expected. A quiet end to a process that had been anything but. Lowe gritted his teeth as he grabbed the tea tin from his inventory. But his hands werent shaking anymore. They were clenching. He forced himself to take a breath. They had what they needed, and they had done what needed doing. And yet Hmm, I hit Level 50 with that, Rook had said, glowing briefly gold as he selected his Threshold reward. Then hed stepped back, stretching as if hed just finished a particularly satisfying workout. Lowe had barely noticed. His attention had been on Latham. The big man had stood frozen, his hands still slick with blood. His breathing had been steady, but his face had been unreadable. Not blank. Not uncaring. Just still. He hadnt said anything. Not to Lowe. Not to Rook. Not to the corpse cooling at their feet. Lowe exhaled sharply as the water bubbled up and over the pan. He lifted the pan and poured it into the cup too fast, nearly spilling as he overfilled. Sloppy. He scowled at himself, grabbing a spoon and stirring with unnecessary force, watching as the dark tendrils of tea swirled into the water. The Shimmerskins blood had swirled the same way on the basement floor. Lowe squeezed his eyes shut. Just drink the fucking tea, Lowe. He took a sip. It tasted like ash. *** "Okay," Lowe said. "So, lets go over it all again. Slowly, for those of us who have recently been murdered and then set on fire." "Just so we know, how long are you going to be playing the wah, I died again card?" Latham said. Your man Rook over theres literally been dying for the last year, and you dont hear all this whinging from him. Lowe ignored him. He was too tired to banter properly, and he still hadnt finished his goddamn tea. Across from them, Rook stood with his back against the wall, flicking through the notes he had made. "Our late lamented friend said that his company was contracted a Fourteenday ago," he said. "On a standard Watch and Wait brief. They were to use their Skills to replace a number of employees at the Sovereign Bank of Soar and make a record of anything unusual that they noted." "Which probably included the Vault being robbed and a bunch of their fellow mercenaries being murdered?" "He certainly believed that fulfilled the unusual element of their brief." "By the way, what did we make of replace there? Lowe said. That doesnt sound like anything good for the missing employees of the Vault. He was clear that wasnt anything to do with his crew," Rook said, flicking to a new page and quoting. How the client makes space for us to move in is none of our business." The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Lowe hadnt liked that answer the first time hed heard it. He felt he was developing some serious questions to be put to the Warden of the Reserve. Because, after all, wasnt the thing with Shimmerskins? People didnt just casually step aside for them to replace. They were, most usually, violently removed so a new body could take their place, with the world moving on, none the wiser. He feared this case had already picked up all sorts of casualties before he was even on it. "But he didnt know who the client actually was, Rook continued. Turns out our Synchler was a grunt rather than the Grunter. All he was clear on was that Watch and Wait contract was replaced by a kill Lowe and all his friends after the robbery occurred and a bunch of his mates were wiped. "Because," Latham said grimly, "someone was cleaning up." But that makes no sense, Lowe said. Ive got both the Mayor and the Warden of the Reserve on my arse to solve this case! Theres no way either of them wasted a shedload of gold on a bunch of assassins to kill me. Well, someone hired an entire Out of Bounds company to sit and watch the bank well before you became involved, Rook said. And then, after all hell broke loose and bunch of them were killed, I presume the same someone gave the order to wipe us all out. Remember, the Warden and the Mayor are far from the only people in Soar with the gold to do that. Presumably, whoever is holding the Shimmerskins reins wants access to the same unidentified missing thing as those guys. And rather than see you and yours as a path to it, chose to view you as an embuggerance. "Well," Lowe said. "Thats not fucking ominous at all, is it?" Which brings us back to the Black Knight, Latham said. Is he paying the Shimmerskins? If he is, he chose to kill a bunch of them in the Vault. I think we all agree The Black Knight is unlikely to be a model of empathetic interpersonal relations, but it seems a touch . . . unlikely for him to have done that, Rook said Okay. Okay. So someone figured out something important was in the Vault. Something the Warden and the Mayor were happy to sit there undisturbed. In order to get it, we know they replaced a bunch of Vault staff with Shimmerskins a Forteenday back. Thats a pretty substantial financial input - OOBS dont come cheap. But then, the Black Knight - for reasons that, right now, passeth understanding - got in there, somehow wiped these very strong military types all out, took the aretefact for himself and left a come and get me sailor message for you, little man. At which stage, the Warden of the Reserve - who had his own Shimmerskin keeping an eye on him - and the Mayor decide to get up close and personal with you and put on all the pressure. That cover it? Latham seemed to have rallied after this little torture session. Not quite, Lowe said, spinning the manacle on his wrist around. Because, somewhere in the middle of all this, I think Arkolas fucking around too. Neither Rook nor Latham reacted to that for a moment. Theres something about being told a literal god - and not just any god, the god - is taking in an interest in your daily life to make you go a bit quiet. It was Latham who found his voice first. Excellent. Because what this situation needs right now is more stakes. Why the fuck do you think Arkola is involved? Lowe held up his wrist. This, for starters. Its just the sort of unnecessarily overpowered trinket Im likely to need if Im going to make it through all this alive. A memory of being casually backhanded to death in Hels house tried to surface, but Lowe pressed it down. And the message when I received it in the Dungeon made clear that Arkola would be happy for me to have a chat about the case if I got stuck. And then theres, well, you, Lowe said, looking at Rook. You think Arkola turned me into a Threshold Guardian so that, a year after I should have died, I happened to still be about to help you? Self-absorbed much? You can be a prick about it, but I think that''s what happened. Lowe was aware of how ridiculous that sounded. You have to admit, it seems like a bit of a coincidence otherwise, doesnt it? The Black Knight comes back, and - what do you know! - youre here to help me bring him down. The more I think about it, the more I think perhaps I should take it up on the offer of a chat? Nah, lets park Arkola for now, Latham said. There may well be a time when a visit to the First Floor is the only path thats left to us, but I dont think were there yet. You need to remember that nothing comes from that direction for free, he said, looking at Lowes manacle meaningfully. As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport," Rook said. Both Lowe and Latham looked at him. Sorry, I dont know where that came from. The words just popped into my head. Fair enough, Lowe said, nodding to Latham. I think youre right. I dont fancy being in the presence of Soars supreme being either. I think thats likely to be the kind of card we get to play once. Latham was suddenly looking thoughtful. Okay. Well, it strikes me that the be-all-and-end-all here is going to be whatever has gone awol from the Vault. Weve got someone hiring Shimmerskins, weve got the Black Knight and weve got the Warden and the Mayor collectively losing their shit. We need to figure out what it is. I know, Lowe said. That was actually the thing hed asked Karolen and Arebella to look into for him. He figured, between the two of them - with their Skillsets - they were the most likely to uncover some answers on that front in short order. But the attack from the Shimmerskins had put pay to any help coming to him from that quarter. There was going to be a hard limit to the amount of investigation those two were going to be able to do while Hel had them in hiding . . . What we really need, Latham said, is someone - and not a god - who we can get on our side, and who is too powerful to be able to be easily pushed around by the Mayor and the Warden, and also likely to have an insight as to what was being protected in the Vault. Yeah, Rook said. What a shame theres not anyone like that. When you say on our side, Lowe said, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind, exactly how long do you think it takes someone to get over being pissed off with me . . . Chapter 124 - Old Grudges, New Problems Lowe stepped into the refurbished main hall of Soar Museum. The place was empty - it still had not properly opened to the public since the . . . incident with an escaped Dreadnaught, and the hush of the space was only broken by the slow, measured steps of a single figure coming down a grand staircase to meet him. Grackle Nuroon still looked like a gargoyle who had been left too long in the wind. Sharp, worn, and bristling with irritation, even from across the space, Lowe could see the distinct twitch of his jaw and the barely-contained displeasure at having to suffer Lowes presence once again. Which was a wonderful way to begin a sensitive meeting, Lowe thought. I must be getting sentimental in my old age, Nuroon said. The last time you darkened my door, I entertained very real thoughts of having you violently murdered. Yet, here you are, still breathing, still irritating, and - what is so much worse - it does appear that I actually invited you in. Lowe took his time moving to meet the Director halfway. He had the distinct feeling that if he moved too fast, Nuroon would have him tranquilised and then strapped to one of the display counters and dissected just for the sheer pleasure of it. Good to see you too, Grackle. You look well. Still terrifying museum staff for sport? I have to find my entertainment where I can. Especially since my budget has recently been made rather tight. Nuroons gaze flicked over him, eyes narrowing. Is it just your usual hangdog appearance, Inspector, or have you recently been killed again recently? Only a little bit, Lowe said, both concerned that Nuroon appeared to know more about his Class than he should, but also pleased - considering his mission here - that the Directors information gathering was undefeated. Its been a hell of a week. And I dont care. Nuroon walked toward a side corridor without waiting to see if Lowe would follow. The repairs being done to the museum made the whole thing feel very different from the last time Lowe had been here. It was still vast and empty, like a tomb waiting to be filled, but now there were lots of new touches which felt oddly anachronistic. They passed through archways lined with relics of long-dead empires, alongside entirely modern mana walls and cutting-edge rune designs. Nuroon had always been particular about curation - although, not necessarily, the wellbeing of his Curators - and to see such a hodgepodge mixture of the old and the new was quite bizarre. The Director considered knowledge to be power, and he hoarded it like a dragon. Lowe wondered how he felt about having his own private empire of glass cases and forgotten texts invaded by all the newest innovations in Soar. Eventually, after a good ten minutes of walking, they reached Nuroons office which - as it had been the last time Lowe had been here - was filled with books and heavy oak furniture. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting long shadows which hardly made the whole setting feel less sinister. Nuroon took his seat behind a desk and indicated for Lowe to do the same. Well, now you are here, sit if you must. Lowe sat. Im going to assume that the only reason youre here is because you require something from me, and it is important enough that you think Im not going to hold all sorts of grudges against you. I do need some information. And what makes you think I have it? Or, more importantly, I suppose, that I am going to be remotely interested in giving it to you. Well, firstly, because you know everything, Lowe said. And secondly, because I think youre going to be more interested in the chance to settle scores with the Mayor and the Warden of the Reserve than you are going to be interested in pissing on my chips. I reckon, in the grand scheme of things, Im an irritating fly youd be delighted to swat if you got the chance. But those two? I think taking a decent-sized shot at them is enough to make your socks roll up and down. What a delightful way with metaphor you have, Nuroon said. And you think you may be the appropriate instrument by which I can settle scores with the Mayor and the Warden, do you? You have an exceptionally high opinion of yourself, Inspector Lowe. Yeah, well, I lodged myself pretty far up your sinuses, didnt I? And, to be fair, I wasnt even trying to annoy you. Imagine how irritating Ill be with someone Im actively aiming to piss off. Indeed. Nuroon tapped his teeth thoughtfully. Imagine. So, just humouring you for a moment. Am I to assume all of this is linked to the very mysterious events that occurred recently at the Vault? Perhaps. But I guess that rather depends on what you know, doesnt it? Dont push it, Inspector Lowe. You are on the thinnest of all the ice. Of course, it is clear that, since the Vault was compromised, a great deal of political maneuvering has occurred in the aftermath, and somehow, despite having no business being involved, you have once again waded in like an imbecile looking for a fight. Look, Director. You must know why Im here. Why dont we skip the melodramatics? Why dont you tell me what was stolen and Ill get on with my day, Lowe said, ignoring the barb. You do know, dont you? And if I did? What is in it for me? Other than the opportunity to irritate some people who, to be honest, Im fairly sure there are more subtle ways to make unhappy than aiming you at them. Fair enough. How about I trade for it? There must be something I can do for you? You give me the information I need and Ill do something for you. Name it. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. This was the part of the plan both Latham and Rook had been unhappy with. You dont trade with a man like Grackle Nuroon, Latham said. Dont you remember what I told you before? But Lowe didnt think they had much choice. If it was dancing with this fucking spider or visiting Arkola, he knew which one he was happier with. Which said nothing good about the whole situation, now he came to think about it. For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Nuroon let out a slow, deliberate breath. You truly have no other options, do you? No. I really dont. That seemed to amuse him. Marvelous. Director . . . Fine. Nuroon leaned back in his chair, eyes glittering in the firelight. Yes, I think I know what was taken. But no, I will not be giving you that information for nothing. Shocked. Shocked I am to my very Core. Nuroon considered him for a long moment before rising from his chair and moving toward a cabinet against the far wall. He unlocked it and pulled something from insidea small, polished clay disk, barely the size of Lowes palm. He moved back to his seat and set it down on the desk between them. This will show you what you need to see, Nuroon said. The device contains a memory. A firsthand account of what was placed in the Vault. You will experience it as if you were there which is, as I understand things, not unlike your own Grid View Skill. And whats the catch? "Several. Firstly, the memory is raw," Nuroon said. "It may not be an altogether pleasant experience. And, secondly, there is the small matter of payment." He extended a handlong fingers, dry as parchment, nails that might have been lacquered with old blood. "As I am sure you are aware from your own experiences with your Skill, this memory will not be like a story written on parchment, neat and ordered. This is a thing still bleeding. It has no edges, no structure, only sensation. You will not see it as a play upon a stage, nor as ink upon a page. You will feel it. And it will feel you in turn." The air between them thickened. A ripple, as if something unseen had stirred. Nuroon''s voice pressed on. "Pain lingers in it. Pain and confusion. Not merely the pain of the one who lived it, but of the memory itself, forced from the place where it once belonged. A severed limb still aching for the body, as it were. It will writhe as it enters you. It may resist. Twist. Lash out. I have bound it as best I can within the disk, but some wounds refuse to close." Awesome. Sounds lovely. And what do you want in compensation for this little joy? Nuroon smiled, and it was the worst thing Lowe had seen all day. A day that had begun with him dying. A favour to be collected at a time of my choosing. No questions asked. No. Oh, dont be tiresome, Inspector, Nuroon said. This is my price. You take the memory, and in return, at some point in the future, when I call upon you, you will help me out. And you will oblige without question. For now, all I require is your solemn oath that you will come when I call. Funnily enough, despite our recent differences, I suspect you will actually keep your word if it is given. Why would you need a favour from me? You dont even like me. Quite the understatement. So why this? Because, Nuroon said, I know your type, Inspector. Youre infuriatingly persistent. You dig. You claw. You find things you should not find. That is why you are here, no? Your recent actions on these grounds prove that you chase something to the ends of Soar. Although, on that occasion, we were not on the same side, on rare occasions, I am willing to note the traits you possess may prove useful to me. I am not, in may surprise you to know, overburdened with allies. It would . . . amuse me to have you on call, as it were. Lowe considered his options. He didnt have many. If he walked away, hed be back to chasing shadows, hoping the next lead wasnt a corpse of someone he cared about in an alley. And dealing in the dark against a bunch of Shimmerskins would be a nightmare. He needed Nuroon to give him something. Or his next stop was going to be the Celestial Temple. Still. Did he really want to be in Nuroons debt? Im not giving you an open-ended favour, Director. Then you are not getting your information. Fuck. Lowe glared at Nuroon as the clock ticked away. Eventually, he reached for the clay disk. Fine. Good boy. Lowe ignored that, picking up the clay artefact. It was strangely cold to the touch. Now, when youre ready, Nuroon said, settling back in his chair like a man who already knew the punchline to a joke only he found funny. Place it against your forehead and let it take you where you need to go. Lowe stared at the thing in his hand. It was small, smooth, and cold in a way that made no sense. It was like it had spent a century at the bottom of the ocean and never before caught the warmth of a human hand. Hed initially thought it was clay, but it was nothing like that. Nothing that made sense, anyway. The disk felt slick, almost wet, though his fingers touching it stayed dry. It pulsed unpleasantly in his palm. He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. He knew he was about to do something profoundly stupid - Latham and Rook had both made that clear - but was too far gone now to stop himself. Hed been in this situation so many times before, hadnt he? Different places, different stakes, for sure. But still the same bad decision wearing a new coat. But, hesitation was just another way to say you were afraid, and Lowe had never much cared for cowards. So he lifted it and pressed it against his forehead. And the world dropped out. Not like the floor giving way. No, this was meaner than that. Like a hook in his skull yanked him sideways, but his body wasnt invited along for the ride. His stomach lurched, flipped itself inside out, then decided to take a vacation from reality altogether. Then something thick and wrong oozed into his thoughts, curling like smoke in a room with no doors. He had a moments panicked remembrance of the fire in Hels house, but then that experience was passing as the smoke whispered to him, though not in words. It was a dry scrape against his skull coupled to the sensation of fingers trailing too close to the soft places behind his eyes. The shriek of voices followed. Slick. Murmuring. Layered over each other like snakes winding through dry leaves. Some were laughing. Some were crying. A few just repeated the same garbled syllables over and over, like a broken record skipping on the edge of a nightmare. And beneath them all, something else. Watching. It saw him. Not the way a man saw another man. Not the way a predator watched prey. This was deeper. This was recognition. Lowe tried to pull back, but there was no escaping. His body became a suggestion, a rumour he had once believed in but had never really been part of. The only thing left of him was him - naked and alone - floating in the centre of something vast and open and wrong. A low, satisfied chuckle crawled up the back of his mind. And it wasnt Nuroon. It wasnt anyone he thought he knew. And for the first time in a long, long time, Lowe felt properly afraid. Chapter 125 - The Lock That Shouldn’t Exist He was standing in the middle of a past version of the Vault. The place looked largely the same as it had when hed made his many, more mundane visits. Almost. But there was something about the atmosphere that seemed off. Lowe idly wondered if his most recent experience here was playing tricks on him? Adding a colour to this memory which, pre-slaughter, it might not have had? Lowe didnt know enough about this sort of memory transfer to comment either way, really. But, regardless, the feeling in the Vault right now was wrong. People were moving around the lobby, clearly locking up for the night. There were no customers, just a bunch of clerks, assistants and low-level functionaries completing their tasks. He didnt think he recognised any of them - either from his own past or from reading the reports on the bunch of employees who had been replaced by the Shimmerskins. He wondered how long ago this had been Then he had his answer as one of the women caught his eye for no reason other than the dress she wore. Ah. That trend. It had burned fast and ugly, a brief, humiliating blip on the fashion radar before vanishing forever. Necro-Chic. For a few breath months, the wealthy and tasteless had decided that looking recently deceased was the height of sophistication. It was all high collars and trailing black lace. Corsetry so rigid it might creak. Layers of bone-white silk deliberately crumpled to mimic grave shrouds. Accessories had included pearl-trimmed mourning veils, jewelry fashioned after memento mori, even gloves that mimicked skeletal hands. The truly committed - as it smelt like this woman was - had doused themselves in perfume meant to evoke freshly turned soil and dying lilies. He remembered that, once, Arebella had worn something like it. Mocked it even as she bought it, stalking around his flat in a ridiculous floor-length number like a widow waiting to faint onto the nearest chaise lounge. "I look like I died dramatically in an opera house," shed said. Lowe had agreed. And now here he was, seeing it again. Most importantly, though, it helped to give him a rough date for when he was. He must be in a Vault of just under six years ago. When all these people were still alive. Still here. Still moving through their evening like nothing was coming. Beyond contemporary fashion commentary, Lowes focus snapped back to what he was witnessing. Because the tempo of all the movement in the room had shifted. The quiet hum of end-of-day duties had been replaced by something approaching frantic. Almost frenetic, Lowe thought. The workers were moving faster, their conversations moving beyond idle chit-chat and becoming more pointed. It looked like something had happened, and they werent just closing up for the night anymore. It seemed a message had come through that they were expecting someone. Then came the knock. And it wasnt a timid, excuse me, may I please come in? sort of knock. Nope. This was hearty, I have arrived knock with all sorts of authority weighted behind it. This was a knock that was expecting to be answered. It was a knock that boded. Then a voice - a touch muffled, but still very understandable - called through from the other side of the sealed door. Lead Clerk, please grant us access. Lowe stiffened at those words and turned to look toward the counter just in time to see a figure emerge from behind it. And he thought knew that man. Jaron Whitlow. Lowe had read this mans file. He had sifted through his past and examined every inch of his life after finding his body torn open like some grinning, hollowed-out puppet. In the current version of Soar, Whitlow might be dead, but right now, he was standing there, alive and well, reluctantly stepping forward to grant access to whoever was knocking. Lowe couldnt help but find that weird and, for a moment, had an irrational instinct to want to warn the Lead Clark about his future prospects . . . As if sensing Lowes worry for him, Whitlow hesitated on his way to the door. Just for a fraction of a second. There was a little flicker of something in his gait, but then the Lead Clerk squared his shoulders and moved to the Vaults entrance, pressing his palm against a runeplate. As he did so, there was a burst of mana, and the massive locking mechanism disengaged with a deep, rolling thud. The Vault doors swung open. And, as Lowe had kind of anticipated, the Mayor of Soar walked in. Considering the time gap, Lowe might have expected him to look a bit different from when he had, most recently, threatened all of his friends and family. But he didnt. Even his clothes looked exactly the same, with not a wrinkle out of place. Someone was working some impressive Aesthetic Skills on this guy. The same couldnt be said for the person who followed him in. So much so that it took a third and fourth look for Lowe to realise who it was. The intervening years had not been kind to the Warden of the Reserve. The man Lowe had visited the other morning was a slab of fat wrapped in too much flesh, with a sprinkling of gluttony on top. But here? Here he was a lean bundle of energy. While not being a fan of cod Psychology, Lowe imagined that a case might be made that whatever was about to happen, this guy had taken to comfort eating to get over it . . . And then came the Justicars. Lowe took a half-step back, instinctively, even though he knewknewthat none of the six giant soldiers that came next could see him. As he watched, the Justicars piled into the Vault, flanking a chest between them, big, meaty hands gripping the thick iron handles. Lowe frowned. What was so important that the Mayor had exclusively chosen Tower of Law enforcers for tonights little escapade? It was hardly a secret that there was no love lost between the two major pseudo-military factions in Soar. The Justicars and the Temple Warders might have been on the same side in theory, but in practice, they were two rival arms of authority, forever jostling for primacy. That the Mayor and Warden had chosen only Justicars to protect whatever they were bringing into the Vault said something. And it said it loudly. The Lead Clerk, Whitlow, cleared his throat, adopting the same tone of quiet professionalism that had, according to the file Lowe had read, pretty much defined his entire career. Sir. Sirs. It is a pleasure to welcome you both to the Vault. I was not, erm, informed to expect a deposit this evening. The Mayor made an easy gesture. Well, youd hardly expect us to make a delivery of this importance public, would you? He took a step forward, glancing around the lobby as if assessing whether or not it met his standards. Apparently, it didnt. I would hope I do not need to explain to you that the fewer people who are aware of our arrival this evening, the better. The Warden has repeatedly assured me that the Vault is the most secure site in the whole of Soar. Is he correct in this? It was phrased like a question. It clearly wasnt one. Of course, sir, Whitlow said, guiding the newly arrived group to one of the secured storage chambers deeper inside the lobby. He, as best as he could, trying to wave the rest of his team away and back to their duties. There was no doubt there was an awful lot of interest in this out-of-hours arrival. So much so, Lowe was amazed he hadnt heard a whisper of this. Just for clarity, the Mayor said, raising his voice as the rest of the employees began to disperse. Should anyone feel the need to share the details of this little visit, the Council will ensure that both you and your entire family will be erased. The Warden assures me you have all given the appropriate Confidentiality Oaths. That is so, no? he said, turning to look at Morholt. Well, maybe not so amazed, then. Bloodline genocide tended to buy all sorts of silence. The thin - soon to become very fat due to all the stress-eating - face of the Warden of Reserves blanched. Indeed, sir. It is a prerequisite for all employees of Sovereign Bank who are transferred here to undertake the appropriate rituals. But such a thing is, of course, just a formality. There has never been any record of the Vault failing in its protections. Which is, after all, why we are here, Aven, is it not? Indeed. Morholt gestured for Whitlow to continue. Indeed it is. We have several security options available, the Lead Clerk said. He glanced nervously at the Justicars and the chest they were carrying. Though I assume you may well have your own specifications? The strongest you possess, the Mayor replied. It is absolutely essential that what is within this chest is placed under impenetrable conditions. It will need to lie wholly undisturbed. This chest does not get looked at. It does not get examined. It does not get touched. Am I clear on this? The Warden smiled, trying to dissipate some of the growing sense of doom.What my colleague means to say is that discretion is paramount. The Mayor positively exploded at the word colleague. No, what I mean Aven, is that if I even get the slightest hint that one of your fucking bean counters has taken a peek at what is in this chest I will firebomb this place so thoroughly not even your own gods will recognise you. Thats correct, colleague dearest, is it not? The Warden nodded and dipped into his pocket for a sweet to crunch. So it begins, thought Lowe. In the awkward silence that followed, Whitlow led the group toward the rest of the inner chambers, passing through reinforced archways lined with ancient inscriptions. Lowe fell in behind them, unseen, slipping through a closing blastdoor just before it sealed behind them. The final room they reached - one behind a plethora of further protections - was small and lined with storage compartments reinforced with layers of mana sigils. Whitlow gestured towards one of the largest of these, a containment unit warded so heavily it was positively humming. This would be the most powerful of our safes. I - well, actually - I dont think we have ever had cause to make use of it. before The cost to maintain the wards is entirely prohibitive. Fine. Well take this one, the Mayor said. Whitlow glanced at Morholt. Dont look at him, the Mayor said. He is not in charge here. I am. Are you questioning my Morholt popped another sweet and gave a slow nod. Please ensure the Mayor is granted every consideration. Without waiting for any further sign, the Justicars came forward and, lifting the chest easily, maneuvered it into place in front of the storage compartment. Lowe thought he wanted to see what was inside that chest more than he had anything in his life.. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Come on, open it. But they didnt. The chest remained locked as they pushed it into the safe. Whitlow worked fast to lock the unit, hands moving with long practice, but - Lowe thought - there was something a touch uncertain about about him now. A tremor at the edges of his efficiency. A flicker of nerves in the way he checked and re-checked each sequence of motions, as though afraid that one misstep might unravel the entire security matrix. The thing about personal storage, he said, the words coming out in a rush, is that its only as secure as the person holding it. People tend to think their inventories are inviolatelocked away. Untouchablebut thats just because they havent run into the wrong kind of people. Yet. And let me tell you, gentlemen, as I think we all know, the wrong kind of people very much exist. His voice had taken on a lecturing cadence, as though he were giving a prepared speech, trying to drown out his own anxiety with the comfort of something he knew very well. He gestured, activating the first layer of warding around the chest. The symbols carved into the containment unit flickered, burning bright as mana rushed in before sinking back into the material, reinforcing themselves in a spiral pattern. Most assume an inventory is a perfect vault. A bag of holding but better. Entirely free from theft, looting, or prying hands. Thats true to a certain extent. But we know that Classes exist with Skills that bypass those protections. He glanced up as if expecting the Mayor or the Warden to argue, but neither did. So he pressed on. Looters, he continued, can extract from inventoriessometimes with restrictions, sometimes without. Likewise, certain Rogue archetypes have Shadowfinger, a high-tier Skill that lets them reach into an opponents inventory so long as the person is stunned or in some other way incapacitated. Indeed, some with the Cursed Thief Class can bind themselves to anothers possessions and actually claim them outright. There are even Ritualists with blood mana Skills that let them strip a dying man of his stored goods before the bodys even cold. His voice dropped. And, of course, there are some who dont even need you dead to take what they want. The Warden made a noise at that, but Whitlow hurried on with his work, activating another ward. The sigil work snapped into place alongside all the others, locking in around the chest tighter. This, however, he said, gesturing toward the containment unit, is different. This is true security. No inventory access. No Skills that can pull from it. And no curses that can leech it. Not even someone with the highest-ranked authority at the Bank itself will be able to override this lock once its set. He forced out a chuckle. It was dry. Too dry. Why, even with all of us dead on the floor, any incursion would still not gain access to this compartment. Lowe couldnt help but think that was some of the most blatant jinxing hed ever heard in his life. He wondered if, in his final moments, Whitlow had thought of those words and wished he hadnt tempted fate quite so openly. Lowes gaze flicked to the Mayor and Warden. If they were bothered about the doomful phrasing there, it didnt show. The Warden shifted on his feet, crossing his arms tight over his chest, glancing toward the Justicars. The Mayors expression remained entirely unreadable. Whitlow, oblivious or too rattled to care, pushed on. This is, without question, the most secure place in Soar. His hands moved again, tracing a final set of patterns in the air, solidifying the last of the layered protections. The containment unit hummed as the mana shield completed. The access sigil for this unit will be attuned to both of you, Whitlow said. No one else, not even myself, will be able to open it without your say so. But the Mayor still didnt look satisfied, which Whitlow obviously noticed. Is is something not to your liking, sir? I am not sure, Lead Clerk. I am, after all, trusting this Vault with something entirely irreplaceable. Something that simply must not fall into the wrong hands. Tell me, if I were to, gods forbid, die, what would happen to this safe? Would it automatically be opened? No, not at all. If either of you were to pass, the compartment would, of course, remain keyed to the other. Should you both leave this world, well, there is no override. No backdoor access. Not even Council authority would be enough to break the binding once it was locked. We have a number of such safes within the Vault where the owner is no longer with us. None with this level of protection, of course, but the theory holds. What about a god? the Mayor said. Was it Lowes imagination, or did the memory . . . flicker at that? A strange sensation prickled at the back of his skull, not a sound exactly, but a pressuresomething that resonated deep in his core. It was as if the marrow of the world itself had been disturbed. The light in the memory of the Vault didnt dim, not really, but for a fraction of a second, it felt thinner. Like someone had purged all the air from the room. Like something vast had turned its attention here, just for the barest of heartbeat. The coldest of cold trickles ran down Lowes spine. Then the walls of the memory shivered, and its edges became wrong in a way he couldnt quite place. It wasnt a distortion of vision, nor a trick of the light or an inconsistency in the playback. Hed actually experienced all of those in Grid View before, especially when he was running low on mana. It was far deeper than that. A structural warping, as if reality itself had momentarily doubted what it was supposed to be. Then, the memory of the Vault reasserted itself. The echo of people solidified, and the moment continued. But Lowe thought something external to the clay disk had reached in and touched it. Or someone? Whitlow didnt seem to notice, but the Mayor definitely had. The Warden looked liked hed shat himself, Lowe thought, but the Mayor was much calmer. Just a minute movement, a gentle shifting of weight, and a tightening at the corners of his mouth. That was the only sign that he, too, had felt something. Why, look at the pair of balls on you, Lowe said aloud, not that anyone heard him, of course. A fucking god is glaring right at you and and you dont even bat an eye lid. There was a pause, stretched too long. Then, Whitlow laughed. A short, nervous little sound, the kind that slipped out when a man wasnt entirely in control of his faculties. He adjusted his cuffs, a pointless gesture that did nothing to hide the slight tremor in his fingers. Ah. Well. Yes. That wouldah. That would be a different matter entirely. He cleared his throat. Weve never tested our protections against a god Something moved in the air. Not a sound. Not a shift in temperature. Just a feeling. A slow, crawling awareness that something else was listening. Lowe felt it againthat strange weight. That sense of attention bending toward them. The walls of the memory pressed inward, distorting at the edges, as though the past itself was straining under the burden of an unseen force. Humour me, the Mayor said. Whitlow hesitated. His eyes darted toward the Warden, looking presumably for direction. The Wardens expression was dark and thunderous, but after a moment, he nodded. Whitlow licked his lips, then spoke carefully. It would, of course, be blasphemy for Sovereign Bank to create something a god could not access. There are treaties in place with those in the Celestial Temple that make that very clear. Another flicker. Another epic ripple in the memory. Lowe wasnt sure whether the interference was back then. Or now. Neither would exactly be a joy. There are no dwellers from the Temple here, the Mayor said, gesturing toward the Justicars. You can speak freely. And, of course, theres no need to harp on and on about the treaties. I signed all of them, for fucks sake. The Lead Clerk had been rattled before, but this was different. This wasnt just nerves. This was fear. He didnt want to answer. Not because of politics. Not because of bureaucracy. But because of what it meant. So answer me, the Mayor said. Will this Vault keep a god out? In theory yes, sir. Whitlow swallowed. These protections were built against every known incursion. Mortal and otherwise. The sigils do not discriminate between man and beast. Between thief and he hesitated, voice dropping, and the divine. Another ripple, and Lowe felt a migraine start at the base of his skull. One which Roll with the Punches was absolutely not going to touch. Whitlow clenched his hands. Why, even if a god were to stand in this very room and demand entrance, the Vault would hold. It does not recognise divinity as authority above either you or the Warden. Of this you are certain? No, sir, Whitlow said. Because, as I said, we have never had cause to test it. For a moment, everything was still. Then the room shuddered. Lowes vision blurred, his senses distorting, the whole world tipping sideways without moving at all. And just for a momentso brief it might not have happened at allhe thought he heard something. A whisper. Not words. Not even sound. The memory . . . winced. Lowe felt it. Like the world itself had curled in on itself for an instant, retreating from something it shouldnt have dared to exclude. Then it passed. Whitlow was clearly unsettled but was determined to pretend otherwise. The Vault will hold, he said. His voice didnt shake, but something behind his eyes did. Lowe wasnt sure who he was trying to convince. The light thickened even further. Lowe felt it pressing against him, like he was standing beneath something enormous, something vast enough that its presence bent almost all light around it. He wanted to move, to shake it off, but there was no he to move. In this memory, he didnt have a body to command. Just the memory. And the moment. He saw it nowthe tiny, almost imperceptible distortions in the Vault. The way the shape of the people werent quite crisp. How the light didnt seem to behave properly around the Mayor. How the air seemed to hold the echo of something unspoken. Not words. Not sound. Just rage. The Wardens jaw worked as he chowed down on another sweet. He turned back to Whitlow. Yes, thats all fine. Just lock the damn thing up so we can be on our way. Whitlow jolted slightly like hed forgotten there was anything left to do. Yes, yes, of course. His fingers twitched through the final sequence. The containment unit hummed as the final sigils locked into place. The moment passed. The pressure eased. The light returned to normal. Good, the Mayor murmured. His fingers tapped against his arm. And, Lead Clerk . . . Whitlow straightened as the Mayors voice dropped a fraction. You will forget everything about this transaction. You never saw us here. You never handled this. Whitlow hesitated. That was a mistake. A Justicar took a half-step forward. Not a threat. Not yet. Just a shift. Whitlow swallowed. Ofof course. He turned quickly, adjusting the final sequence of the containment unit, as if trying to put distance between himself and the moment. Lowe caught the barest flicker of a glance. Uncertainty. Dread. The realisation that he had just agreed to something far deeper than he had anticipated. And something else. A seed of knowledge buried just beneath his expression. Because despite the Wardens warningdespite the demand to forgetLowe knew. Whitlow wouldnt stay quiet. Couldnt. The existence of this memory disk proved that. And that inability was going to get him, and a whole lot of his colleagues, killed. Good, the Mayor said. His fingers twitched at his side. No one gets near this. No one. Especially not the Temple. The Warden didnt contradict the statement. He looked like a man who had just locked something away but wasnt sure if that was enough. Lowe took a step forward, studying him, the way his fingers curled, the way his gaze flickered over the containment unit like he was already second-guessing the decision to leave it here at all. There was something in that box that terrified him. Then the Vault shuddered. Not in the way a place shouldno tremor of stone, no groan of shifting foundationsbut in a way that made no sense at all. Like something in the fabric of reality itself had tensed, twisted, and recoiled. The air turned thick, pressing against Lowe like unseen hands, and for one single, unbearable second, the memory seemed to resist. Then, the walls of the moment folded in on themselves. Crumpling like wet paper as all sound cracked and warped. The Mayors mouth moved, but his words stretched too long, slowing into something unrecognisable, the syllables twisting in his ears like they werent meant to be heard. Then the world ripped, and the Vault was gone. And Lowe was back in the Museum. The chair beneath him was solid. The fire in the hearth crackled low, and the scent of old books and burned wood filled his lungs. And, of course, Grackle Nuroon was watching him. The Director of the Museum sat with perfect stillness, one hand resting against his desk, the other steepled against his chin. His dark eyes, sharp and unreadable, studied Lowe like he was examining something extremely valuable. Or potentially useless. Certainly one of the two. Can I assume that you have what you need, Inspector? Lowes head still felt like it was somewhere in the Vault, but he was here. He was here. No. Not at all, actually. He stood. But at least now I have a proper question to ask. And, more importantly, who to ask it to. Nuroon lifted a brow. And what, pray, is that? I need to ask Arkola what the Mayor took from him. Chapter 126 - You Do Not Want That Kind of Attention "It''s just - not a few bells ago - we all agreed that going to chat to Soar''s Supreme Being was not a card we wanted to play yet," Latham said, almost sprinting to keep up with Lowe. "What did that fucking spider say to you that has changed your mind?" Lowe didnt pause as he bounded up the stairs outside the Celestial Temple two at a time. So much so that Latham, despite all the insane advantages of his Class, was struggling to keep up. Grackle Nuroon had shown Lowe exactly what he needed and, of course, no more. Hed provided just enough access to the puzzle pieces to lure him into doing something stupid, but nowhere near enough to actually be anything approaching helpful. It hardly needed any of Lowes 200 points in Intelligence to know that had certainly been the Directors intention. Nuroon wasnt the type to let slights go, and what Lowe had done to him during his investigation into the deaths of those Curators was more than just some little irritation. In fact, the more he thought of it, the whole Ill do you a solid, but then youll owe me a favour thing, was just so much bollocks. Sharing that memory with him had been Nuroons way of achieving revenge. It was clear that he thought that putting Lowe on the trail of whatever had been locked in the Vault six years ago was going to get Lowe killed. It was pretty damn transparent, but that didnt mean he was going to back away. That had never been in Lowes nature. And he supposed the Director was counting on that too. Lowe reached the top of the steps, and two giant Temple Warders moved in unison, each stepping forward with all sorts of self-importance to block his path. They were imposing figures. Well, of course they were.. They were Temple Warders. Both were Level ?? and were clad in heavy ceremonial armour. While neither of them was quite built on Lathams scale, any of them on their worse day would be more than enough to turn Lowe into a frothy meat paste. "Oy! Hang on, twat!" one of them said, extending a hand toward Lowes shoulder in what was probably intended to be a an entirely unreasonable deterrent. Seeing the movement, Latham put on a final burst of speed to try to intervene; however, the second the mans gauntlet made contact with the Inspector, Lowes manacle screamed, and the Warders entire body jerked as if struck by an invisible force. Then his feet left the ground for the briefest momentjust long enough for gravity to remember its job and reassert itself with vigourbefore he went crashing backward, the Warders heavy form bouncing once, twice, and then rolling down the temple steps in a mess of polished metal and curses. "Fucking hell, little man! What did you do?!" The other Warder didnt fuck around, manifesting a huge halberd in their hand and activated some sort of offensive Skill as he prepared to enforce all sorts of divine authority. Because thats what the Warders were, after all. The enforcers of the gods will. And on the grounds of the Temple, when someone had been stupid enough to hurt one of their own? Well, that mandate to act was pretty much absolute. Or at least, it should have been . . . Lowe stared up at the second Warder as the silver inlays across the Temples doors gleamed brighter, casting long, unnatural shadows across the stairway, forming the shape of a fist. Then, the sky overhead, clear just a moment ago, seemed to deepen into the colour of a vicious bruise. Clouds unfurled from nowhere like blood spilling endlessly into water. And then, into all that silence, came a voice. He shall pass. Well, not a voice. It was the memory of a voice having spoken. And a pretty fucking memorable one. The remaining Warder stiffened, his knuckles whitening around his halberd. Lowe assumed that another message must have been delivered, for his mind only, because - casting the filthiest of glares Lowes way, he shuffled aside and then went down the steps to help his fallen comrade. Latham muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath that Lowe chose to ignore as he kept moving forward, through the open gates and into the Celestial Temple itself. It appeared that Arkola was not against the idea of Lowe stopping by with his question to ask, which was . . . interesting. Lowes mind paused on that for a moment. Was it? It was terrifying, certainly. But interesting? Maybe. Battling with an impending sense of doom, Lowe continued through the Celestial Temples lobby - he actually hadnt been back here since the conclusion of the Gianna dAvec case and certainly hadnt missed it - and while his steps may have been steady, his thoughts were anything but. Then a portal stone loomed ahead of him, the one keyed to the First Floor. And up to Arkola. The last time he had ventured there, quite a number of people had died for the mistakes he had made. And not just those who had deserved itthough they had died toobut others with no culpability at all. Innocent people whod been caught in the undertow of his choices. People had died because of what he had thought. Because of all his cleverness. Was he just about to cause the same thing again? Lowe had thought hed had it all figured out back then. Hed convinced himself - despite the chaos unfolding around him - that he might actually have been the one in control. That the pieces were moving where he wanted and that he had outmaneuvered everyone. After everything that had happened in the year following his Classtration, hed been delighted, hadnt he, that he was still able to play the game with the kind of balls that made men into legends. But in the end, what had all that confidence earned him? Blood everywhere. Arebella held hostage. And a dead ex-best friend. A man who had betrayed him in ways apparently Lowe still didnt completely understand. The portal stone keyed to the First Floor was ahead of him, nestling in its pedestal. A ball of ancient mana waiting for him. Offering passage? Leading to a fresh disaster. Lowes steps began to slow as he approached it. Just because Arkola had extended the invitationpop up and see me if you''re stuckdidnt mean he had to respond, did it? Certainly, a sane man absolutely wouldnt go anywhere near this. What was it that Rook had said? "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport." Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. He wasnt wrong, was he? The gods didnt care anything about them. Powerful things rarely did. They moved their pieces. Made their plays. Laughed at the ruins they left behind. And Lowe was about to walk right into the hands of the biggest player on the board. Again. But the difference between this and last time was simple. Last time, hed thought he had some measure of control. This time, he thought he knew better. The Warden. The Mayor. The Director. The God. All these powerful people trying to direct where Lowe should be looking. He was fucked, wasnt he? For fucks sake, little man! Latham said. Just wait up for a moment. Lowe looked back and gave a sad little smile. Look, we both know I need to do this. Were nowhere and people are trying to kill us. This could be our best chance to get something approaching answers. Latham caught Lowe by the arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to pull him back. Lowes manacle immediately reacted and its response clearly hit Latham like an invisible tidal wave. The Pressure crashed against him, but the Temple Warder held on to Lowes arm, his stance widening as he resisted being thrown away. Lowe dismissed any thought of using the active aspect of the Skill on his friend, but the passive one continued to push back against the Temple Warder. No matter what might have been Lowes intention, though, the Shattered Grasp would not be restrained. Deep grooves began etching into the stone beneath their feet. Thin at first. Then deeper. Then wider. With horror, Lowe watched as the clash between two massive opposing forces dragged down into the very foundations of the Temple floor. He thought that was some sort of metaphor for his life just there . . . A whole host of people suddenly stopped to watched. Temple scribes, worshippers, and even a few off-duty Warders froze where they stood, conversations stalling mid-word. The spectacle of two powerful, contradictory forces warring in real-time was not something anyone saw often. Well, not for long, anyway. But it certainly wasnt something anyone wanted to see right in front of them. Latham clearly couldnt believe what was happening either, his grip locked tighter on the Inspectors arm even as the passive power at Lowes wrist doubled up and tried to throw him away. For one appalling moment, he was tempted to press the Pressure at Latham. To spiral him away and force him to let go. But Lowe dismissed that thought. Latham, you need to let go. I cant control the power here. Its going to . . . "Dont tell me what its going to do. You need to think about whats about to happen here, little man. I mean, really think." Lowe clenched his jaw. His own muscles ached under the push-pull strain - Roll with the Punches repairing all sorts of damage - as the relic fought to break free from his control. It wanted to push the Warder away. To utterly obliterate him. But Latham wasnt for moving. Somehow, he seemed to have anchored himself to the Temple floor, and was more than holding his own in the struggle. Even so, Lowe recognised that he was pushing up against the full force of the Temple Warders will - a will forged to hold the line when gods themselves pressed against it. What the fuck did he have on his wrist here? He took a deep breath, trying to find a way to end the confrontation with both of them still in one piece. "I am thinking about it, Latham. But I need to know whats happening now and, more importantly, I need more of a handle on what happened back then. Unless I go up there and ask Arkola, Im never going to find out how the Temple is mixed up with the Black Knight. And, more important than that, why!" Lowe said. This is the only way were ever going to find out whats going on. I cant waste the opportunity. The forces warring between them tightened. "Says you, little man! Says me. Lowe, I dont know whats going on here, but I dont think you understand what youre potentially walking into. If you ask a god for a favour, theres going to be no way of wriggling free from that. And that goes triple. Quadruple with Arkola." The floor beneath them cracked and a long fissure split the stone where their feet dug in. The Pressure spiked and then, all at once, it broke. Lathams grip snapped open, his hand recoiling as if burned. He took a sharp step back, his boots grinding against the now-ruined temple floor. He looked down at his hand, utterly amazed. Lowe, listen to me. Really listen. Its the first thing they tell you on day one, when you sign up to be a Warder. Every Temple has its gods, every god has its Avatar, and every single one of them is a fucking nightmare in their own way. They are not people. They are not saints. They are not mentors or oracles or kind, guiding hands to help us stand tall in this veil of tears. They are power wrapped in the idea of a person, and the moment you start thinking otherwise, you are already lost. If Arkola is the one who slipped you that - he gestured at the manacle- then nothing good is intended. As Lowe said nothing, Latham pressed on. You do not want this kind of help, nor this sort of attention if you can avoid it. You think youre going up there to have a conversation? Youre not. You think a discussion with Arkola is just going to be another lead? Its not. Its a summons. A god - especially this god - doesnt just invite you up there for a fucking chat! It doesnt care if youre confused, or stuck, or looking for answers. It wants something. And if Arkola wants something from you, then you are already a piece on the board, whether you like it or not. So, no matter what else, if you are planning to ask it for help . . . Still, Lowe didnt speak. I dont pretend to understand the shit you got tangled up in back before I met you, but I know this. You dont get to come back from Arkola doing you a solid the same. You wont be the same. Every Warder knows it. Every Priest whos had so much as a glimpse of the First Floor knows it. You go up there, and ask for help and you are seen. And once you are seenreally seenyou do not get to step back into your life like nothing changed. You dont get to be some bastard Inspector scuffing his boots through the underbelly of Soar, solving his cases, keeping his head down. You will not get to be Lowe anymore. Do you understand me? Mate, this is all a bit much. Ive been up there before! Lowe said. No. Not like this. Theres being in Arkolas presence and then theres being in Arkolas presence. And dont patronise me by telling me you dont understand the difference. So, before you step through that portal, you need to ask yourself one questiondo you really want Arkola to see you? Lowe met Lathams gaze. I think, he said, its too late for that. We need answers. Then he pulled free and stepped into the light. And let the portal take him. Chapter 127 - The Cuckoo’s Call The world ended. Or rather, it ceased to exist in any real way Lowe could comprehend. The reality of the Celestial Temple''s halls. The torn and shattered marble under his boots. The weight of his coat around his shoulders. It was just all gone. And in its place, he was transported into a nothingness. There was no light. No dark. No air. No up or down. He couldnt make any movements, because to do so would require space, and space required rules, and . . . Well, here and now - if there was a now and here in any way Lowes mind could still understand - there were none. Lowe thought he could feel his pulse quicken and the dampness of sweat beading at the back of his neck, a cold trickle that shouldn''t have been possible in a place without heat or gravity. That was a nice touch, Lowe thought. It appeared that his body still existed in some way here, but only - of course - because Arkola allowed it to be so. And his mind continued to exist only because the god hadn''t yet decided to peel it apart and examine all the things that made it up Lowe had done this little dance before, but the performance hadnt gotten any easier with repetition. He resisted the temptation to look around, knowing that Arkola would be in this nothingness somewhere, but wouldnt be in any form he could see. There were no shapes here - no clear outlines of markers - only the awful knowing of something vast and unbearable examining him from a vantage point he could never perceive. The similarity between the aura of the presence and what Lowe had felt display such anger within the memory Grackle Nuroon had showed him was undeniable. Ah, so it us you again? the voice had said. Not through his ears. Not through any real sound at all, but more Lowe knowing, in retrospect, that he had been spoken to. In a blink, his mind had always contained the words, but was only now recognising it as a coherent message. The funny little Inspector who people keep punching in the face stands before me. Yeah. Guess I do. To be fair, though, you did tell me to come up and see you. The knowing pressed down again. Again, it was not words. Not even anything as ephemeral as concepts. But it contained some pretty heavy judgment. Then a hand rifled through his soul like it was a ledger and Lowes Core was thoroughly rummaged through. And all his sins were tallied. That took a bit longer than he might have hoped. Then he was lifted. Not physically. It wasnt like his body moved. There was no body, after all. But Lowe felt like he was grasped all the same. Plucked up like a coin between uncaring fingers and then flipped. Something tore him apart, piece by piece, weighing each of his thoughts. Examining all his regret. Every moment where he had made a choice and let it unfold into consequence was looked at and considered. And then - just when Lowe thought he couldnt bear it anymore - it put him back, with a quiet disdain. Was that as good for you as it was for me? Lowe asked. I usually would have a smoke right about now, if you have one handy? There was no laughter. Arkola had no laughter to give. But Lowe sensed that there might have been amusement - distant and impassable for sure - but still some sort of lop-sided grin. Maybe. You persist in your delightful irreverence. Even here. Even with me. Even now. Well, I suppose I have to get something out of this, dont I? Lowe said. Otherwise, all this soul exposing just becomes a bit like a forced striptease. The silence stretched out between them. It wasnt emptinessit was impossible to be near Arkola and feel emptybut it was still a deep and abiding stillness. A withholding. Lowe knew better than to take that as permission to speak. He had not been granted that right yet. And hed got that wrong before. Finally, though, the world shifted again. It was not a change Lowe saw in anything like visual terms, but suddenly, he felt that Arkola was looking at something else. Lowe could sense it, like the way a trapped mouse might feel a cat look away. A crack of light in an otherwise sealed tomb. And then, impossibly, the sense of something else appeared. A form. An object. It was not clear what it was at first. Just a weight in the space beside him. An idea given shape, perhaps. But then it became a . . . statue. Something small enough to hold in one hand. Certainly plenty small enough to keep locked away in a chest, for example. It looked like it was the representation of a bird with a broad chest and curved beak, its wings folded down against its sides. The material from which the statue was made was dark. Matte. Something between stone and metal, Lowe thought. You have got to be kidding me! he said. But there was no answer. He doubted there would be to that that sort of statement. Those as powerful as Arkola never seemed to feel the need to explain. They only showed and demanded. This is what the Mayor took? Yes. And I imagine that you would like it back, ever so much, please. If I would be so kind. A further silence. Lowe knew that like was probably the wrong word there. Arkola had no likes or wants as Lowe would understand them. It did not desire. But it certainly required. It must be returned to me. Did I hear a please, there, mate? You dare to speak to me like that? I mean, I dont know about that. This is your universe, after all. Do I dare? I imagine you can make it so I do or do not as you like. Must be nice having that sort of pull. It must be returned to me. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Lowe decided not to push things any further. Okay, so you want the statue back. Received and understood. Do I at least get to know why he took it? The Mayor, I mean. Because it was him with the sticky fingers, wasnt it? Six years back, the Mayor took something of yours and, for whatever reason, you cant simply kill him and get it back, can you? My! I bet that really grinds your gears, doesnt it? To be an ineffable, supreme being and have a jumped up little guttersnipe like the Mayor hold something over you? Bet that really pisses you off. This time, Lowe thought that the silence was different. It was heavier. Not stillness, but a thing closing down. A door not slammed, but deliberately being shut. No entrance. Lowe, who had never used the word guttesnipe in his life before, wondered if he might possibly have taken things a bit far there. I am afraid that you ask the wrong question. Do I? Yes. But that is to be understood and, if not accepted, then at least forgiven. You are , after all,forced to move through time. In a straight line. I, of course, am not. That made sense, Lowe supposed. Something as trivial as time would mean nothing to Arkola. Cause and effect did not follow the same structure. The past. The future . . . it appeared to be able sift through them as easily as looking through pages in a book. It was said that if Arkola wanted, it could speak of things yet to come with the same certainty as things long since passed. It was no wonder it had made the First Floor its own. Hard to displace someone who, quite literally, could see you coming before you even got out of bed in the morning. It made Lowe wonder how the Mayor had managed to complete his little felony . . . Im sure you could. But I guess it would all depend what it would cost me? Nothing. Everything. I actually do not know. The cost will, ultimately, depend on you. Lowe swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. Then stopped. Funny that, when he wanted to, Arkola could ensure that he would have a gorge to rise. It was just that sort of manipulation that he absolutely could not stand. When the powerful in Soar would hold out a tasty morsel for the less privileged to grab hold of. It was how the world worked, he was told often enough. But that didnt mean he had to play ball. No, thank you. I reckon Ill be able to sort that out myself. Thats not what were talking about right now. We are talking about all things. Fury sparked, hot and tight in his chest. He took a step forward before remembering there was no ground to step on. Or anyone to move towards. Dont do that! Dont play coy with me. If you want something from me, just come out with it and tell me what it is. Tell me what this damn bird is and who has is it. Dont dangle rewards in front of me like Im a baby bird. Just give me some straight fucking answers! Arkola moved. Not in a way Lowe could see, but in the way gravity shifts when a planet tilts. The world around him tilted. It is what it has always been. Lowe hated all this cryptic bullshit. The evasions wrapped in false clarity. But that was how things like Arkola worked, wasnt it? If Lowe wanted an answer, he was going to need to ask just the right question. Just tell me! What is it, and how come the Mayor has his perfectly manicured nails all over it? Arkola did not answer. Lowe growled and then thought of Whitlow sealing something within his Vault about which he had no idea. He thought of the Warden of the Reserves nerves. And the Mayors completely unshakable confidence. And the way he had made sure there was no Temple presence involved in its storage. What had happened six years ago? Had that been what sparked everything into motion? And what about the Black Knight? Why had he reappeared now? And how had he managed to steal something even Arkola hadnt been able to access. Thats what made no fucking sense! This thing He gestured at the statue. The bird. The object that was not just an object. Is it, I dont know, dangerous to you in some manner? The pressure in the space changed. Arkola did not confirm. It did not deny. But that silence said everything. Right. Okay. So you need it back because . . . The weight of all of Arkolas knowing suddenly pressed down on Lowe, its presence unbearable. You have been shown all that I am willing to show. But know this, return to me what has been taken, or all contracts between me and Soar will be null and void. I suffered the behaviour of that silly little man because his game was of no consequence. Now that the Cuckoo is free to call, that changes. I shall give you . . . a day. No. Let us make it two. I would not want to be judged precipitous and wrathful. At the end of the second day , the Temple - well, I - will take . . . action. Action? Lowe blinked, and the world was ash. The sky had turned white. Not the white of clouds nor light, but the bleached, pitiless void left when a thing is scoured down to nothing. The sun was a wound in the firmament, a black abscess bleeding heat, pouring ruin upon the city below. The air did not burnit consumed, peeling flesh from bone before breath could turn to scream. Stone wept fire. The towers of Soar bowed their heads and crumbled, not in the slow dignity of times decay but in sudden, absolute surrender. But they did not fall. They were unmade. The streets split with a groan, their veins of mortar spilling red as the city hemorrhaged into the chasm yawning below. And that chasm . . . There was no molten glow. No depthless abyss. Only absence. An unshaped void that gaped wide to drink the ruin of man. Then came the sound. The dirge of a world betrayed by its own foundations. It rose, a vast throat clearing before speech. And the people. They ran, as ants might run from the shadow of a boot. But there was no escape. Their bodies lit like torches, blackening mid-stride, burning to silhouettes before wind could scatter their cinders. Some clutched their children, their limbs fused together in their final moments, a grotesque tableau of love and futility. Others did not even see the end coming, caught mid-word. Mid-thought. Mid-breath. Frozen statues of soot before the gale swept them into nothing. Still, the fire moved. It did not rage. It consumed. It rolled outward in a tide that left nothing behind, not ruin nor wreckage, only a vast and silent stillness where once there had been life. And then they came. Lowe saw them walk through the smoking bones of Soarfigures too thin and tall. They did not cast shadows, nor seem to move in any way a body should. Their shapes rippled, flickered, unmade themselves between one step and the next. They passed among the wreckage, untouched by the fire or the hunger in the sky. And where they trod, the last remnants of the city simply ceased to be. Thennothing. Lowe gasped, and he was back. The world was unbroken. It had not been a warning. It had been a certainty. In the world of Arkola, it had already happened. Then, Lowe was standing in the Celestial Temple again, the portal stone cooling in his hands. The pressure in the air had lessened, but had not disappeared entirely. A whisper of suggestion curled through his mind. Find it. Or else. If I am denied in this, Soar will burn. Arkola did not demand. It did not threaten. It simply knew what would happen. What had happened. Little man? Latham was at his side. You okay? Fuck no, Lowe said. Did you get what you needed? Absolutely not. But, on the plus side, its not like things have gotten worse. Really? No. Not really. Theyre worse. So, so, so much worse. How quick do you think you can get me in to see the Mayor? Chapter 128 - Check, Mate You cant go in there . . . Bite me! Lowe snapped, shoving past the Wereman at the Mayors front desk. Then, as the words caught up with his brain, he reconsidered. Actually, dont. I like my flowing locks just the way they are. The Wereman gave him a look. A look which suggested hed heard every possible variation of canine-related humor and found none of them either charming or amusing. Which was probably fair. Not many people chose a Class that left them sporting a permanent set of fangs, a thick pelt, and an inconvenient urge to chase passing carts. Most people, when selecting their Class, went for something practical. Something that came with useful perks, a solid career path, and, crucially, didnt make them look like they lost a drunken bet with a wizard. Lowe thought he could count on the fingers of one dick the number of people he knew who had willingly chosen a Class that really altered what stared back at them from the mirror. There was Old Meryl from back when he was a kid, whod taken Stonebound Archivist and slowly turned into something that looked like a cross between a librarian and a cathedral gargoyle. Then there had been the Headmaster at his school, the late, great Edgar Vance whod picked Serpent Adept and had to spend the last years of his life with a tongue that wouldnt stop flicking and a tendency to coil himself around his chair when concentrating. A regrettable decision, in retrospect, especially when he dozed off in assembly. So, yes. People didnt tend to go in for the kind of Class that required changes that left them unable to pass for ordinary on a good day. People liked the idea of being monstrous more than they did the reality of it. And who could blame them? Try finding a barber who knew how to trim around spines, or a tailor who could accommodate extra limbs without sighing loudly and then charging double. This was Soar, after all. But Weremen? Now, they were very different indeed. In Lowes experience, Weremen didnt shy away from the crazy, they properly leaned into it. They enjoyed the whole look. The claws, the fur, the predatory smirk that made people rethink casual insults. Even the name of the Class itself was a pose. Because they werent werewolves, at all, actually. They werent bound by anything as mundane as the phases of the moon or some terrible, awful ancient curses. No, there was never any tragic, poetic transformation at dusk for these guys. They were just . . . Weremen. Because, as it turns out, some people really would choose to be seven feet of teeth and muscle if you let them. And right now, one of them was rising from behind his desk, very much considering whether Lowes flippancy was worth a . . . professional breach of acceptable conduct. Lowe held up his hands, as he carried on moving toward the Mayors door. Look, lets both pretend I came up with something less stupid and you glared me into silence, yeah? The Wereman - he was called Norris, Lowe remembered - grunted, which Lowe took as both forgiveness and permission to shove open the office door before he could be ordered otherwise. Latham moved to accompany him, but Lowe held a hand up. No. Somehow, it seems the Temple is bound up in all of this. I think hell speak more freely with you out here. Fucks sake, little man! Were not going to get anywhere if you keep me at arms length like this! Hey, if you want to feel all important, you make sure Hairy McLairy here doesnt stop me leaving when the time comes. Norris growled. You know, that sort of comment could be considered to be discriminatory . . . Lowe shut the door behind him, leaving Latham to argue the finer points of workplace banter. The Mayors office was exactly what Lowe expectedtasteful, expensive, and designed to convey authority in a way that was just this sign of the line of mawkishly ostentatious. The Mayor himself was positioned behind a vast mahogany desk, fingers steepled, and with his perennial look of smug self-assurance. If Lowe did not know better, hed say he was expected and this was all a careful poise. "Inspector Lowe," the Mayor said, not bothering to stand. How goes your hunt? Do you have news for me?" "Not really. Its been a bit of a day so far. How do you mean? Oh, you know. The usual. Attempted murder. Shimmerskins. A little light torture. Gods making threats. The oncoming end of the world. That sort of thing." Sounds busy. Not really. Just another day in paradise. The Mayor smiled, but it had no warmth in it. "I see. And, if you are not here to announce success in the quest I set you, to which of those fine subjects do I owe your visit?" Lowe paused. On the way over, he and Latham had discussed how to play this. The Mayor might not exactly be Arkola-powerful, but in the grand scheme of things, he was more than powerful enough. In Soar, you didnt need to be able to control the nature of reality in order to truly fuck someone up. Enough gold could see you through most inconveniences. Theyd not been able to come up with a foolproof plan, so Lowe just did what he did best. He led with his chin. "Arkola wants its statue back. The one of the little bird you locked away in the Vault six years ago. He says youve got two days to come up with the goods, or all contracts will be void. I imagine you know what that might mean." The Mayor didnt so much as blink. He reached for a small silver letter opener, turning it idly between his fingers. "Is that so? I imagine it might have been quite forceful about the matter." "Oh, you know how these things tend to go. Plenty of divine menace. Strong implication that if I fail, everything and everyone burns in hellfire. The usual." "Mm. And so it would appear that you came straight to me to whinge about it. I have to say, I dont quite understand all of the fuss. It sounds like Arkola has simply given you the same quest both I and the Warden have already placed at your feet. If I had known youd required some extra motivation, I would been more explicit with my own threats. Time is ticking, Inspector Lowe." Lowe let the silence develop until the Mayor sighed theatrically and set the letter opener down. "I imagine you have some very interesting theories about how I came into possession of this particular trinket." "I actually dont. But I know you put it in the Vault. Safe behind one hell of a deadmans lock. Arkola knew youd got it, but couldnt do a fucking thing about it. Apparently, if it killed you and the Warden, it would never get it back." Or, actually. Im sorry? The deadlock, as you call it. It was set to activate if Arkola killed me or the Warden. Lowe thought back to the memory Grackle Nuroon had shared with him. It was definitely and and not or. The Mayor clearly saw the scepticism on the Lowes face. That stupid little Lead Clerk fucked things up, didnt he? Made it so the package was sealed behind a door that would permanently lock if either of us died. I tell you, Inspector, there is simply no one in this world you can trust to do their job properly. The stress that put on poor Morholt during all that unpleasantness last year. For a moment, Lowe wasnt sure what the Mayor was talking about. Then it suddenly made sense. The Black Knight murders. The Warden was terrified what would happen to him should you have proved to have been . . . the Knights next target. That Arkola would completely lose its shit should the Vault be sealed. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. And that wasnt a wholly ridiculous assumption, Lowe thought. When the great and the good had started dropping like flies, they - Lowes squad - had been certain the Mayor was likely to be a key target. It still baffled him that the Black Knight hadnt ever taken his shot. Yeah, with all those falling down dead, Lowe could see how Morholt would get . . . twitchy. But now the statue has been stolen and hes equally twitchy the two of you dont have any more collateral against Temple retribution. And he doesnt even know about the upcoming end of the world yet. "That is an incredibly simplistic way to look at things, if I may so." "Yeah, well, Im feeling particularly simplistic right now." "Do I presume you think I did the wrong thing?" the Mayor said. In locking it away? "Not for me to say. Arkola, though? Arkolas got all sorts of opinions about it. Its pissed and Im just the messenger." The Mayor gave a short, amused laugh. "Ah, but messengers are so much more than that, arent they? After all, if you are not just messenger by a Knight Errant of your own. And if you fail to locate what is missing, it wont just be Arkola that suffers, will it? It will be Soar itself." I mean, sure. I guess you can put the weight of all this on me, if you want. Although, not for nothing, the wanker who stole something valuable from a god probably had something to do with the approaching apocalypse too . . . The Mayors smile froze in place, although the rest of his face collapsed inwards. "Tell me, Inspector, he pretty much spat out. What do you remember of what Soar was like, back then?" "Back when?" "Six years ago." Lowe was a touch thrown by what felt like a massive non-sequitur. He shrugged. "It was much the same as it is now." The Mayor laughed, shaking his head. "Such arrogance! And when that is coming from me, you better believe that I know of which I speak. No, Inspector, Soar was not ''much the same as it is now'' six years ago. I can only presume you think that is the case because you were comfortably insulated against the realities of the world." That stung. Six years back... well, yes. Things had been going well in Lowes life. He was moving through the ranks of Cuckoo House, breaking cases and earning himself quite a reputation. Things had been going well with Arabellahed actually been contemplating buying a ring, hadnt he? And, what was more, hed never heard of the Black fucking Knight. And he didnt know anyone whod ever been Classtrated. All in all, it had been a much simpler time. But comfortably insulated? That felt a touch harsh. The Mayor smiled, seeing the flicker of irritation cross Lowes face. "Well, let me tell you, Inspector, the reality for those with less advanced Classes than you were blessed with was brutal. Gods did not want anything to do with them, you see. They simply wouldn''t be their patrons. Sure, for those of us with ''interesting'' Classes, we were fine. Golden, in fact. We had all the thresholds rewards we might possibly ever want. But how about the humble Street Cleaners? The Care Workers? What god was interested in caring for them? None I tell you." Lowe tried to remember back. Had that really been the case? He was ashamed to admit that he didnt actually know. "So what changed?" "I changed it!" The Mayor was suddenly standing, voice loud. Norris poked his snout through the door. "Get out!" the Mayor yelled, picking up and throwing the letter opener towards the door. I changed it. Me! I saw what needed to be done, and I did it. For the good of Soar. How unusually . . . altruistic of you, sir. Fuck you, Inspector. Although, on reflection, I suppose you may be right. I certainly didnt take on a god for the poor and downtrodden of Soar. There are only so many elections a man can ever win and Arkola has the longest of memories. No, I did it for everyone. Everyone who was ever forced into a Class they didnt want. Every second son of an aristocrat that was lumbered with a profession in order to be able to make their way in the world. Everyone with deep pockets who wasnt as lucky as you, Inspector. You would be amazed at the number of people in Jewel Town who suddenly became very, very grateful to me. Lowe took a moment to process that. "Sorry, just to be clear, you blackmailed Arkola? For gold?" The Mayor paused, before moving to his window and taking several deep breaths. When he turned around his expression had completely smoothed out into something far more composed. If Lowe hadnt been there for that loss of control, he might think it had never happened. "I wouldnt describe it as anything as crude as that. Morholt and I merely identified an opportunity and then let the Temple know that, as long pressure was put on all gods to recognise the value of patronising all Classes, I would ensure that the artefact that had . . . dropped in my lap would be kept very safe. And when that worked, as you would imagine, the gratitude from certain quarters was most gratifying." The Mayor frowned, fingers twitching in the air as if feeling out invisible thread. Its so strange, he said. I do not seem able to get a read on you at all. Is it true what Ive heard? That you have found a way around the restriction the Council placed on your build? Oh, is that what the tickling sensation is? Lowe said. Youre trying to fumble around inside my mind. I thought it was indigestion. He let all the Pressure go that had been accumulating around his chest everytime the Mayor had used a mental Skill to try and probe him. In response, the Mayor went flying across the room, landing hard on his backside with a strangled wheeze. In seconds, though, the Mayor had struggled up onto his feet again. Do you know what I can do to you for that! Classtrated would the least of it! Is it worse than what youve already threatened me with? Lowe asked. Or worse than what Arkola is going to do in two days if I dont get its statue back? See, you need to be careful with that sort of threatened escalation. If youve already said youre going to kill my friends and family if I dont find this statue for you, the stakes are already pretty fucking high. So, just so were all nice and clear, if you try to dig around in my head again, Im definitely going to kill you. The Mayor opened his mouth and then closed it. A flush crept up his cheeks, but he didnt say anything more. Okay, now that fun little diversion is over, here are my big questions, Lowe said. You need to tell me what is so important about this fucking statue. Why was simply having it enough collateral for you to be able to blackmail Arkola? And why has it been stolen from the Vault? And why is that enough for the destruction of Soar to suddenly be on the table? The Mayor hesitated and then dusted himself off. They may be the big questions, Inspector. But they are not questions I know the answers to. Fuck off you dont know! Believe me or dont, but what I say is the truth. Obviously, I know that the statue is important to Arkola. But I do not know why. The Mayor rubbed his chest where Lowes retaliatory Pressure had struck him. I came in one morning, and there it was. Sat on my desk with a note around its neck. The First Floor will do anything to regain this. Do with it what you will. I thought it was all a joke. I made a comment about it in passing to a Priest and, well, you would think the world came crashing down. So, I spoke to the Warden and we made our play and after Arkola came through - as soon as everyone gained a patron god - I didnt need to know why it was, but I certainly knew how valuable that fucking statue really was. Which is why I need it back in the safekeeping in the Vault as soon as possible. And not just to avoid Arkola destroying Soar. But to keep things the way they are. That wasnt the winning argument the Mayor obviously thought it was. Things staying the same in Soar sounded fucking terrible to Lowe. What Skill are you trying to use on me? Lowe said suddenly.. You dont have any Mental Skills logged with the Council as far as I am aware. The amount of things of which you are not aware, Inspector, could stun a rampaging Minotaur. And I dont think you are really in a position to talk about having access to Skills you shouldnt . . . Fair enough. Lets put a pin in that one. Who sent you the package containing your collateral?" Another sudden change of topic clearly took the Mayor by surprise. He went to answer, then stopped himself just in time. Fucks sake, sir! Lowe said. Im flattered that everyone seems to have this high opinion of my ability to recover this statue - the Warden. You. Arkola - but if I dont get anything to go on, then Soar is going to get flattened in two days'' time. It strikes me that if a thing has gone missing, then the last person who nicked it is likely to be a good first point of all. But thats just the opinion of a fucking Cuckoo House Inspector. What do I know? Who was it, sir? Who sent you the fucking statue? "The Black Knight." The answer was so unexpected that Lowe thought he must have misheard. Im sorry, what? The name on the package that I found on my desk six years ago was from someone calling himself the Black Knight. And under that message was a single line of poetry. "The king is lost, and shadows claim the board." Chapter 129 - Knights in the Dark Youre telling me the Black Knight is the one who gave you the statue?" Thats exactly what Im telling you. "The Black Knight!" Lowe repeated, unable to stop himself. "The serial killer who haunted Soarwho hunted itmurdering, let me remind you, a whole host of people you were supposed to be friends with! Lords, merchants, high priests, Council members. People who, I was repeatedly told, mattered. And now you''re telling me the collateral you used to put a fucking god in a chokehold came straight from them?" I am aware of the history of the Black Knight, Inspector, the Mayor said. But do keep in mind that this was six years ago. Well before you and the rest of Cuckoo House failed, time and time again, to capture the person slaughtering the great and the good of Soar. I had no reason not to assume this was simply a gift from an appreciative constituent. Annoyingly, that was a fair point. Six years ago was a long time before the murders. The first of them, anyway. "But you just... took it? No questions asked? Not even a why me?" "Inspector, I dont know how things work in your world, but in mine, when someone offers you a gift that can change the world, you dont ask frivolous questions. You accept it. Gladly. And then you pray it doesnt come with too high a price." Lowe couldnt help but think that the best time to count the teeth of gift horses was before you stuck your whole arm in their mouths. "And what was the price the Black Knight demanded, sir?" You see, thats just the thing. The Mayor said. Hes actually never asked me for anything. Bullshit. Lowe didnt need Arebella sat next to him to know a lie when he heard one, even if it was wrapped up in a politicians trick of technically being true. Maybe the Black Knight hadnt asked, but that didnt mean he hadnt taken. And, Lowe thought, it didnt mean the bill wasnt still to come due. That made Lowe think about the deal he had made with Grackle Nuroon for access to that memory. Maybe the Mayor wasnt the only one in this office to make stupid pacts. "But why you, sir?" he asked. The Mayors lips twitched in something close to amusement. "Perhaps he saw something in me. Potential. A shared vision. Or perhaps he simply knew I was the only one who had the balls to do what needed to be done. But, let me be clear, Inspector Lowe. I am ordering you now to let me to worry about handling Arkola," the Mayor said. His voice had cooled, any pretense of affability stripped away. "It is for you to focus on doing your job. Two days, Inspector. Apparently thats all the time you have to recover that statue. And, when you do - and I have no doubt that you will - you will make sure you return it to me, and not to Arkola. Id make more threats, but I think Ive already got that covered, right? You bring me the statue, and Ill take care of the gods temper tantrum. Me. Just like I have done so before. Now, I think this is the point where I will tell you to get the fuck out of my office." Lowe held his gaze. He wanted to argue. Wanted to demand answers, push further until something, anything, cracked. But he knew it was pointless. The Mayor wasnt going to give him anything more. Not even if Soar was burning around him. Some people were just constitutionally incapable of playing it straight. So instead he stood, smoothed down his coat, and walked through the door. As he stepped out, the soft click of the door shutting behind him felt oddly final. As if something had just been decided, and probably not in his favour. Lowe assumed Arkola had been watching and wondered what it made of the conversation. But he didnt have time to brood on that, as half a second after re-entering the reception area, he noticed it had developed quite an atmosphere. The type you got when two people had spent a while not quite trying to kill each other but were definitely working their way up to it. Latham stood stiff-backed, hands on hips, face set in the deeply unimpressed expression of a man who had been arguing with a brick wall and resented the brick wall for not having the decency to get bored first. Opposite him was Norris and the Weremans fur was standing up along the back of his neck bristled, his claws flexing at his sides. Fucks sake! Are you both still doing this? Latham didnt look away from Norris. That depends. Does the little lapdog here still think he can stop us from leaving? I have a duty to ensure the security of this office, the Wereman said. You also have a duty to remember that, when I do report this, Ill be doing it directly to the Council, Latham shot back. So, by all means, try me. Pup. Level Forty Three? Are you fucking kidding me stepping up like this? Norriss hackles raised another fraction, and Lowe decided that, entertaining as the inevitable results of this particular clash might be, he had places to be that werent here. Okay, okay, he said, stepping between them before any bloodshed (or, more likely, paperwork) became necessary. He gestured towards the door. Were leaving, hes staying, and we all get to go home in one piece. A long, charged pause. Then, with great reluctance, Norris let out a low growl, stepped back behind his desk, and deliberately flicked open a ledger with a single claw. Latham strode past him, and Lowe followed, letting out a sigh of relief as the doors swung shut behind them. The cool evening air hit like a splash of water to the face. The manalights of Soar all flickered to life, the streets stretching ahead, teeming with people moving through the citys arteries, oblivious to the noose tightening around them. Oblivious that the game was already in motion. The Black Knight. The statue. Arkola. The Mayor. Shimmerskins. It was all connected. But how? Two days. That was all he had. *** And you still havent heard anything from the mistress? Mylaf asked, putting two very different dinner plates down in front of Lowe and Latham. Latham eyed the heaving plate of fried food in front of him like a man about to propose marriage. The platter was a masterpiece. Golden, crispy and glistening with oil that had seen things, survived multiple fryers, and come out fighting for its life. Beside it, Lowes green leaf salad sat looking like it had lost a fight with a lawnmower and never quite recovered. Lowe prodded a wilted bit of green with his fork. I want you to know how much I hate you right now, he said, watching Latham gleefully dunk something battered into something gooey. Latham grinned, chewing happily. You hate yourself more, though, dont you? I really do. Im sorry, sir, but Mr Latham needs the calories, Mylaf said, setting down a tankard next to Lathams plate with a thud. His Skills burn fat for Stamina. Yours dont. And I suppose my meal was carefully chosen for maximum nutritional value? Im not having Arebella get back and find that none of your suits fit. Lowe slumped back in his chair, making a point of looking as tragic as possible. You know, there was a time I thought you liked me. Latham nearly choked on a fried mushroom, shaking with silent laughter. Lowe turned his fork over in his hand, watching a thin strand of something suspiciously healthy droop over the edge. So this is where my life is at, he muttered. A world-ending conspiracy, a serial killer playing games from beyond the grave, and yet it is my waistline which is the key focus of discussion. The mistress? Mylaf prompted again. No, nothing, Lowe said. You had anything from Hel? No, but thats hardly a surprise. Hels a pro. If shes gone to ground, then shes gone low. Well hear from her when shes ready to be in touch with us. Another wodge of fried food vanished. Look, Im loving your White Knight energy right now, but between you, me and the garden post, youre literally the weakest link in our chain. A bunch of Shimmerskins attacked us, and youre the only one they dropped. Your girlfriend is a walking lie-detector. Mine is, quite possibly, the scariest person Ive ever met, and thats saying something. Add in a fucking Auditor and a Druid and I think theyre probably set. Of all of us, youre the one most likely person to be splattered. Again. Which is why Im staying here until we wrap this all up. Or until the world ends in two days. One of the two. Latham looked at Lowe, who had gone entirely pale, dropping his fork onto his untouched salad. What is it? The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. But Lowe had long ago stopped listening. White Knight. With just those two words, Latham had transported him back to just over a year ago. To a conversation where, after some of the revelations of the last couple of days had started to make a whole lot more sense. *** The chessboard was older than Lowe. Possibly older than Soar itself, if you believed Cenorth. The Commander said it had been his for decades, the edges of the wooden squares softened from years of use, and the pieces smooth as river stones from their constant handling. Although Cenrorth was pretty good at it, Lowe suspected his friend tended to use the game less for developing his skill levels and more about developing patience. Lowes, mostly. The Commander sat across from him, posture impossibly relaxed. Especially considering all that was going on in the rest of Cuckoo House. A major operation to capture the Black Knight was in play - an entire park was being, subtly, ringfenced - and the boss and his Golden Boy, the man with the plan, werent doing anything more than playing chess! Lowe knew it must look ridiculous, but right now, he didnt care. He needed help to focus, and Cenorths proposed game was just what was required. The game was only a few moves old, and despite Lowes attempt to dictate the tempo, Cenorths knight-heavy defence already meant he was feeling the pressure. After a moments thought, he brought out his own queens knight to try and push an attack on Cenorths developing central structure. Youre playing aggressive today, boss, he said. Cenorth responded instantly, sliding his knight to meet the attack head-on. As Ive always told you, Jana, aggression isnt always a bad thing. In certain circumstances, especially when the heat is on, it might be the only real option open to you. Of course, though, its a question of whether youve accounted for the consequences. Lowe tried to block out the chatter. Cenorth always talked like this when they played. Like he was discussing the game and not discussing it at the same time. It was the same with the case, he supposed. The Black Knight had taken Highbergs child, and it was time to be aggressive in response. They had a plan. His plan. And that plan should work. The plan had to work. And yet, rather than helping with the final preparations, here they were, playing chess. Lowe pushed a pawn to attack one of the knights. Cenorth barely paused before lifting it and tucking it safely back in cover, preserving the shape of his defence. You dont like knights, do you? Cenorth said. You seem to spend an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to push them back. Time you could spend actually getting on with things and building your own attack. Lowe reached for a piece, then stopped, realising too late that moving his bishop would be a mistake. He hesitated, wishing he could redo that action. Seeing his frustration, Cenorth shook his head. This is your constant problem, Jana! What do I always say? Indecision will cost you the game faster than aggression ever will. Lowe grimaced, and then moved the bishop anyway, trying to pin Cenorths knight against his queen. Cenorth, unimpressed, immediately moved it to the side. Lowe forced the exchange with his queen, but his attack was poorly planned, and the turn he had to waste repositioning was going to cost him. Which was when Cenorths knights started to dance. He swung the one from left to right to guard his centre. Then, after Lowe castled kingside, he moved the other knight forward to take a central spot Lowe had carelessly given away. Lowe tried to push him back, but Cenorth responded more aggressively than Lowe thought hed ever seen him, and after a series of trades, Lowe realisedtoo latehe had no answer for what was coming. One of his knights attacked Lowes kings position. Lowe, rattled, tried to kick it, but Cenorth simply shifted his other knight, covering everything he might have planned. Lowe pushed another pawn forward, trying to hold back the tide, but it was obvious the game was pretty much over Knights are at their best when working together, Jana, he said, something odd in his tone that, even back then, had seemed strange. A knight alone is a nuisance. A useful nuisance, for sure, but nothing more than that. But two knights, working together? Well, theyll take your board apart before you even realise whats happening. Lowe frowned. That was a little too close to the thing that had been gnawing at him all evening. He barely registered the next move as Cenorth''s knight came forward for check. Lowe moved his king out of danger, but the board was collapsing around him. Cenorth repositioned his remaining knight to prepare for the coup de grace. You see, youre spending much too long thinking about the immediate threats, he continued. Which is admirable. It means you care. But if you care too much, you will end up missing the bigger picture. The key to this game - to life, really - is in knowing that pawns exist to be sacrificed. Thats the only reason theyre on the board in the first place. Lowe looked down and realisedtoo latehow much trouble he was in. He shuffled his rook into a blocking position, but Cenorths pieces were already where they needed to be. Lowe saw the mate incoming a second before it hit. His king was boxed in, the exit squares eaten by his own pawns. The knights movements had looked superficially scatteredbut together, they had cut off every route to safety, shifting one step ahead of his defence each time. There was no escape. Lowe reached forward and tipped his king onto its side. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Cenorth reached forward to pick up Lowes white knight and turned it between his fingers as if examining its shape. I assume this is the part where you tell me what I shouldve done differently, Lowe said. Oh, I wouldnt want to patronise you, Jana. Youve played the whole thing exactly how I thought you would. The only way in which you know how. Cenorth gestured to the toppled king. You like playing the white pieces, dont you? Most people do. Most people do, indeed, Cenorth echoed. Because white moves first. Because white acts, and then black has to react. Because, in the stories, the white knight is the hero, and the black knight is the villain, right? His fingers continued to brush over the knight, and then he tapped it against the board. But in chess, and in life, white doesnt always win. Certainly not if you play like me, no! Lowe said, trying to raise a mood that seemed to have become a bit dark. Cenorth moved the knight back to its starting position. I need to ask you something, Jana. If you were playing a game, and the board was full of Black Knights what would you do? Well, thats kind of how it feels right now, boss, to be honest. Lowe pushed away from the table and stood. Look, if you dont mind, I should run over a few last details for this operation with the boys. You are not excused. Tell me, what would you do if you came across a whole board of Black Knights? Lowe frowned, unsure where this was going. Id try to take them off the board, I guess. Mind you, one of them is bad enough. No idea how Id deal with an army of them. Cenorth shook his head, face oddly sombre. "It would, ironically, be easier than just taking on one of them. An army of Black Knights would be chaos. You see, knights - those of both colours - are rather unpredictable. It turns out they are hard to contain. Dangerous, even to the ones who put them in play in the first place." Lowe wasn''t sure where this was going and said so much. "Whats your point, boss? Look, I should be getting back to my team. We can pick this up after weve got the bastard. Drinks on me!" He expected Cenorth to stand, but he didnt. "Im just saying, Jana, that sometimes, the very worst way to take on black knights is by being a white knight. He stared up at Lowe. There are other options available. If you want to take advantage of them." Lowes mind was already on Goldleaf Park. On the operation that was about to take place. Right. Well, I appreciate the pep talk, boss, but I think Ill stick to doing things my way. I think youll find all of this will be over and done with coming the night. Cenorth studied him for a moment. Lowe sensed hed let him down in some way. Of course, Jana. Dont let me hold you up any further. After all, as you said, you always play white. Lowe had left the game thinking he''d just been schooled in chess. But looking back now, knowing some of the things Cenorth had been up to, he realised he was wrong. White Knight. Cenorth hadnt just been idly chatting chess when hed called him that. Hed said it as if it meant something. As if it meant something specific to him. And then, not two bells after this conversation, Lowes team was dead, theyd found the body of Highbergs kid, and he was on his way to be Classtrated. Knights are unpredictable. Hard to contain. Dangerous, even to the ones who put them in play. Cenorth hadnt been speaking metaphorically, had he? He had a very particular Black Knight in mind! He had known. That fucker had known who the Black Knight was and hed been feeling Lowe out during this chess game, trying to offer him some sort of alliance. Not out of trust. Not even out of necessity. But out of sheer, cold-blooded calculus. Because, apparently Cenorth had read the runes and decided that the clash between Lowe and the Black Knight was a variable he couldnt predict. Had the boss betrayed the Goldleaf Park operation? Of course he had! That was what hed been doing all along, wasnt it? Not helping with the pursuit. Not trying to support Lowe in bringing the Black Knight down. He''d been fucking directing the killers work. Cenorth had sold them out that day, but not before hed made some sort of strange, cack-handed attempt to recruit Lowe to his side. One hed not even realised was being made. If hed known what was being hinted to him back then . . . If hed recognised that the boss hed looked up to was something very different, would all of his friends still be alive? Latham, mid-bite, frowned. Whats with the face, little man? You look like youve just realised your life is a tragic joke. Not quite. But I think I think Im finally realising what game I was playing. Chapter 130 - A File Full of Fuckery Fuck off, Lowe. Just fuck off. If you think Im going to put my whole fucking face in the middle of this fucking clusterfuck, youve gone completely out of your fucking mind. "Do you even fucking hear yourself? Youre standing in my fucking office, with your fucking scruffy-ass face, asking meme, of all fucking peopleto go down to Restricted Records to dig up Cenorths fucking HR file like Im some fucking intern looking to get a gold fucking star in treason. Like I dont know exactly how that particular fucking suicide mission is going to end up. Like I dont have enough actual fucking problems to deal with in this city, without your dumb fucking theories adding another to the pile. "No, dont you dare try to interrupt me, you fucking wanker.. I run Cuckoo House. I deal with shit on a level you cant even fucking comprehend. I have Priests knocking down my fucking door all hours of the day, the fucking Council breathing down my neck, and enough fucking paperwork to build a fucking bonfire out of all the reasons I shouldve stayed retired. And now youwho is, lets be real, only marginally fucking competent on a good dayare standing here asking me to personally sign my own fucking death warrant just so you can satisfy your fucking curiosity? "No. Fuck that. Fuck you. And fuck whatever fucked-up little paranoid delusion is rattling around in that fucking dented skull of yours. "Because let me tell you something about Cenorths fucking file. Its not a file, Lowe. Its a fucking black hole. Its a fucking abyss with a department number stamped on the front. Its a fuck-you written in official ink, tied up in so many redacted fucking layers youd need a fucking war crime tribunal just to get a glimpse of his actual record. "And you think Im gonna be the dumb fuck who goes in there, typing my nice little fucking clearance codes, knocking politely on the fucking Restricted Records door? You think Im going to be the one who triggers every fucking alarm from here to whatever backroom cabal actually pulls this citys strings? No, Lowe. No fucking way. Because I like my fucking job. And more importantly, I fucking like not getting fucking disappeared into a ditch. "So let me spell it out, real slow, using small fucking words. I Am. Not. Fucking. Doing. This. You want to die? Fine. Go do it on your own fucking time. But you dont fucking drag me down with you, you absolute fucking lunatic. "And if you have any fucking brain cells left, youll let this entire fucking thing go. Because if the people who kept Cenorths leash even suspect youre sniffing around again? There wont even be a fucking body left for me to identify. *** Lowe dropped the file down on his kitchen table. She gave it to you? Rook said. Happily? I wouldnt say happily, Lowe replied. But the thing you have to remember with the Pernille Staffen is . . . Her barks worse than her bite? Mylaf finished. Oh my word, no. Her bite is a million times worse than her bark. Lowe said. She has more registered kills than any Guardian of the Wall in Soar history. One of the medals she has on the wall is for slaying a Kraken, and I dont believe they give those out just because you saw off a particularly inquisitive octopus. No, what I was going to say is that if theres one thing she hates worse than, well, me, its the idea that someone in Cuckoo House was dirty. And shes that pissed off at a dead ex-Commander for being on the take that shes willing to risk pulling down all sorts of shit on her head? Latham said, and then whistled. Actually, tell you what, how about we trade her in for you? If we have to have someone from the Security Services on our team, the certifiable badass legend with an incredible sense of duty trumps . . . well, the guy who wont be much use in a scrap, but will probably still be alive once the rest of us are wiped. Actually, do you know what? All things being equal, Im thinking you being around is actually pretty made for morale. Like youre the spectre at the feast, but youre the one who actually does the catering. Hang on, how is he higher on the being useful to team morale pecking order than me? Lowe said, pointing at Rook. Hes already dead! Actually, technically Im not. Just very, very close. And, well, I have the whole supernatural speed and strength thing going for me. Did you miss the part of the story when I put down a whole Shimmerskin squad on my own? I mean, that probably gets me all sorts of brownie points, no? Oh, and didnt one of them kill you kind of by accident? I mean, Im not one for blowing my own trumpet here but, when push comes to shove, Im probably not the one of us getting picked last in P.E here, mate. Fuck you very much, Rook. But you can stay. Surely, though, and no offence here Mylaf, but Ive got to be more crucial to operations than she is. Whos she? The cats mother? Mylaf said. And, sir, need I remind you that one of us has the ability to produce Legendary quality consumables which might be the be all and end all between living and dying and the other one . . . Im sorry, sir, Ive never quite been clear what it is you actually do. I mean, know I clean a lot of blood out of your shirts. Is it posssible you are some sort of, I dont know, jousting dummy? Et tu, Mylaf? Youre a bad influence, Lowe said to Latham, and then split up Cenorths file and threw equal parts to the giggling figures around him. How about we all agree that each and every one of us is absolutely critical for the success of this operation and that any comparisons as to our differing talents are odious and unnecessary. Yes, why dont we do that? Latham said, flicking through the file. By the gods, a lot of this shit is redacted! Indeed, Mylaf said, dropping another round of a drink she was calling Rapid Reader on the table between them. She said it would make them take on board written information at three times normal speed. Considering the size of Cenorths file, Lowe suspected they might well need it if they wanted to gather anything useful before the end of the world. I would have thought something this difficult to get hold of might have been the unvarnished truth. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Both Rook and Lowe laughed at that. Theres no such thing as unvarnished truth as far as Cuckoo House is concerned, Lowe said. I doubt even Arkola has the clearance to see an unredacted file, Rook said. That gave Lowe a moments pause. Although hed shared the general details about the memory hed seen courtesy of Grackle Nuroon, and the gist of his meeting with Arkola, he hadnt told his friends everything. Especially about there being ways to keep things entirely beyond the reach of the First Floor. Some things were just too freaky to be widely known. Sorry, remind me what Im looking for here, Mylaf said. On the few pages that actually have anything I can read on them. Were working on the theory that Cenorth was either working alongside or, more likely, directing the actions of the Black Knight, Lowe said. Based on a conversation over a game of chess, Rook said neutrally. He raised his hands as Lowe shot him a look. Hey, Im not saying its the worst theory in the world. Its just, speaking as a guy who got his heart blown out, Id like a little more certainty around me blaming the boss for that happening. You werent the only one who respected him Lowe shrugged. If I had anything else, Id run with it. But we are where we are. Now, as the boss had a shittier work/life balance than me, were exploring the idea that, if he was working with the Black Knight, he must have come across him via work. Considering we now know that the Black Knight was dropping off confidential packages to the Mayor six years ago, anything unusual Cenorth got up to around that time has to be worth exploring. He was the Commander of Cuckoo House. Something unusual isnt needle in a haystack territory. Its looking for a needle in a needlestack. And a needlestack that has been heavily redacted at that. Fuck this is some weak sauce. Latham said. Well, if you have any better ideas, Im happy to hear them, Lowe said. But as far as I can see, weve got a little under two days to locate Arkolas missing statue and the only way were going to do that is if we find the Black Knight. Not strictly true, little man. We can always go out there and pluck ourselves another Shimmerskin off the street and ask him some questions. The guy who popped you in the head is still out there, isnt he? Maybe hell know more about why his OOB squad is active in downtown Soar. Because thats the bit I cant figure. Theyre not working for the Mayor. And I doubt theyre for the Warden, either. And I dont think, considering their - you know - casual slaughter, theyre on the Black Knights payroll either. Someone put them in the bank either because they thought the Black Knight was going to make a move on the Vault and wanted the security - but how would they know that? - or they were after what the Mayor hid away and the Black Knight swooped in and took over. But either way, that doesnt change the key question: whos paying them? Good question. But well call standing out there with a big sign saying come get me Plan B. But considering those guys are also looking for the Black Knight, my shout is that we leave them to it right now. If this reading session gets us nowhere then I guess finding them and hoping theyve already caught him isnt a terrible secondary option, Lowe said. They read in silence for a while. The only sound was the rustling of paper and the occasional slurps of Rapid Reader. You know, Rook said eventually, flipping a page, if he hadnt turned out to be, you know, a complete shitstain, some of the stuff Cenorth pulled off during his career was actually pretty impressive. And this is only the stuff not redacted. Tell me about it. Its why I was so fucking psyched to finally get moved to his team. I idolised the stories about him. Rook let out a low whistle. Look at thisseven-year undercover infiltration of the Shadow Market. He managed to get himself appointed as one of the fucking arbiters of their internal disputes, and when he finally burned the whole operation to the ground, they had no idea it was him. The report says it took them months to even work out how they got dismantled, let alone who did it. Lowe nodded. That was the boss. Play every side until youre the one pulling the strings. I remember hearing about that opback then, they said it was some internal collapse. No one ever said a thing about it being us. Mylaf, skimming through another section, gave a short laugh. My wordlook at this one! Six-man assault team tries to take him out while hes - sorry is the term deep cover - in Redhaven. They believed they had him cornered in a warehouse. The report says there was nowhere to run. No way to call for help. She flicked the page. Next note? They found him walking out an hour later, covered in their blood, missing a pinky finger, and somehow managing to be the only witness to the whole thing. No bodies left. No proof. No nothing. Just your man Cenorth, casually submitting his exit paperwork like he hadnt just committed six perfect murders. Rook shook his head. Fuck me. No wonder the brass let him do whatever he wanted. They had to, Lowe said. He was too useful. If you needed something done quietly, you sent him in. If you needed something done loudlywell, you still sent him, because by the time the bodies hit the floor, hed have an ironclad reason why it was all perfectly justified. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. I spent years wanting to be him. Wanting to be picked by him. And when I finally was? It felt like Id made it. And now? Now I realise the only reason I ever made the cut is because I was useful to him. To be fair, he does seem pretty keen on you, sir. I doubt he could have recommended you more times for Commendations if hed tried, Mylaf, said scanning another page. Lowe shot her a look, but Mylaf wasnt paying attention. She turned a page, frowned, then turned it back again as if double-checking something. Hmmm, she said. What? Rook said. Just something strange, is all. Mylaf tapped the paper. Did you know that, under him, Cuckoo House didnt recruit any new operatives for years? Then all of a sudden, Cenorth pulled in five new recruits in no time at all. Lowes spine straightened slightly. Come again? This section, its a record of his personal notes on any and all applications made for transfer to his team. Year after year, he just writes the same sort of thing: not suitable. Insufficient aptitude. No potential. Then, suddenly, in one single year, theres five names hes marked as goers. And after those five are moved to his team? Were back to nothing again. Goers? Latham said. What do you mean? Mylaf turned the page around and held it out. See for yourself. He draws little horses next to them. Lowe took the paper, expecting well, he didnt know what he was expecting. But it wasnt this. Rook leaned over his shoulder. Horses? His brow furrowed. Wait. Fuck! Those arent horses. Lowe realised it the exact same moment Rook did. His mouth went dry. Theyre knights, Rook breathed. Black Knights. Lowe barely heard him. His eyes had locked instead onto the names beneath the scribbled drawings. Names he knew. Names that had shaped his life. Names that had fought beside him. Bled beside him. Died beside him. Arman Coda Rook Faulks and Lowe. Chapter 131 - The Third Name So, let me get this straight. Were saying that Cenorth recruited the five of us because he thought one of us had the potential to be what, his asset? Like an undercover agent inside Cuckoo House? Someone who, sure, did the day job, saluted the flag, served the fucking organisation, but was also, in secret, working for him? Lowe said nothing. Rooks voice sharpened. Thats what were saying, yeah? Because if thats true, do you realise what that fucking means? Thats not some ordinary level of fucked up. Thats not oh, the boss played favourites. Thats deep, systemic, treasonous manipulation. Oh, and it got us all - well not all, not you! - but the rest of us, fucking killed Lowe still didnt say anything. I mean, its not like handlers dont recruit people inside the Security Services all the time, but not from inside the fucking recruitment process! No one, who isnt up to no fucking good, tries to build his own fucking agents inside Cuckoo House! Thats not how these things are supposed to work! You recruit an asset from the outside. Someone already compromised. Someone already in trouble. Someone with a reason to turn against the system. You dont groom them from the fucking start! And why us five? What about us five made it seem like wed be up for it! Latham opened his mouth to speak, but Lowe but a hand on his arm. He was watching Rook. Trying to see what Cenorth might have seen in him. Back then. Trying to see if this . . . anger at the idea of him being crooked was real or manufactured. I mean, do you know how long it takes to properly flip someone? How careful you have to be? How many fucking hours you have to spend understanding who they are before you can so much as hint that there might be a second job for them? And he justwhat? Looked at a bunch of fresh recruits and picked five of us at random? Rook gestured wildly at the file. What, did he just assume one of us would turn? That wed become his Black Knight? Or was it a game to him? Throw five people into the meat grinder and see who comes out loyal to him? Lowe stared at the file, the old drawing marking them each as potential goers. The little knights. Black Knights. But fuck me, Jana. This wasnt some quick off-the-books side hustle. If were right, this was years. Years of playing the long game. Years of him shaping one of us. Trying to see which one of us would be his. Rooks voice dropped lower, more dangerous. And none of the rest of us even knew it was happening. Latham looked between them. Look, I get that this is shitty, but Im not really sure how much it helps us right now. Lowe and Rook both turned to him, but Latham wasnt done. He waved a hand at the file, exasperated. Cenorth is dead. The op to catch the Black Knight went up in flames. And all five names on that list? He tapped the paper. Dead. Sure, youre a fucking cockroach and bounced back. And you he waved at Rook, have your own weird shit going on. But lets be real here. You all died. You were all killed. Mylaf frowned. But two of them are still here. Yeah, Latham said, And assuming neither of you are involved in some ridiculously convoluted game of tinker, tailor, soldier, serial killer, then - sure - the chances are one of your dead mates was the Black Knight. Until, of course, Cenorth decided to kill them and set Lowe up for a Classtration. But that still doesnt answer who sent the two of you the file. And who robbed the bank, stole Arkolas fucking statue and wiped a bunch of Shimmerskins! There was a beat. Then Three, Rook said. Latham blinked. What? Three, Rook repeated, quieter this time. Theres still three of us still kicking around. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! *** "I''m not going to lie, this is playing a bit fast and loose with the words kicking around," Lowe said, staring at the thing in the bed. The room smelled of mana potions and something rancid, something that clung to the air like old sweat and burnt hair. Expensive mana potions, at leastKalhorgan the Never Merciful General Hospital wasnt the kind of facility you ended up in by accident. If you were brought here, it was because someone had paid a lot of money to make sure you didnt die, whether you wanted to or not. And Coda? It turned out Coda had not died. But he wasnt exactly living, either. Lowe stared at the ruin of a man in the bed, and found himself grasping for somethinganythingelse to think about. I know his wife never liked him being in the Service, he said quietly. He couldnt remember her name, not for the life of him right now, but he could picture her. Short, dark hair, sharp eyes, always watching him when he came around. She hadnt been rude, exactly. Just wary. Like she thought he was some bad influence dragging her husband deeper into something he had no business being part of. And maybe shed been right. She was always on at him to get a transfer, Lowe continued. Some desk job. Something that didnt put him in the firing line. I figured she must have arranged to have him buried somewhere else. Hed thought it at the time, in passing, in the way you think about things that dont really matter because there are bigger, bloodier concerns occupying your mind. But now? Now he felt like a fucking idiot. Hed stood at the graves of Arman and Faulks, watched as the dirt swallowed what was left of them, and never once questioned why Coda wasnt there too. It had been a bad time. The worst of times. Hed been stitched up, beaten down, trying to claw his way out of the meat grinder that had followed the massacre at Goldleaf Park. And then had come his Classtration. There hadnt been room for sentiment. So hed just accepted what he was told. Never asked. Never wondered what had become of him. And now, standing here, staring at what was left of his teammate, he felt the guilt wash over him again. Because whether or not hed realised itwhether or not anyone hadCoda had never left the battlefield. And Lowe had never even fucking noticed. Your team is dead. The Black Knight killed them all. No one had lied to him. But no one had told him the whole truth, either. And now, standing at the foot of Codas bed, he understood why. Because there was a difference between surviving and surviving. Hey, what can I say? Rook said. Not all of us can tank a devastating, fatal injury and come bouncing back. Lowe barely heard him. He was still looking at what remained of Coda. The sheets were pristine, white, barely disturbed. A stark contrast to the thing lying in them. Coda had been melted. His body was a ruin of scar tissue and fused muscle where flesh had triedand ultimately failedto heal in anything resembling the right shape. His face, what was left of it, was a mess of smooth, waxy skin, stretched taut over half a skull, the other side hardened into something that barely looked . . . well, human. One eye was gone, the socket sealed over like cooling wax, while the remaining one twitched slightly under the closed lid, as though trapped in a dream it couldnt escape. His arms were wrong. The left one had been amputated below the elbow, but the right . . . the right had fused at the joints, the fingers curled into something that barely resembled a hand anymore. If it had ever worked, it certainly didnt now. The only movement came from his chest, the slow rise and fall of the mana-operated ventilator. The quiet hiss of alchemical tubes feeding him something that wasnt quite air. But for what? For this? How the fuck is he still alive? Rook tilted his head, eyes flicking over the room, the softly glowing sigils carved into the medical frame, the glow of enchanted fluids running through translucent tubing. Best guess? Rook said. Someone paid a shitload of money to keep him that way. Why? No answer. Just the unnatural hum of preservation wards stitched into the walls. Just the steady rhythm of a man who should have died, who had died, at least in every way that mattered. If he concentrated, Lowe could see the faint threads of residual mana binding Codas body together, cradling his ruined flesh in an intricate weave of suspended animation. Not healing. Not repairing. Just holding him. Like something that should have let go a long time ago but refused. A half-life, strung together with runes and refusal. I should have known. His voice came out rougher than he intended. I should have asked. Rook was quiet for a moment. Well, he said, youre asking now. Chapter 132 - Dead Men Tell No Tales (Usually) Back then, theyd been Cuckoo Houses best. Intelligence operatives, specialist investigators, black-baggers, and deep-cover agents. Between them, theyd had Skills to die for. Classes that were specifically calibrated to uncover misdeeds and do it with flair. Theyd been precision instruments honed for targeted application, and yet none of them had been able to figure out Coda was the Black Knight. So, it should have been harder than it was proving right now to unpick it all. That it wasnt, was just plain embarrassing. How fucking arrogant had they been back then? However, now they knew what they were looking for, it had been almost insultingly easy to piece things together. Lowe would have liked to think that something which had completely evaded the best minds in the Security Service might have taken more effort than a few hours of late-night spitballing from a Classtrated washout, a Temple Warder with something approaching an eating disorder, a Drudge, and an on-again-off-again zombie. But once the theory stopped being a theory - once they started working on the assumption that Cenorth had been looking for a successor in his off-the-books operations, and that Coda had clearly been the one he tagged - it was like the whole thing came loose. It was like a dam bursting. Lowe thought back to Codas throwaway comment about the rope. Something said eighteen odd month ago that had stuck in the back of Lowes mind, useless until now. But once he started really combing through Grid View, using the right lens, the slips were everywhere. It was humiliating, really. Coda had made a stupid number of such mistakes for someone in their unit - with all their wonderful Skills - not to have picked up on. As he came upon the . . . well, not clues. Massive flashing red flags with its me! written on them, Lowe marked each down in his notebook, his stomach sinking further with every example. By the tenth instance of Coda demonstrating knowledge of something he shouldnt have known, Latham hissed between his teeth. Fucking hell, little man. He was basically confessing. Was this guy an idiot? Or was he mocking you? Lowe and Rook exchanged a glance. Because they were both thinking the same thing. Coda had been one of them. After all, theyd worked together for years. He might not have been the best of them, but he had been solid. Dependable. Funny. He might never have been the units shining star - that was Lowes role, after all - but if you got partnered with him, you knew it was going to be a good job. A safe job. Working with Coda was far better than being saddled with Arman, bitching endlessly about procedure. Or Faulks, twitching from blitz stick withdrawal, ready to storm a room three steps ahead of the plan. Hed been a decent guy. Not too quick. Not too slow. But the one you could rely on never to drop a ball. And, after everything, Coda was the fucking Black Knight? Coda had gotten his hands on something of Arkolas and delivered it to the Mayor. Coda had been murdering the great and the good of Soar? It didnt make sense. But then, after a few messages to and from Staffenmessages that mostly involved her screaming in FUCKING capital lettersit turned out Codas bank account was far, far, far too healthy. Which is why his melted semi-corpse was able to be residing comfortably in Kalhorgan the Never Merciful General Lowe had stared at the numbers Staffen had quoted. I thought you looked into this, he said, as he turned to Rook. Back then? I have a distinct memory of giving you the order to look into all of us. I did, Rook said. But according to this, all the gold is in his wifes name. And that was enough to baffle you? Dont break my balls over this, Jana. I didnt really think it was any of us. Neither did you. I looked but, to tell the truth, I didnt look that hard. Fuck. Fuck, Rook agreed. And now, here they were. Standing at the bedside of a man who, as far as they could tell, had spectacularly betrayed them all. Lowe looked down at what remained of Coda. He had seen bodies burned, shredded, torn apart. But thisthis was something else. This was a man caught halfway between survival and whatever came after. I dont know about you, Rook said, but I dont see this guy blowing his way into the Vault and massacring a bunch of Shimmerskins. Unless hes much more spry than he looks. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. No. And, after what happened to him in Goldleaf Park, I doubt he was the one who killed the Highberg child, either. So were putting that on Cenorth? Probably, Lowe said. Who is also dead. Who is. So who sent us the files? No idea. But I bet Codas got all sorts of tales to tell that will probably help us work that out. There was a pause. Let me guess. You want me to Threshold Guardian this up? Rook said. Well, weve gotten this far, Lowe said, but were fucking nowhere, are we? He gestured at Codas broken form in the bed. Im coming round to the realisation that Coda might have been the Black Knight once upon a time, but hes sure as fuck not it right now. And sure, maybe Cenorth was pulling his strings back then, but its clearly not the boss calling the shots now. Im all for people coming back from the dead but, believe me, once Hels sisters had finished with him, there definitely wasnt enough left behind for an encore. Lowe looked around the rooms spacious interior and out its window, where the Celestial Temple dominated the skyline. Was Arkola watching even now? Look Rook, weve got just over a day and a half before Arkola pulls the plug on Soar, and were no fucking closer to finding his statue. I dont know about you, but personally, Id love to avoid being in the city when an Eldritch god-king has a temper tantrum because his favourite toy hasnt been returned to him. He stopped, hands on his hips, staring down at the ruined man before them. So, Lowe said, voice dropping into something cold. Because Im all about a redemption arc, heres your chanceThreshold Guardianto make up for being thwarted by the equivalent of no ill-gotten money in this hand, my good sir. Why dont you use your newly acquired Class to find out exactly what this fucker might still know. Because Coda might not be able to talk. But that didnt mean he had nothing to say. *** Rook reached out, placing his fingertips lightly against Codas ruined temple, the waxy, melted skin barely warm under his touch. His other hand braced against the bed frame, fingers curling like he was already pulling something from the air. Then the mana began to flow between them. It came in slow at firsta shimmer around his shoulders, a barely perceptible tremor in the air. Then it built. Lowe could feel it from where he stood in the doorway. A crushing pressure in his skull. A strange, oppressive squeezing that sent a shiver down his spine. Gods know how Rook might be feeling when he did this. The air bent towards his friend like something unseen was being siphoned through him, pooling at the point where his hand met Codas flesh. Then the room dropped in temperature. Not a slow creep of a chill, but an immediate, violent snaplike stepping out into a snowstorm after leaving a furnace. Lowe watched Rook grit his teeth, eyes narrowing as his body jerked and bucked against some unseen resistance. Hed explained that the mana draw in accessing Codas mind would be massive. Certainly far more than Lowe could have channelled himself. The sigils on Codas medical frame blew out, their careful balancing of his suspended existence interfered with by whatever Rook was doing. A hum filled the air and the smell of burned mana curled at the back of Lowes throat. Even the lights dimmed, just slightly, but enough to notice as the Level 50 Threshold Guardian took charge of the mans . . . soul? Was that what Rook did when he used this Skill? Lowe wasnt clear. He really did need to find out more about his friends Class. But that was for another time, Lowe thought, turning away and looking up and down the corridor outside the room.. He was keeping watch because neither of them thought that the Nurses were going to be wild about them fiddling with such a well paying patient. He needed to be watching the hall to give Rook a heads up to . . . well, get out of Codas head. Lowe leaned against the doorframe, absently watching the corridor beyond. Another expensive room in an expensive building full of expensive people. Hed been spending a lot of his time around wealth lately. The kind that could bury secrets deep enough that most people would never think to dig. Outside, the crowds around the hospital moved with an effortless rhythm. White-coated staff walked briskly between rooms, their uniforms crisp and newly pressed. Carts rattled by, stacked with neatly arranged alchemical vials and glowing diagnostic tools that most public-sector clinics would kill to get their hands on. Money couldnt buy you happiness, maybe. But it could certainly buy you a better class of healthcare. Which, Lowe thought, was probably much the same thing. Down the far end of the hall, someone was arguing over a dosage of something or other, their voice hushed but heated. Near Lowe, a doctor, expensive coat unbuttoned, leaned against the wall, rubbing at his temples. Lowe didnt have to hear him to know exactly the complaint he was making - shifts too long. Pay too short. It was interesting that universal truth was the same, even in a place like this. People could always use more money. Codas bank account . . . Lowe banged his fist into the wall. Of all the names - of everyone who could have been the Black Knight! He still couldnt square it away. And yet, here they were. But if Coda had been the Black Knight, and Cenorth had been pulling his strings, who the fuck was running the show now they were both off the table? A nurse walked past him, pushing a cart. Lowe barely registered her. Then, maybe half a minute later, he saw her again. He frowned. Had she looped back? No, there she was moving in the same direction. She was still pushing a cart at the same pace, with the same sense of vacant determination about her body language. But she hadnt turned around. He turned his head, scanning down the corridor in the opposite direction. Another Nurse. Same uniform. Same cart. Same fucking face. Twins? Sure. Maybe. But Fucking Shimmerskin. Lowe turned back into the room, running straight to Rook, who was still locked in his deep-channel Skill, face tense. He grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. Wrap it up, Rook! Weve got company! Rooks fingers twitched against Codas skull, eyes unfocused like he was halfway between worlds. Which, Lowe thought, was a pretty damn accurate bit of description. Frustrated, Lowe crossed back across the room and looked back down the hallway. The nursethe second onewas almost at the door. And she didnt have a cart anymore. Just a fucking massive sword. And a slow, deliberate smile. Chapter 133 - Surprise, Bitch Lowe barely had time to shout a warning before the Nurse lunged for him. One moment, she was standing at the threshold, smiling and the next she was a blur of motion, her body expanding mid-step, shifting from lean medical professional to something bigger, broader and not at all someone hed be willing to accept a bedbath from. The fabric of her uniform stretched, then tore, splitting apart as she grew, her bones reconfiguring with a series of grinding pops. The sword in her hands was a massive slab of black metal which she moved far too fast for its size towards Lowes ribs in a sweeping horizontal slash. He barely dodged in time and his shoulder screamed as he twisted away, momentum carrying him backwards in a staggered roll across the polished floor. The blade slammed into the doorframe behind him, splinters flying as half the fucking doorway exploded away. The Shimmerskin didnt slow its attack. She - Lowe thought hed go for that right now. Finding the appropriate pronoun wasnt an absolute priority considering what was going on - moved like a wrecking ball, following the swing as her body was already shrinking back into a more compact form as she adjusted to close the distance. The counter-cut came immediately, this time aimed for his throat. Lowes legs collapsed from under him, saving him from a beheading as the sword whistled overhead, slicing clean through the wall beside him and into the table beyond. Alchemical fluids burst from the beakers on it, spilling across the floor in a mix of blues and greens. Lowe kicked out as he rolled, somehow managing to catch his attacker in the knee. It felt like kicking a fucking boulder and Roll with the Punches sprang into action to repair a bunch of snapped bones. And the Shimmerskin barely twitched. But her return strike was not a joy. It was a completely untelegraphed punch that caved in the tiles where his head had been a second earlier. Lowe twisted, barely keeping his footing as he skidded backwards over the spilt liquids from the previous attack, teeth gritted. Trust Coda to be in the only hospital without some sort of guard. She was fast. Too fast. And the level disparity between them was glaring. But then She hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. Her head tilted and her eyes flicked up and down, measuring him again. She could tell there was something . . . off about him. The Shimmerskin knew shed hit him. Could tell her blows had landed. Maybe not full force, but enough that a puny Level 26 should be a smear on the floor. But he wasnt. And she couldnt understand why. Surprise bitch, Lowe thought, almost giddy as she charged forward before his attacker could resume her attack. And that she wasnt expecting. Neither was she expecting him to be able to match her speed. And she especially wasnt expecting Slugger. The impact was like hed brought a whole battery of cannons to the party. The Shimmerskins body folded around his fist, ribs snapping, torso compressing like an accordion before she launched backwards down the corridor, slamming through a wall which caused the entire hospital to shake. Chunks of marble and wood exploded outward as she crashed into the next room, sending a rolling bed flying into the far wall. A patient insidea man wired up to half a dozen mana monitorsscreamed in terror before trying to flee in his gown. Lowe staggered, breathing hard, hands clenched. His knuckles hurt, even as Roll with the Punches repaired his hand. His entire arm felt like hed just tried to punch through Arkola itself. His HP had dropped significantly, but it was already climbing again, as he pushed even more mana into Roll with the Punches, to restore the damage at a ridiculous pace. The Shackled Grasp hummed with Pressure against his chest, invisible chains tightening around his bones, collecting the damage hed already taken. He used some of it to refill his rapidly vanishing mana, but stored the rest. He figured he was going to need it. Which was lucky, because the Shimmerskin was already coming back for more. And he didnt think shed be underestimating the poor little Level 26 anymore. The attackers form shifted, bones knitting, her frame adapting as she straightened. Much taller this time. Latham tall and broad. More mass packed onto her shoulders, skin rippling as she adjusted her core to compensate for the damage. The dented side of her ribs popped outward and reforming as she exhaled. Then she grinned again. The hallway blurred as she attacked. She expanded mid-motion, surging forward with impossible momentum, sword flashing this way and that. Lowe barely sidestepped in time, and the blade ripped through the wall behind him like paper, severing leylines in a shower of mana. Lowe fell back. Dodged a second strike. Then a third. Feinted leftducked a rising kneestepped inside her guard and . . . A palm caught him mid-dodge. The force was like being hit by a speeding carriage. It wasnt quite as hard as when Drefleck had hit him. But neither was it a loving kiss from Arebella before bedtime. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Lowe flew. His back caved into the far wall, air ripped from his lungs as the impact cracked the stone panels behind him. He hit the floor with a bone-jarring thud and his vision momentarily whited out. His HP plummeted. Then surged back up as Roll with the Punches kicked in. No Blood of the Phoenix today. At least, not yet. He spat blood onto the polished tiles. Okay. That one fucking hurt. The Shimmerskin was already walking toward him, sword dragging against the floor, the metal screaming against tile. She was moving mockingly slowly. She thought she had him. She didnt have shit. The Shackled Grasp coiled tighter around him, the invisible chains aching now, Pressure mounting with every second. The damage hed takenevery single bit of itwas sitting there, waiting. Banked. Waiting to be spent. Lowe grinned, spitting more blood onto the pristine floor. Lets see how you fucking like it. And all at once, Retaliation Strike was unleashed His entire body whipped forward as the chains blasted from him, a raw shockwave of force rolling outward from his core as a single devastating explosion right between the Shimmerskins eyes. The damage hit all at once, overwhelming whatever defensive measures the assassin had. She crumpled, face imploding from the accumulated Pressure of their fight. Bone fractured, skin ripped and her entire head collapsed inward with a meaty crunch. She didnt fly anywhere this time. She just broke. The light flickered in her eyes. The shifting of her form faltered and then failed. The Nurse sagged forward, mouth slightly open, the edges of her body losing all sense of cohesion. And then Her body settled. And the corpse which fell at Lowes feet wasnt a nurse anymore. It wasnt anything recognisable. Just yet another non-descript man, faceless in every possible way. Rook was standing in the doorway. I take my eyes off you for five minutes . . . *** I mean, Im not against any of my Investigators kicking arse and taking names, Staffen said as she watched the remains of the Shimmerskin get bagged up and carted away for Lant to poke and prod at. I think my record is fucking clear on that. Lowe made a vague noise of agreement. But its a bit of a fucking headspin, she continued, turning to look at him, that you, Jana Oh-I-have-No-Class-Im-Ever-So-Fragile Lowe, apparently have the moxy to take down a Level 50 assassin. I mean, bore the fucker to death with all your ever-so-clever banter, sure. But beat the bastard to death with your bare hands? She whistled low. Nah. Thats a bit of a surprise. You wound me, Commander. Truly. Oh, I doubt that, she said. Seeing as it appears youre completely invincible now. Lets not get carried away. No, lets, she countered, stepping closer. Lets get carried away, Lowe. Lets really dig into how my Classtrated, de-statted, barely-qualifies-as-a-threat Inspector just went twelve rounds with a fucking apex predator and walked away not looking like freshly processed burger meat. And Ill throw in a few idle worries I have about how every mental Skill I throw at you is bouncing off like youre made of fucking rubber. Lets talk about that, shall we? Well, Lowe said. Now thats just natural talent. Fuck off, wanker! Pretty rude, boss. Especially as Ive just been quite the hero of the hour. Lowe! Staffen? I swear to all the fucking gods, if you make me start waterboarding you for your own fucking benefit, I will do it with a smile. Which sounds deeply unethical, boss. Sounds deeply fucking likely, at this rate. She turned and put her fist through the wall. This appeared to calm her down plenty. So? Come on, then. What little secret weapon are you sitting on? Some dodgy artefact? A cursed blessing? Have you been getting freaky with powers beyond our ken? Again? To be fair, boss, whats just happened here was barely my fault. All I can say is that He gestured vaguely at the mess of the corridor. sometimes, the wrong man in the right place can make all the difference. You are such a fucking prick! And yet, Lowe said, you continue to employ me. Only because the paperwork to get rid of you is even more annoying than dealing with you directly. And here was me thinking it was love. Fuck off, and with that, she stomped off towards Lant and his team muttering under her breath. Lowe watched her go, exhaling slowly. You should have told her, Rook said. What about? Fucking hell, Lowe. About everything! Cenorth and Coda. Arkolas missing statue. The fucking deadline until the end of Soar! Lowe shook his head. No. Not yet. Why not? Lowe glanced into the room where Coda still lay, the chest of his ruined body rising and falling in slow rhythm. The sight didnt get easier the longer he looked at it. Lets just say Im having all sorts of trust issues right about now, he said. Ill tell her when I actually have something to report. And, you never know, if things dont work out, I might not even have to do that. He turned back to Rook. You know, if everything goes boom. Speaking of which, did you manage to Threshold Guardian anything up from Coda? Maybe. Thats a shit answer. Yeah, well, Ive got a shit headache, Rook said. But before we get into all that, can you do something about all the fucking level-up blinking youve got going on? Its giving me an aneurysm just looking at you. Lowe sighed. Ah. Yeah. There it was. That constant, nagging flicker at the edges of his vision, a low, rhythmic pulsing, like a heartbeat he couldnt ignore. Quickly glancing at some of the wording in the notifications hed received as the Shimmerskin died, he suspected this wasnt going to be one of his more straightforward level-ups. Chapter 134 - Every Piece in Its Place Before we begin, let me make one thing clearthis is not my preferred method of communication. All things being equal, I would have spoken more freely when you visited me earlier. I would have said exactly what needed saying, exactly how it needed to be said. But right now? Things are not equal. Not even close. Nevertheless, those listening will have been left in no uncertainty as to the seriousness of my message. If things play out how I would now expect, I would anticipate the return of what was taken very shortly. Those who took it may seek to replace me, but they will not countenance the destruction of Soar. In this, you played your part admirably. There was no way for Lowe to respond to Arkolas messageit was just a notification, after all. A line of text flickering at the edge of his vision. But still, his fists clenched, and Slugger activated. A useless, physical reaction to something he couldnt touch. Something he couldnt fight. Because that was the thing, wasnt it? This entire situationthis entire fucking casewas just him reacting. Being used. Chasing. Trying to outthink, outplay and outmaneuver forces that seemed to have already mapped out every route before he even knew what game they were playing. Cenorth had been moving him for years before Lowe had even known he was a piece on the board. And Arkola? Arkola was hardly even pretending that Lowes choices were his own. Hed summoned him to the fucking First Floor to play a game of Whisper Mr Dullard with the end of Soar as his stake. And the worst part? It was working. It was still fucking working. Lowe hated this. Hated the knowledge that he was being nudged with just enough breadcrumbs laid out to make him feel like he was the one solving things. And now, what? He was just supposed to sit back, keep his mouth shut, and let events play out like Arkola had already decided they would? But there no response. Of course there was no fucking response. He dismissed the message and a second later, the next notification in the sequence replaced it. Because, of course, it did. Because nothing in this world was going to stop just because Jana Lowe was pissed off about it. I am not sorry to have used you once more. Your arrival on the First Floor will have set all the right tongues wagging, stirring the precise conversations I required. And now, the conclusion I sought - have desired for so long - will shortly be reached. A wrong will soon bepartiallyrighted. And, for that, I am pleased. Well, as long as you are happy, you fucking smug bastard, Lowe thought. Glad to have been of help. If I know youand I believe I doyou will find being used in such a way infuriating. You will convince yourself that I am responsible for any number of deaths, but that is simply not the truth. Something of mine was stolen. And the guilt for what followed lies solely with those who took it. It is not my role in all this to intercede in the choices of men. You must have faith there will be a reckoning for that. And soon. But that is, of course, by the by. No more of that. Yeah, sure, Lowe though. Lets not focus on all the people who had died to get their hands on Arkolas fucking bird. Wouldnt want to bring the atmosphere down, would we? He dismissed the third message, but they kept on coming. My little gift from the Dungeon saved you this time. A necessary interventionafter all, I would hate for you to fall before youve seen this story through to its conclusion. But do not mistake that reprieve for protection. It will not be enough should what I have foreseen come to pass. Now, whilst even I have certain restrictions on what I am allowed to do, there are always loopholes. And when it comes to rewards? My parameters are pleasingly broad. Especially when a plucky little Level 26 somehow manages to drop a foe above Level 50. Oh, yes. On that occasion, no-one on the Council is going to raise a single complaint if I decide to get my sticky little fingers involved. Particularly if I get creative. A jolt ran through Lowe as his Core screen was suddenly opened. Name: Jana Lowe Level: 26 Class: Removed Primary Attributes: - Strength: 120 - Dexterity: 90 - Intelligence: 295 - Wisdom: 238 - Charisma: 60 - Constitution: 76 Secondary Attributes: - Perception: 95 - Willpower: 99 - Luck: 63 Hmm. I do find all these numbers quite fascinating. Such an efficient little systemneatly tracking who holds power and who does not. But youve been cheating a little, havent you? Someones found access to Level 2, have they? Oh, what fun. Well, I suppose dropping someone nearly twice your Level deserves some sort of recognition, does it not? Lets say, I dont know, 105 Progress Points? Now, if I were youthough, of course, I am notI might suggest putting those into Perception and seeing what happens. But what do I know? Im just a supreme being. Lowe rolled his eyes. Did he really want to put 105 Progress Points into Perception. He had never heard of anyone investing that heavily into a Secondary Attribute. Fuck it, hed barely heard of anyone putting anything into them beyond the usual rounding out. Secondary Attributes were the scaffolding, the extra bits you considered, not the thing you poured into. But here he was. Holding a hand over a decision that no one else had ever made. Im just a supreme being, Arkola had said, so damn amused with himself. Well, at some stage, you just had to take things on faith. Fuck. He hated that word. Faith was what got people killed. Faith was what made them stop asking questions, stop looking for the trap. Faith was what had made Lowe trust the system. Trust Coda. Trust Cenorth. It was faith that had gotten his entire team killed. But, before he could second-guess himself, he slammed the points in Perception. The effect was immediate and the number in his Core started to climb. Fast. Lowe barely had time to register it when, just as it had twice before, the number slammed to a halt the moment it hit 200. Then, another screen materialised before him. Allocated Progress Points have reached the maximum. Do you wish to rank Perception up? Lowe did. Immediately, the text around Perception C 200 turned gold, the same colour as his Intelligence and Wisdom.. Then he got the next message Bonus +50 PP for bringing third Core Attribute to Level 2. Please note that these P.P. must be allocated to a Level 1 Core Attribute. I am going to assume you have done that, the penultimate message in the queue declared, and you are now more, erm Perceptive than you were before. To be honest, it doesn''t really matter where you put the other 50. Although, considering your various personality defaults, I might suggest Charisma. But thats all by-the-by. Use them up so we can finish this little charade. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Lowe dropped the fifty points in Dexterity - just because he had a powerful healing Skill didnt mean it wouldnt be nice to be able to dodge out of the way occasionally - and considered leaving the final message in this little bundle of joy from Arkola well alone. It felt like, for his entire fucking life, hed been used. First by Cenorth. His boss. His mentor. A man hed pretty much idolised. Pulled into whatever off-the-books, long-game, backroom bullshit hed been orchestrating. Manipulated from the start and, apparently, chosen for ir all without even knowing it. And now? Arkola was having a go. A god who didnt even pretend it was anything other than a game. Who spoke like all of thisLowes choices. His struggles. Fuck, his life!was some amusing curiosity to be prodded and experimented on. A little diversion to pass the time. Lowe felt something hot and furious rise in his chest. Was that it, then? Was he ever going to be anything more than a useful little piece on someone elses fucking board? A knight, nudged into place. A rook, standing in the way of something bigger. A pawn, pushed just far enough to be sacrificed. He was fucked off about it. More than fucked off. It sat wrong in him, like something rotting. Like something deep in his gut was curling in protest. He hated this. But more than that? He hated that it kept working. Lowe opened the final message that had accompanied his reward for defeating the Shimmerskin. And now that is done, let us turn to the serious part. What was mine will find its way back to me ahead of the deadline. You can be sure of that. I am. But it will be to your advantage to pretend you do not know that is to come to pass. I imagine those still searching for it will become frantic. Pay attention to those who appear to know such a deadline exists and should not. This may well be that this is the last, true advantage I can give you. Make best use of the boons I have provided - the relic and the Progress Points. Powerful forces are at play, Jana Lowe, and I would have you find your peace. But be aware. I am not the only one in Soar from whom something precious has recently been taken. Lowe dismissed the message, and turned back to watch the removal of the Shimmerskins body from the hospital corridor. Lowe had seen a lot of weird shit in his life. He''d seen a man swallow a mana grenade by accident and burp out a localised time loop. Hed watched a Pickpocket try to rob a Priest and get shocked so thoroughly that, for a week, he could only speak in religious doctrine. Which wouldnt have been a problem had it been his god he was quoting. Apparently, though, the god he worshipped looked askance at that sort of thing and had taken . . . umbrage. And about three years ago hed arrested a man for trying to smuggle himself across Soars border inside an enchanted beer keg which had turned out to be a rather innovative mimic that had lawyered up effectively. But right now, watching the Shimmerskins body being wheeled to the mortuary by two - at least according to them - profoundly underpaid Morgue Attendants, Lowe had to admit what he was seeing right now was pretty freaky. Because the corpse wasnt settling. It was still changing. Lowe squinted. One moment, it was the featureless form of a dead Shimmerskin. A man so utterly non-descript that he was barely distinguishable from a badly drawn mannequin. The next, it flickered. Its arms twitched, its legs moving, as if some part of it hadnt gotten the memo that it was supposed to stay dead. One of the Attendants nudged the other and muttered, You seeing that? Oh yeah, the second one said, glancing at the shifting corpse, then at the three-quarters of a cup of coffee still left in his hand, before setting it down very deliberately on a nearby counter. Yep. Thats me done drinking caffeine today. I better go tell Lant, the first one sighed, shaking his head. This always seems to fucking happen when we get called to a body from your lot. Lowe realised he was being obliquely addressed. Excuse me? Define your lot. Security Services. When you people drop corpses, its like a dog leaving chewed-up slippers on the doorstep, and half the time theyre not entirely finished with whatever they were doing in life. I mean, Lowe said, raising a hand, technically I didnt kill it Everyone in the corridor turned to stare at him. Okay, yes, I did. But only after it tried to kill me first. Neither of the two were impressed. The first one shrugged, Uh-huh. Well, its not our problem. Not our godsdamned problem at all. Lant will have a report for you soon. They vanished, leaving Lowe and Rook in the corridor. Then, without further warning, Lowes entire world broke open. And it wasnt subtle. It was like his skull was wrenched open at the seams, and the whole universe was shoved inside. Suddenly, everything was too much. The hospital corridor stretched, deepened and unfolded into infinite detail. In a blink of an eye, Lowe could see individual fibres in the floor tiles and microscopic cracks in the paint on the walls. All around him heat signatures were radiating from the people around him, through the coffee cup left behind by the orderly was warmer than Rook. A clock ticked inside a room four doors down suddenly became the loudest fucking sound in all of Lowes world. A breath. Someone inhaled three rooms away. Another exhaled. Another. Another. The entire heartbeat of the hospital rushed in and out. An intricate, chaotic symphony of motion and sound and life and And And Lowes knees buckled as the sensory overload threatened to swamp him, but Rook caught him before he hit the floor. What the fuck, Jana? Lowe didnt hear him. Well, he did, but he was too busy drowning in raw input to give the words any especial attention. The sudden increase in his Perception - not just a hundred points, but moving into Level 2 - was proving to be a lot. Every single one of those extra points was screaming for his attention. His brainhis very high-Intelligence, very high-Wisdom brainwas doing its best to process everything, but just for the moment, everything was too fast. He was seeing everything too thoroughly. The weirdest analogy popped into his head, and he grasped on to it. Anything to distract him from the noise. And the sights. And the smells. For the first time in his life, Lowe thought he truly understood what it meant to be a spider. To feel the vibration of every footstep in the building. To hear the static charge flicker between mana-powered lights. To smell lingering traces of every conversation that had passed through the hall in the last hourcoffee, mana, the weirdly floral scent of someones shampoo, the Shimmerskins blood. It was too much. Jana? Jana! What the fuck is going on? Make it stop! Make what stop? All of it. Rook narrowed his eyes. Hold on. You levelled up, didnt you? Lowe made a noise that might have been agreement or suffering. Hard to tell. What did you do? Lowe managed to form his mouth into the right shape to make some words. Perception. Lots of it. Perc - Okay. Well, yes. That was fucking stupid, wasnt it? Let me guess, your brains trying to perceive literally everything. YES! Sucks to be you, Rook said, patting him on the shoulder. Dont worry, itll settle. Youve just got a bit of altitude sickness right now. Itll fade. Lowe groaned, pressing his palms into his temples. His skull was buzzing. Every cell in his body was too aware. He needed to Then, just as Rook had said it would, his Wisdom and Intelligence kicked in, and sheer mental horsepower slammed into overdrive as the need for him to retain his sanity. He felt his mind begin to categorise everything he was experiencing. Step one: Prioritise immediate threats. None. (if the epic stink eye Staffen was throwing his way didnt count as an imminent threat to life . . .) Step two: Sort sensory information by relevance: Way too much of it. Step three: Fucking filter it! Okay. Okay, he could do this. Lowe focused on individual sensations. On learning them. He catalogued the flickering of the manalights, the scent-trails of the passing Orderlies, the whispered breath of a Nurse in the next hallway, and the distant vibrations of a leyline running beneath the floor. Lowe found himself naming them. Boxing them. Organised them like a filing cabinet, until his mind could start dismissing the unnecessary noise. Slowlypainfullyhis senses began to adjust. After what felt like an eternity, Lowe felt himself able to straighten out. The world was still too sharp, but at least it was no longer crushing him to death. You good, Jana? Lowe took a moment. Listened. Watched. Saw the faint tremors in Rooks fingersthe way his body was still tensed from what he had needed to do in order to get into Codas mind. Saw the Orderlies at the far end of the corridor, pausing just long enough outside a supply room before moving on, as if making sure no one was watching. Saw the tiny, almost imperceptible flicker in the manalights along the corridor. An energy shift that, if he really focused, he figured he could trace back to the manawell beneath the hospital. Saw He swallowed. Yeah, he said. Im good. You sure, Jana? Because for about two minutes there, you looked like you were about to vibrate out of your own fucking skull. Fuck off, Rook. Im okay. But feeling extra perceptive, right? Yes. In fact, I just perceived that youre a wanker. Rook clapped a hand on his shoulder, the impact vibrating up and down his body. Welcome to your new nightmare, Inspector. Lowe sighed. This was going to take some getting used to. Chapter 135 - Dead Weight Theyd swung by to pick up Latham before heading across the city for a follow up visit to Sovereign Bank HQ. Maybe it was all Lowes extra points in Perception, but the way he figured it was that if they had any hope of getting ahead of this mess, the Warden of the Reserve seemed like the most obvious nut they had available to crack. As the other two escorted himLowe was keeping his eyes shut to avoid being flattened by the onslaught of new sensationsRook filled them in on what hed managed to wrench from Codas spirit. It was less than inspiring. "I was able to determine precious little, Im afraid," Rook said. "The potions theyve got him on in there have his spirit pretty much completely spaced. Honestly, I think hed be easier to interrogate dead than he was back there." "In case youre wondering, little man," Latham muttered, "Im finding your friend really creepy." "One mans creepy is anothers useful resource when questioning the nearly dead. Tomatoes, tomatoes." Lowe cracked an eye open, nearly threw up, and squeezed them shut again. Even the noise of Soar was too much. "Can you two stop bickering for a second?" he said. "Theres only so much I can concentrate on at once, right now. You must have got something out of him, Rook?" "Sure. But it was mostly emotional impressions and general vibes. Nothing very concrete or clear. I can tell you that he is wallowing in a lot of guilt. And he seems to be reliving the Black Knight murders over and over. I dont have anything for you that would stand up before the Council, but it was definitely him doing the . . . you know, stuff, with Cenorth directing traffic." Rook hesitated. "Ill tell you what, though." "What?" Lowe asked. "I dont think he saw what happened in the park coming. If theres one emotion stronger than all the guilt, its rage. Rage towards the boss. Hes pretty certain Cenorth was the one to ice him." Lowe chewed on that for a moment. "I mean, that makes sense, doesnt it? If the boss betrayed him, I can see why hed be more than a little pissed. I mean, what did he think was going to happen that day? If he was the Black Knight, he had to know nobody was actually coming to collect Highbergs ransom." Lowe felt Rook shrug. "No idea, Jana. But for what its worth, I dont think he expected us all to be wiped." "Thats not worth all that much to me, to be honest" Lowe said. "You?" There was a pause. "No. Not much to me either." "Sorry to interrupt this sentimental trip down memory lane," Latham cut in, yanking Lowe to the right to avoid a pothole in the pavement, "but did your little hospital excursion actually accomplish anything? Other than, currently, making the little man an even bigger liability than he was previously?" "Well," Lowe said, "we flushed out another Shimmerskin. Thats not nothing. And Im not an even bigger liability. Im just taking a moment to adjust to a new and awesome power." I dont know about anyone else, but when I get a new Skill, I tend not to need to be dragged around Soar like a bucket of shit until I acclimatise. Im struggling to see the net-benefit of this version of you, right now. Would it not just be best if me and the undead dropped you off at home and cracked on ourselves? Technically, Im not undead. As I didnt actually die, Im more of a revenant than your classic undead. I so dont fucking care. What about it, Lowe? Take you to Mylaf for coffee and crumpets until you properly manage to adjust? No, Lowe said, trying to stand up a bit straighter under his own steam. I think once I get a handle on this its going to be useful. And I absolutely need to be there when we talk to Morholt again. I dont completely disagree with Jana, Rook said. But Im having all sorts of worries about how this shape-changing OOB squad knew we were going to the hospital. I didnt notice anyone following us - and I was keeping a more than careful eye - which suggests . . . "Which suggests, considering the rest of our group were ambushed - albeit crappily - weve got all kinds of surveillance issues right now," Latham finished Lowe thought back to what Arkola had put in that notification about not being able to speak freely in its own Temple. If the supreme being in Soar couldnt guarantee they werent being overheard, what chance did they have? And, yeah, he was pretty sure they were being monitored. But that was a problem for another time, because Lowe was suddenly dragged to a halt. He carefully cracked open an eye and girded his loins. They were at their destination. *** I honestly dont know what else I can tell you," Morholt wheezed, his jowls trembling with each breath. The Warden of the Reserve dabbed at his glistening forehead with a silk handkerchief, though it did little against the damp sheen of sweat pooling in the folds of his skin. "The Vault suffered a significantand might I add, entirely unexpectedsecurity breach. The kind of breach that should not be possible, not with the precautions that we have in place. And yet, here we are. His lips pursed in wounded indignation, his beady eyes darting between them as if expecting sympathy. None came. "I reached out to Cuckoo House because I was assuredassured, mind you!that you people knew how to handle situations like this. That discretion and efficiency were your hallmarks. And yet, and yet He wheezed, shaking his head, pressing a pudgy hand to his chest as though the betrayal was physically painful. I must say, I am profoundly disappointed to hear that you are no closer to recovering that which was stolen nor apprehending the individual responsible." If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. His lower lip quivered and, for a moment, Lowe thought the man was about to cry. "Nor," he added, voice climbing in pitch, "have you managed to ascertain who butchered my employees like cattle! Do you have any idea the logistical nightmare this has been for me? The paperwork alone" He let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a sob and a gasp, as if the sheer enormity of his administrative woes might be enough to bring on his scheduled heart attack. "Yeah. That does seem like a bit of an issue," Lowe said, forcing himself to keep his focus on Morholts face so that all the other myriad of things pulling at his attention in the office didnt distract him. The problem was, his newly buffed Perception simply didnt want to cooperate. If he wasnt absolutely committed to where he was looking, his gaze kept snagging on details hed never have noticed before, each one demanding a slice of his attention. The hairline crack running down the far wall, so fine it was nearly invisibleexcept for the way dust had settled into it, marking it out like a fault line waiting to split. The subtle click-click of a loose ceiling manablade, half a second out of sync with the rest, the irregular rhythm making his teeth itch. And the faintest smear of something dark and dried beneath Morholts heavy wooden desk, barely visible unless you were really looking. Or had a newly ranked-up Perception attribute. Blood? Ink? Whatever it was, someone had tried to wipe it away but hadn''t done a good enough job. With a colossal effort, Lowe dragged his focus back to Morholt. However, that sort of intense scrutiny wasnt ideal when the subject in question was so physically repellent. Unfortunately, Lowes expanded Perception didnt come with any sort of filter. Every pore, every ingrown hair, every bead of sweat rolling down the wattle of Morholts neck . . . it was all there in ultra excruciating, high-definition clarity. A lesser man might have gagged. Still, Lowe was realising there was a considerable upside to all this. Along with the horrifying level of detail, Lowe was fairly certain he could see when the man was lying. Not just suspect it. Know it. The little hesitations. The micro-expressions. The way Morholts eyes darted half a second too late to be convincing. It was like Lowes brain had started running some internal truth-detection wetware, flagging every half-truth and omission in real-time. He didnt think he was about to put Arebella out of business anytime soonher Skills were clearly leagues ahead of a little PErception buffingbut it was nice to have an edge. Even if it meant having to look at this . . . blob in such grotesque detail. He wondered whether Arkola had suggested the Progress Point dump for just this reason? But he dismissed the thought. He could go mad trying to second-guess that god. Wheres your PA gone? Rook asked from his left. As Morholt turned to look at the Threshold Guardian, Lowe noticed the tell-tale frown which he was coming to recognise meant the man was about to lie. Miss St Clair called in sick today. Really? Latham said from Lowes other side. And you spoke to her, did you? I did. First thing this morning. Womens problems, apparently. Lowe thought that was a pretty generous way of describing the torn remains of a body theyd left in the basement of the Temple. It didnt take much truth-telling ability to tell that Morholt was speaking out of his very generous arse. Rook had obviously noticed that too. Tell me, Warden. Has your PA been with you long? A few years (lie). She was recommended to me by a colleague (lie). I felt I needed to shake things up a little in my staff and Miss St Clairs resume suggested she would be just the ticket. (lie). But I must say, I fail to see why the personnel arrangements in my office are of interest to an Inspector in the Security Services (lie). Lowe looked at the stain on the floor again. He really did think it was a bloodstain . . . Have you ever had cause to employ an OOB squad to work for the bank? OOB squad? Out of Bounds, Latham said. Assassins. Unofficial problem-solvers. Off-the-books bastards. The kind of people you send when you dont want a problem solved so much as erased. You get the picture? It is entirely illegal for them to operate within Soar, in case you did not know that. Treasonous, apparently. And Im told that on very good legal authority. Well, I for one have never heard of a . . . Out of Bounds squad. (Big, fat, sweating LIE) Lowe moved forward, much to Morholts disquiet and knelt down to touch the stain on the floor, beneath the heavy wooden desk. His new Perception rendered it in excruciating clarity. It had seeped deep into the grain, the wood darkened and swollen around the edges. It wasnt exactly freshno gloss, no stickinessbut it hadnt had time to fully settle either. The colour had turned that particular shade between rust and old wine, and there were small ridges where the liquid had clotted, like the broken surface of a dried-out riverbed. Whoever had bled here had done so in earnest. And reasonably recently. For a moment, that detail consumed his attention. But then something shifted in his peripheral vision, something bigger, something more wrong. From his current angle, Lowe could now see past the feet of the desk. Behind the desk. And there, slumped unnaturally against the carved mahogany panels, was Morholt. His eyes bulged, mouth frozen in an unfinished plea, a congealing rivulet of blood trailing from his slack lips. His corpulent frame had been dumped like so much discarded meat, the vastness of him crammed between desk and chair in a way that made it obviousthis hadnt been quick. Slowly and deliberately, Lowe looked upwards at the figure seated above him. The - well, at least a - Warden of the Reserve met his gaze, then sighed. His shape rippled, the details of Morholts sweat-slicked face unraveling, reforming into something else entirely. "You just dont know when to give up, do you?" Chapter 136 - Noir and Void Latham moved first. Which, to be fair, was exactly what you wanted from a man of his Class and Level. There was no hesitation, no warning, just pure, unfiltered, surround-sound violence as he lunged at the Shimmerskin with all the enthusiasm of a battering ram introduced to a particularly offensive door. Unfortunately, the door in question turned out to, apparently, be made of liquid mercury. And malice. Lots and lots of malice. Lowe barely had time to register the blur of movement before a foota perfectly normal foot, except it belonged to a man who, up until a second ago, had been Morholt and appeared from within that figures backsideconnected with him and launched him bodily across the room. He heard the initial crunch. And, boy, was it a wet one. Which was then followed by a much louder thwack as he hit the wall with very little grace at all. Now, Lowe had always been the sort of person who tried to find the silver lining in a situation (lie). The problem was, that lining was currently being stretched painfully thin over the absolutely catastrophic amount of information his new Perception was providing about what had just happened to his spine. For one thing, he now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that backs were not supposed to bend in that direction. For another, he was now explicitly aware that there were an astonishing number of nerves apparently involved in the whole staying upright process, and they had all decided, as one, to go on strike. Also, as it turned out, he was intimately aware of the exact moment Roll With The Punches kicked in because suddenly, his vertebrae were knitting themselves back together in real time, and that was not an experience he ever wanted to be conscious for again. In fact, he was looking back on the times that a solid, if unspectacular, right hand would send him off to the land of Nod as a golden age. There was a lot to be said for blessed unconsciousness while Roll with the Punches did its thing. Meanwhile, Latham and Rook were getting into it with the Shimmerskin and, disappointingly, it did not seem that was as much one-way traffic as might have been hoped. Rook moved with that smooth, effortless grace that only came with being both very dead and also post Level 50. He didnt dodge so much as wasnt there when fists tried to meet his face, flowing around blows like hed been poured into the air rather than walking through it. Latham, by contrast, fought like someone who had absolutely no intention of avoiding damage. Because what kind of Level ?? wuss tried to avoided damage? He took hits, shrugged them off, and kept coming, all raw, overwhelming force pressing upon the Shimmerskin with the relentless inevitability of a collapsing star. And yet, despite the fact that between them they had the speed, skill, and sheer unreasonableness to put most threats down in under a minute, their target was more than holding his own. More than that, Lowe thought from his semi-recumbent position, he actually appeared to be keeping them at bay. Every time Rook tried to grab him, the assassins arms just werent there anymore. Instead, they were replaced by something thinner, longer and eminently ungraspable. Every time Latham was poised to land a blow, his target was already morphing, muscle and bone shifting into something that could absorb the impact, and redirect the force of the strike away. And always just enough to stop it from doing any real damage. It looked to Lowe like his friends were fighting someone made of smoke, mirrors and silly putty. Latham, clearly fed up, activated something dramatic, and glowing alarmingly, drove a haymaker towards the Shimmerskins head. Lowe shuddered to think what would have happened should the blow have connected - they really did need this guy alive, after all. Instead, though, the mans face just wasnt there anymore as a thickly muscled arm, now twice the size it should have been, caught Lathams wrist mid-swing and twisted. The crack of bone was enough to make Lowe wince. He didnt think hed ever seen anyone properly hurt Latham. At the same time, Rookwho had evidently decided that fair fights were for suckerswent for the legs, aiming to take their opponent off balance. Except, at that precise moment, the Shimmerskin didnt have legs anymore. Not human ones, at least. And then hed pivoted to move Latham in the way of the assault. There was a blur of movement, a thump, and then Lowe blinked. Latham and Rook were sitting on the floor, both looking considerably worse for wear. And the Shimmerskin was still standing. Then he sighed. Clapped his hands together and then said. Look, guys, shall we just take a beat for a moment? I think weve probably got some things to talk about. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. There were a few moments of silence. Lowe, still half-convinced that every single bone in his body was more of a suggestion than a working framework, looked at Latham. Latham looked at Rook. Rook looked back at Lowe. They all gave the smallest of nods. Finally, Lowe sighed, stood and dusted himself off. "I mean, sure," he said. "I think I speak for us all when I say we''re open to a brief chat." *** Considering this was the second time in not really all that long at all that Drefleck had smashed Lowe to pieces against a wall, it was probably unsurprising he was finding it hard to warm to the assassin. Of course, as it looked like the Shimmerskin could probably kill them all if he had wanted, he didnt think his personal seal of approval was going to be all that important in the grand scheme of things. First things first, its important you know that none of this has been anything personal, the Shimmerskin said. Oh, thats okay then. Sorry for taking offence at the, you know, consistent murder attempts. Now youve said sorry, I dont know what I was thinking getting pissed about the whole thing! Lowe really wasnt feeling the love towards this guy. Look, you can be as sniffy as you want, but a jobs a job. One of the first things you learn in this game is that you have to leave your morals at the door. Come on! Its not like Im the only one of us who sometimes gets given orders hes not wild about. Your missus- he jerked his head at Latham- shell tell you the score. he said to Latham. The Temple Warder was still sitting on the floor, looking more than usually furious. Lowe made a private note never to do anything to make Latham look at him like that. It wasnt so much that he was giving a look that could kill as much as one that Lowe assumed would achieve a sizeable bloodline genocide. You mention Hel again, and itll be the last thing you ever say. Drefleck shrugged - which was weird as it wasnt so much as his shoulders moved as the whole of his torso transformed until it was just a touch higher. This did not endear him to anyone else in the room. As you wish. Im just saying. Orders are orders. And contracts and contracts. I dont want us to get off on the wrong foot, here. Everything that has happened has been strictly business. Well, while were being all magnanimous and shit, Rook said, Im assuming were also no harm, no fouling all of your mates weve fucked up over the last few days. Because, let me tell you, some of those bitches squealed as they died. If Drefleck was bothered to hear about the violent demise of his squadmates, he didnt show it. No skin off my nose. And when a Shimmerskin says that, you can take it to the bank, he smiled at that. Which, now I think of it, is quite an unfortunate phrase considering how all this started. Look, right now, Im up for a truce. My boys made our move, and it didnt stick. As far as Im concerned, turnaround is fair play. We took our shot, we missed, and you gave my guys a shellacking. Thats the way it goes. Well, thats very fucking philanthropic of you, Latham said. Drefleck made the strange shrugging gesture again. It is what it is. Incidentally, the only body Ive not been able to recover is Synchler. I dont suppose . . . Dead, Rook said. You sure? Youd be surprised what a Shimmerskin can bounce back from. Trust us. That guys bouncing days are well and truly over. There was a beat. Fair enough. Shame, he was good. Then his expression stuttered, flickering through a range of emotions like a deck of cards shuffled too fast - amusement, irritation, something like sorrow - Each belonged to a slightly different face, as if he hadnt quite decided which version of himself was supposed to be here. Okay, so heres where were at, Drefleck said, rocking back on his heels. Ive been paid a considerable sum of money to kill you. He aimed a finger at Lowe, like a magician setting up the prestige. Me and my boys have given it the old college try, but youve proved more than a little . . . resistant. Now, after I heard youd walked away from being burned alive, I checked our contract, and I reckon you having some sort of bullshit resurrection Skill goes beyond the scope of the agreement. I did kill you, didnt I? Lowe couldnt help but feel this was one of the strangest conversations he had ever been in. And hed recently been in discussion with a god. You did. Sorry it didnt stick. Drefleck waved the comment away. Hey, not your fault. We each plough our own furrow, dont we? But it is an interesting ethical point, is it not? At what stage can it be said weve fulfilled our professional responsibilities? We were paid to kill you, and you died. Some may consider that job done. Latham stood, slowly, and Lowe could tell he activated all sorts of Skills as he did so. Apparently, Drefleck noticed it too as he triggered a bunch of his own in response. Yeah, Im not too interested in discussing the finer points of ethics. We done with all the chat, yet? Dial it down a notch, big guy. I said I wanted to talk, and I do. How about we restart the conversation with you spilling who paid you to kill Lowe? Nah, not that kind of chat, Drefleck waggled a finger back and forth. The fact that it grew out of the centre of his forehead was neither here nor there. My reputation can take the hit for not keeping you dead - as I say, I think as case can we made were owed 100% of our fee there - but not from telling tales out of school. I might not have much of a squad left right now, but considering how much weve been paid. Im sure I can pick myself up and start again somewhere else. Its not like my set of Skills are ever going out of fashion., is it? And, Ill tell you what, its going to be a cold day in Arkolas basement before were lured to work in Soar again. Okay. So if youre not planning on telling us that, what is it youre all so keen to share? Well, first of all, Id like to share some thoughts I have over a certain job that went very, very south. And, in particular, Drefleck looked down on the body of Morholt, the wankers who apparently think we fucked the whole thing up and have witheld the final installment. Okay, Rook said, also standing and taking - Lowe noticed - a position opposite Latham with Drefleck in between them. Lowe could be wrong, but he didnt think Round 2 was going to go quite as well for the Shimmerskin as the first bout. Well, that all sounds very interesting. And the second thing? Well, this is where I think youre really going to want to chinwag. You see, I was wondering if either of you two had spoken to your . . . little ladies recently? Chapter 137 - Violence is Not the Answer (But They Keep Asking Anyway) "I''d like it formally noted, for the record and posterity, that out of all of us, I was the only one who kept my head just there," Latham said. "And considering I have something of a reputation for smiting first and asking questions only when it''s time to file the mortuary paperwork, I believe that entitles me toat the very leasta pat on the head. Maybe even a commendation. Or a biscuit. Definitely a biscuit." Lowe pulled one of Mylafs cookies out of his inventory and, wincing, threw it to Latham. His hand was sore from where, following activating Slugger, hed planted the biggest punch of his life onto Dreflecks jaw. Apparently, his supercharged Perception let him pick just the right spot to render the Shimmerskin unconscious. As Roll with the Punches was busy reconstructing the stump on the end of his arm, Lowe took a breath. What do you think he meant have you spoken to your little ladies recently? "I dont know, little man. Lets ask him. Oh, wait! We cant right now because youve just knocked him out. Fantastic work. Really top-notch problem-solving," Latham said, pulling a Sending Stone from his pocket and pressing it to his lips. "Hel, you there? Hel?" Silence. "Hel, if youre screening your calls, you better believe me that now is not the time. This is more important than you going dark. Youre going to need to answer me. I need a status update." Still nothing. Lowe watched Latham carefully, trying to get his own worry under control. He wasnt panicking. Not yet. That would be stupid. There were all sorts of reasons Hel might not be able to answer Latham right now. Of course, none of them were good, but still. He pulled out his own stone and pushed mana into it. "Bella? Its Lowe. Pick up, please." More silence. That seemed to be catching. "Arebella," he said, more forcefully this time. "If youre quiet because you and Hel got into a drinking contest and shes currently passed out under a table, I will forgive you, and we will never speak of it again. Just say something so I know youre okay. Im sure we have all sorts of listening Skills aimed at us right now, but this is more important than subterfuge. I need to know youre okay." The stone remained stubbornly, damningly quiet. Latham and he exchanged looks. I mean, this doesnt necessarily entail anything bad has happened to them . . . Rook was pale. Paler. Shit. Latham popped the first stone hed used back in his pocket and took out another one. This one was darkly red. "Tenia," he said. "Please tell me youre there." A pause. Then "Latham?" Tenias voice was wary. "How do you know to use this mana frequency? Hel left me some instructions in the event of her being . . . unavailable. Okay, then youll know the codeword, right? Tenia, I dont have time . . . Codeword, or the Sending Stone you are holding will transform into a small but determinedly psychotic demon, the Nightmare Reaver said. If Hel gave you these details, shed have told you the codeword. And if not . . . well, Im sure shell forgive me. Eventually. Latham turned away from the others, and dropped his voice, but Lowes insane Perception still - just about - caught the whispered words. Moist Weasel. "Fucking hell, Latham. You gave me a start! Is everything okay? Yeah, sorry for the intrusion, but I need to know if Hels with you, Charl and Irek." There was a beat of silence, then a neutral. "No. Why would she be?" Latham shut his eyes for a moment. "So shes not there? Didnt turn up, unexpectedly, a day or so back?" "Of course shes not fucking here. If she was, dont you think shed have told you? Whats going on? Has she left you or something?" "No. Nothing like that. Ive just lost track of her, thats all. Oh, I dont suppose Arebellas available?" "What? Lowes better half? No, shes not here either. Youre worrying me here. "Everythings fine. Just checking in." "You never check in." "Trying something new," Latham said, already tucking the stone back away. "Give my love to the rest of the gang." Then he turned back to Lowe. "Fuck." Fuck, Lowe agreed, turning to Rook. You said Hel came to you after all the . . . unpleasantness and wanted you to leave Soar with her. That you refused, and she took off. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Thats right. She came knocking just after Id got back to the graveyard after dropping my attackers. She said the rest of them had been attacked to, that things were getting too hot and that I should come with them. It sounded like she was on her way to the Temple next. Why didnt you go? I dont do group activities, Jana. You know that. And I especially dont do them since a member of my last team got me killed. All it takes is one idiot tripping over a chamber pot in the dark, and suddenly, the whole safehouse is compromised. As I said to her, no, thank you very much. Its not like Hel to take no for an answer, Latham said. In fact, that doesnt sound much like Hel at all. Oh? Rook tilted his head. Which part? The part where she goes politely knocking on tombs mid-crisis. Shes more a blow the fucking doors off kind of gal. Also the part where she asks, you say no and she doesnt just drag you along, whether you liked it or not. Again, shes not one of lifes acceptors. Oh, and the part where she didnt tell me she was going to head for the hills in the first place. Lowe didnt like where this was going. But Hel grabbing the others and going to ground wasnt exactly out of character for the Wind Tyrant. She was the kind of operative who made plans within plans. And she wasnt the sort to ask people if theyd like to cooperate. If she thought Rook needed to get the fuck out of Soar, shed have made it happen before he had time to refuse. Something itched at the back of his mind. What can I say? Rook said. She knew I wasnt going to change my mind. Maybe she figured her odds were better without me slowing her down. And Im a Threshold Guardian. Youve got to know theres a hard limit to what she was going to be able to do to me. And youre sure it was her? Latham asked. There was a moments pause as they both looked at the Shimmerskin on the floor. And then over to the body of Morholt. Fuck! Rook said. I see what youre getting at. I assumed it was her. But now that were saying it out loud . . . He grimaced. Shit. Shimmerskin? Lowe asked Latham. Thats the trick matey boy down there pulled on me. Pretended to be Hel and asked me to meet him. You know what that means though, dont you, little man? Bella. Hel, Karolen and Ortel. Theyre not in hiding. Theyre not in a safehouse. Someone took them. And it sounds very much like someone who can change their shape did it. But before Lowe could press further, there was a groan from behind him. Drefleck was waking up. The Shimmerskin stirring, his shifting features flickering through half a dozen faces before settling on something unpleasantly amused. Now, Drefleck rasped, where were we? *** Latham picked Drefleck off the floor and smashed him down on Morholts desk. The heavy wood groaned at the impact and the desk cracked. It appeared the Shimmerskins earlier ability to resist the Temple Warders attacks had long since passed. When he spoke, Lathams voice was a terrifying growl. The sort of noise Lowes ancestors might have heard in the dark back in the time they lived in caves and had just discovered fire. Where is she? What the fuck have you done with her? Drefleck barely had time to wheeze out a single syllable before Lathams fist crashed down into his face. Then another. And another. Lowe watched as Latham kept going, raining blows down like he was chiseling his way through a quarry. Dreflecks skull snapped back, his ribs folded under and his mouthif what remained could be called thatspat out something wet and not entirely human. "Latham!" Lowe shouted, but the Temple Warder didnt so much as pause. "Latham, thats enough!" Lowe tried to catch his friend''s wrist mid-swing and was pulled off his feet. Then Rook was there, adding his weight to proceedings and the two of them, barely, managed to haul Latham back before he destroyed what was left of Dreflecks uncooperative shape. Latham resistedhard. But then he relented, his breathing ragged and his shoulders heaving with something worse than rage. He wanted to keep going, but his strength met their combined weight, and in the end, he let them pull him away. For a moment, the only sound was the wet slap of Lathams fists clenching and unclenching. Drefleck lay sprawled on the ruined desk, a mess of bruises, shattered bones, and something that should have been blood but oddly wasnt. He twitched, a half-breath leaving him like a punctured bellows. Then, he shivered. And that was when things got weird. The bones hed broken? They unbroke, the skin rolling and shifting like something alive underneath it. His ribs reformed as if the damage had never happened, only it was too fast, the process too visible. This wasnt healing - nothing like Lowes Roll with the Punches, this was a Shimmerskin simply picking a new body. Deflecks fingers moved and the whole of him contracted as his muscles regrew and his bones clicked unnaturally into new places, hair changing and his flesh twisting. Then, suddenlyhorriblyHel was lying on the desk. And it was indespuilty her. From her pale eyes, her knowing grin, to her face framed by braids, looking up at them with an expression that was eerily detached from the nightmare happening in real-time. Latham made a soundone Lowe had never heard before. Then Dreflecks features rippled again, his eyes rolling, body convulsing until with a final lurch, he snapped back into himself. He let out a slow breath, smoothed down his tunic, and tilted his head, a smile tugging at his still-healing lips. "Look, I''ve already said I want to talk about things," he said. "Youre the guys who keep throwing hands!" "So, where are they?!" Lowe and Latham said at the same time. "Oh, now youre interested in dialogue!" He adjusted his sleeves with deliberate slowness, seemingly savoring their fury like a fine wine. Well, tough shit. I was trying to be all conciliatory and you guys have responded by being complete dicks. So, no. Freebies are now off the table. He leaned back slightly, stretching as though hed just had a refreshing nap rather than a near-death experience. Were going to do this my way. Ill tell things my way and then, if youre very good, I might get around to share what I know about the missing. Or you can just fucking get on with killing me. See if I care. Latham let out a wordless roar and drove his fist into the nearest wall. Plaster cracked, dust rained down, and for a moment, it was as if the entire room had held its breath. But, clearly, the release he was looking for wasnt there. There was nothing to fight - nothing to smash - that was going to make any of this any easier. His was a hollow, impotent fury, and, what is more, Drefleck knew it. Well, he said, that was all very manly indeed! Consider me suitably cowed. Tell your story, Lowe said. But make it quick. And if it turns out youre hurt them . . . No more of that, Drefleck said, waving the words away. Now, if youre sitting comfortably, Ill begin. Picture the scene. Its a few days ago, and my boys are in the Vault . . ." Chapter 138 - A Face for Every Occasion Drefleck paused and cast a languid look at the three men still bristling in front of him. You know, he said, Ive taken some beatings in my time. Occupational hazard, as Im sure youll appreciate. But I dont think Ive ever been pummelled quite so enthusiastically by someone who genuinely believed it would do any good. Latham made another angry sound, but Drefleck held up a hand. No, no. Im not looking to start anything. It was just an observation. I do so love a committed professional. He gestured vaguely to himself. You know, when all is said and done, were not so different, you and me. Fuck you! Lowe said. Drefleck briefly took on Arebellas shape. If you think that would make things better? Then he switched back to his nondescript form. But no more of that, lets get to the part where I tell you something useful and, perhaps, we reach a bit more of an understanding of our negotiating positions. Youre not going to like what I have to say, mind, but thats not really my problem. He stretched out his fingers, watching them shift and settle back into their preferred shape. As Im sure youve realised, my boys and I are an OOB. Not exactly one of the household names, but in certain circles, wed built ourselves a decent reputation. A reputation for being able to pull off some pretty fucking specialist work. You see, when most OOBs are hired, youll be getting a group of people who do one job very well. Maybe they kill someone for you. Maybe a whole host of someones. Maybe they steal something that cant be stolen. Maybe they rough up a few sorry bastards to send a message. Different strokes for different folks, and you can usually find a squad thatll scratch what itches you. But my lot? He grinned. Were all Shimmerskins. Its our USP. We arent assassins. Well, were not just assassins. Were complete replacements. He let that word sit in the air for a moment. Watching it curdle. More often than not, when people reach for the old OOB directory, theyre looking for a government sponsored hit squad. Shoot first, ask questions later, you get me? Its actually pretty rare for someone to need an entire operation turned inside out, with thirty-odd people swapped for ringers, but when they dowell, thats when me and my boys get the call. Rook frowned at that. Youre saying people paid you to justwhat? Walk in, take someones face, and pretend nothing has changed? I mean, sure. Youre making it sound pretty facile. But yes. Its exactly that. Thats what we specialise in, Drefleck said. Why kill off a whole organisation when you can just become it for a time and put it to use? That takes a fuckton of prep work, mind. You cant just swap out the front desk and expect everything to tick along nicely without everyone being exceptionally well briefed so noone suspects a thing. When were required to move in, we committed to the piece. Take the Sable Accord down Nellington way. Nasty little operation, built its fortune on off-the-books Mercenary contracts and the occasional act of enthusiastic piracy. Now, the clientwho shall remain nameless, but lets just say they had a vested interest in seeing less of that particular enterprisedecided a scorched-earth approach would be pretty inefficient. You know the saying, you cut one dick off a thousand others grow in its place. So instead of calling in a hit squad to level the organisation, we were paid to take over and remodel it. "Three months. Thats all it took. One by one, key players were removed and replaced. The Administrators. The Enforcers. The Handlers. When my boys were done, the whole damn thing was still standing, still signing contracts, still running jobsonly now, it was working for the people who paid us instead of its original owners. An no one was any the wiser. Thats insane, Lowe said. Oh, undoubtedly it is, Drefleck agreed. Its also exceptionally lucrative. The kind of thing only the wealthiest, most paranoid of governments ever commission. And, dont get me wrong, it doesnt happen often. Far too expensive and labour intensive for most people to countenance. Usually, people just want one target replaceda Noble, a Merchant, a Commander. But for the full works? He whistled. Thats reserved for when you really need to hit the reset button on an institution. There was another job. Back in Arvenstadt. The Crown Prince, no less, thought his inner circle might not be so inner anymore, if you catch my drift. Foreign interests. Political rivals. He didnt trust anyone. Butand heres the funny bithe didnt want to get rid of them. That would make too much noise. He just wanted them . . . better. He spread his hands. So, in we went. Seven of us. Just seven. Over the course of six weeks, we picked them off one by one. We learned their patterns, their quirks. We became them. And at the end of it? The Prince had the same advisors, the same confidantsonly now, they were all working in his best interests. He grinned. I hear the countrys doing very well these days. And how many times have you pulled this shit in Soar? Rook said. Never. Not once. Far too much like hard work. For one thing, the political scene here is a goddamn knife fight in a burning alley. And I dont know about you, but I prefer my investments to last longer than it takes a fucking god to take an interest. Besides, Soars got its own style of corruption. I imagine hiring us to move in would be admitting they werent good enough at betraying each other the old-fashioned way. So what changed? Lowe said. Why are you running around here now? The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Well, its hard to keep you head about such things when Soar Sovereign Fucking Bank gets in touch. *** The way Drefleck told it, it was actually all pretty simple. The Warden of the Reserve had something in the Vault hed suddenly become very worried someone was after. Despite its reputation for being impregnable, he had reason to think his own security might not be up to the task. So, via various intermediaries, he reached out to an OOB squad he thought might be just the ticket. A bank, Lowe said. You just . . . stopped being assassin and started, what, working in a fucking bank? Pretty much, Drefleck said. Nice work if you can get it. Especially at our rates. And, when it comes to ways to earn money, it beats impersonating members of the fucking criminal underworld, Ill tell you that for free. Although, to be honest, at least initially, we werent too keen. I massively over-quoted for the job, never expecting to hear anything else. But then matey boy- Drefleck looked at the cooling body on the floor- replied to say how about we stick 50% on that and get the fuck on with it. There wasnt much else to say after that. We took a few weeks getting up to speed before the insertion itself took place. My boys were all given files, we studied them, learned our roles, and then when they turned up on the first morning of the job . . . well, space had been made for them to slip into. And that doesnt bother you? Latham asked. Do you ever ask what happens to the people youre replacing? Drefleck shrugged, that lazy, unsettling motion that wasnt so much a shift of his shoulders as a slow redistribution of mass. Eggs. Omelettes You know how that goes. Literally, actually. The Warden said the bodies were stored away in some fucking farmfood warehouse hed acquired. He pointed at Lowe and shared a coordinate. Theyre all in there if it means anything to you. Lowe filed the address away for another time. He thought about all he had read of the lives of those who had worked in the Vault. Of Whitlow, in that memory Nuroon had showed him, doing his job to the very best of his ability. None of those that had been so casually removed had been important in the way that Soar measured things. But all of them had been living life the way Lowe thought it was supposed to be lived. He felt unaccountably sad. He hadnt realised hed actually been holding out hope that theyd all still turn up. Hearing Drefleck speak to casually about their final resting place was a gut punch he had not been expected. That they had been so easily discarded by their superiors . . . Lowes eyes moved to the dead body of Morholt on the floor. Karma, whilst a bitch, got it pretty spot on some times, didnt she? We insist that all that sort of thing is taken care of before we arrive, Drefleck continued, as if that somehow absolved him. We werent in the business of killing any fucking civilians. Well below our paygrade for one thing. Our job was to take over from them and run the Vault as if nothing had changed. And to make sure that, when shit went down, we were the ones one the spot to handle it. So? Rook prompted So it would appear that we were clearly in over our fucking heads. One moment, it was the dullest, most well-paid job in the world. And I mean that sincerely. If wed seen out the full term of the hire, wed have been able to retire on an island somewhere. And the next I was getting panicked Sending Stone messages from a quickly dwindling number my people. About an attack. About peoples heads exploding. And then some of the eeriest fucking laughing Id ever heard. Me and all the others who werent on shift that night got down there as fast as we couldjust in time to see you waltzing in like youd booked a tour. Next thing I know, Cuckoo House is all over the case and the whole place is locked down tight. No one in, no one out. No new information coming or going. Even then, we were tempted to hang around and see what happened - I even had Syncler put undercover here to keep an eye on Morholt and make sure he wasnt going to try and short us - but then a little birdie told me someone was pulling our files back at HQ and all sorts of questions presented themselves. Lowe felt something settle cold in his gut. Lant. He has asked the Deathcaller to find out who the bodies in the Vault were. It had been that probing which had alerted the Shimmerskins something was going down. You thought Lowe was on your trail, Rook said. Bingo. So you what? Lowe asked, Just decided to kill me and all my friends? Oh, dont be stupid, Drefleck said, as if offended at the very idea. We dont do anything for free! No, we were still figuring out how to extricate what was left of the squad out of Soar, he said. Wed discussed cutting our losses, maybe reinventing ourselves somewhere else. Then, lo and behold, just when we were planning to leave, we get offered another fucking massive contract. And let me tell you, Drefleck continued, this one looked easy. Beautifully simple. How hard could it be, after all? Killing a Classless Inspector and his little gang of nobodies? He grinned. Turns out? Plenty fucking hard. Lowe didnt return the smile. He was too busy trying to put everything together. Something wasnt clicking. The Vault. The slaughter. The hit contract. Something didnt add up. Hang on. Who gave you that contract? Was it Morholt? Drefleck shook his head. The Mayor? Latham said Another lazy shrug. Nah. It was some wanker calling himself the Black Knight. There was a beat during which Drefleck obviously enjoyed the impact of those words on Lowe. Which brings me to what I assume is the more pressing issue for all you fine people. The whereabouts of all the rest of your friends. The tension in the room ramped up fairly considerably at that. So, full disclosure time, Drefleck said. I need out. You Soar types play far too rough for me and Im happy to leave you to it. I came here today to see what I could get out of matey boy, he nodded down at Morholt, but someone else had obviously decided he needed to go permanently quiet. The way I figure it, whoever did that must now know about me. I sense were moving to the Finding Out stage of proceedings and I need to make myself scarce. So what, youre going to tell me where youve squirrelled away my friends in return for . . . what? Safe passage out of Soar? Kind of. But you see, I think you might have grasped the wrong end of the stick here. Sure I know where the rest of the group is is, but its not us that took them off the board. This revelation, doubtless, would have been a very fruitful area for discussionone that might have led to revelations, accusations, and no small amount of self-congratulatory gloating from Drefleckhad it not been rather abruptly forestalled. Specifically, by the explosion that came screaming through the bank window. And, even more specifically, by the subsequent and immediate disappearance of Dreflecks head. Chapter 139 - The Joke’s on You A spray of wet, red mist filled the space above the Shimmerskins shoulders. For a half-second, the room was frozen in the tableau of what had just happened. Dreflecks body remained upright, as if it hadnt quite gotten the memo yet, hands still mid-gesture, before it finally decided that the absence of a head was a critical issue and slumped forward onto the ruined desk. Blood fanned out across the papers. Someone was shouting. Lowe thought it might well be him. He should be moving. He knew that. He knew that. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to do something. To dive for cover. To return fire. To react. But his mind had already left not just the room, it had left the present. And was back in a dingy cafe opposite a park. Again. Then he was watching as the park erupted into chaos with the horrifying suddenness of the end of his world. Faulks had been mid-sentence, still trying to steer Highberg away from the bench, when her head exploded. Her blood and Dreflecks merged in his mind. A bloody fog of horror. A crack of an explosion. The sound echoing off the buildings. Then silence. Then screaming. SNIPER! someone had yelled. No. Not someone. It was Rook. But present-day Rook. The Threshold Guardian, version. Not his friend who had ceased being alive on that day. The urgent, screaming voice overlapped with the one in Lowes memory, and he felt the sting of the memory crash down on him. The unbearable wrongness of it all. The bodies falling in the park. The body collapsing here. The sudden, obliterating certainty that people around him were dying. Again! That he was too slow. Again! That if he turned his head again there would be another lifeless crater where someone he knew had been standing Another explosion. Another body hitting the ground. Arman. No. Latham. It was all blurring together. A golden lance of light speared down from above, vaporizing Highberg in a burst of heat and judgment. No, that wasnt right. That was before. This was now. And Rook was moving. Lowe saw him through the haze, shifting toward the shattered window, some sort of blade already in hand, eyes scanning the rooftops. There! Corner of Mesmerism and Fortune. On the rooftop, he said, pointing with his knife. When did Rook start carrying a knife? Lowe! Then his body was moving before his mind had fully caught up and he was running before the next explosion occurred. His boots hit Morholts desk, then his chair, and then the floor. Lowe crossed the room in a heartbeat and - for reasons which he would have struggled to explain - chose to fling himself through the broken window. Glass caught the light as it spun around him, shards of it glittering like spots of frozen time. The onrushing street below was a blur coming up to meet him, a rush of movement and voices and unaware civilians going about their day as if the last five seconds hadnt rewritten their everything. Lowe supposed it hadnt. Not for them. But, then again, they werent in pursuit of their Nemesis. Lowe crash landed on the pavement. Hard. In a way that suggested he had, at some point in the descent, made several critical miscalculations regarding physics, momentum, and his own invulnerability. Unfortunately, with his now very high Perception he got to appreciate every single one of those miscalculations in excruciating, frame-by-frame detail. Hes noticed, for instance, the way his ankle twisted just as he hit the window frame. Hed noticed the slight, wet pop as it dislocated itself, followed by the way the rest of his leg immediately gave up and flopped beneath him like a fish. Hed also noticed the sensation of his ribs folding inwards as his torso made an enthusiastic and rather final-sounding introduction to the cobblestone, which weresurprise, surprise!much less forgiving than they had initially appeared. Then he noticed, mid-bounce, that his shoulder had definitely exited its assigned seating arrangement. And he certainly noticed, upon landing, that the reason he was struggling to inhale might have something to do with the fact that his lungs were currently experiencing an unsanctioned field trip outside of their usual containment zone. He lay there for a long, rather too thoughtful moment, his body an abstract study in wrong angles. One of those thoughts was how the tableau could have been entitled this is why people dont jump out of fifth floor windows. Then Roll With The Punches kicked in. Oh, goody. And because the universe wasnt content with simply breaking him into little pieces, it decided he needed to be fully cognisant of the healing process, too. Arkolas help with raising his Perception wasnt seeming such a boon right about now. Bone snapped back into place, muscles stitched themselves together, andsomewhere within himhis organs politely but firmly rearranged themselves back to their original locations. Lowe groaned once, twice and then staggered upright Well, he said, rolling his reassembled shoulder and waving to the horrified bystanders whod witnessed his fall. That was somewhat unnecessary. Then he ran. Above him, he could hear Latham roaring something out of the broken window after him, but he didnt stop to listen and the exact words were lost in the wind. He couldnt stop. Arbella had been taken and, if it was the last thing he did, it would be to make sure he didnt have to find her body in an abandoned warehouse with all that fucking laughing going on. Because if it wasnt the Shimmerskins that had taken his friends, that really did leave only one logical option. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. There was no time for hesitation. Bodies were not going to pile up while he stood there trying to piece it all together. Not again. This time, he was going to be fast enough. He wasnt going to be there in time. The building Rook had been pointing at wasnt actually too far, but plenty far enough to be a problem to get at quickly. Saying that, though, Lowes path looked clear enough, in the same way that Soars streets were ever clearwhich was to say, they were enthusiastically occupied by drunks, street vendors, lost tourists, and all sorts of opportunists who saw a man fall to what should have been his death and immediately wondered whether his pockets were worth picking. Lowe hit the first stack of crates piled up against a wall, his boots landing with a thunk that sent a disgruntled Fishmonger cursing into the night. He ignored him, focused on the next step on his way up and into the skya market awning, stretched wide over some very questionable fruit. He leapt and his foot hit fabric, dipped alarmingly, and then responded enthusiastically to his weight, flinging him upwards. Lowe scrabbled as he flew untethered and then began yet another rapid descent. Fortunately, his fingertips grazed the edge of the first rooftop - the one he had been aiming at. It was slate and wet, which was profoundly unhelpful to his current situation. He grabbed it anyway, muscles straining as he managed to haul himself up onto the flat roof. A flower pot exploded next to his head and he rolled. It appeared his target wasnt all that content to have him close the distance unmolested. "Oi!" someone bellowed from an unseen window above him. "Some of us are tryin to sleep!" Lowe chose not dignify this with a response, mostly because he was already back to his feet and running, dashing across the uneven rooftop with the single-minded urgency of a man who had just remembered that snipers, famously, did not love close quarter melee fighting. The next jump was a bastard. The building across from him was just far enough to make Lowes attempt to cross it seem mildly suicidal, but also just close enough that not trying was the sort of thing cowards and people who liked having intact femurs did. It turned out that, on this night and in this mood, Lowe wasnt either of those. He took three quick strides, pushed off And landed, rolling into a hard shoulder slam against a chimney stack that belched out an irritable puff of soot. Lowe, in sympathy, coughed right back, staggered - Roll with the Punches refusing bone - and then kept moving to the spot Rook had pinpointed. As he ran, the city sprawled below him, all twisting alleys and shivering manalight. It was a network of gutters and broken cobbles that had never been kind to him. And, dominating the skyline was the Celestial Temple. He hoped Arkola was enjoying the latest episode in the shitshow that was Lowes life. Probably with a box of divine popcorn. Somewhere behind him, someone was shouting, but that didnt matter. The next ledge was waiting. And up. And that was the only thing that mattered right now. Lowe hit the final ledge and hauled himself over, breath coming heavily as he landed in a crouch. Mylafs jokes about his expanding waistline didnt seem quite so cruel right about now. He used to do this sort of pursuit for fun. Taking a moment to orientate himself, he looked out on almost the whole of Soar stretched out before himtwisted chimneys, slumping rooftops, the endless sprawl of old brick and opportunistic expansion, a city stitched together. His gaze swept the rooftop. There. A shadow moved at the far edge of the roof he was on, just past the flickering glow of a mana lantern. A man. Long coat. A crossbowno, not quite. The shape was wrong, the angles too clean, but Lowe didnt wait to analyse it any further. His hands filled with Slugger, mana coursing down his arms as his fingers clenched, ready to charge And then he became aware of the attacks. They were a weight in his skull. A pressure that almost made his thoughts tilt and reality bend. His body locked up for a fraction of a second, a sickening, ice-hot pull in his head . . . But then Mental Fortress asserted itself and his manacle pulsed, with blast after blast of mana draining away as his Skill slammed into place, blocking the unseen mental assault before it could take hold. Lowe groaned as all his available mana vanished in an instant. No. Not quite all of it, not yet, but far too much. And far too quickly. It might say Level 26 above his head, but he had the mana pool of twice that and it took more than a few psychic buffers to drain that ocean dry. However, with each assault his Skills deflected away, the shadow in front of him blurred, vanished and then reappeared. Then vanished again. Further mental attacks slammed into him, but Mental Fortress took the hit, chewing up another chunk of his mana as his mind was dragged into a pull and push of Pressure and attempted foreign influence. However, each attack ultimately failed and the shadowy man he was running towards glitched out and vanished again. Was it an illusion? Lowe shook his head and tried to concentrate. He was still himself. Still here. But, if he wasnt careful - and these attacks kept rolling in - he was in danger of running out of mana. Which considering all the damage Roll with the Punches was still trying to sort out, wasnt likely an ideal state of being. Then his manacle flickered and Pressure surged through his body, heat rolling down his limbs, burning through his exhaustion. Lowe thought about using it for retaliation, but if he did that and the attack didnt stick, he was screwed. He opted instead for a full mana refresh, feeding off the surge which allowed his mind to snap back into focus and really push away whatever was trying to befuddle him. This caused the shadow of the man with the strange crossbow to disappear for the last time. At first, Lowe thought finally defeating the mental Skill had left him alone on the rooftop. But no. He wasnt quite on his own. Because in the mans place, there was a box. Lowes step hitched as he closed in on it. And not because of what it was. But because of how many times hed seen it before. It was a small wooden box, cheap and mass-produced, the kind sold in every single joke shop in Soar. Lowe knew this, because he had asked. Researched. Thoroughly explored each and every sale of this particular box throughout the city. It was roughly the size of a mans palm, with a crude etching of lips stretched into a grin burned into the lid. A Laughing Box, it was called. A box that, when opened, would do nothing more than let out a high-pitched, distorted cackle. In reality, it was just a cheap gimmick. A joke. Something street magicians used to amuse children before lifting their purses. Funnily enough, in the context in which he came across them, Lowe had never really seen the funny side. He stooped and picked the box up, his fingers hovering over the lid. Not yet ready to see what was inside. For a moment, he just looked at it. So small. So utterly, insultingly ordinary. He already suspected what was going to happen when he flicked it open. The laugh would start immediately. Thin, mechanical, and warped from overuse. Hed heard that sound far too often. But, on this occasion, it wasnt the laughter that made beads of sweat pop out on his head. No, on this night, and on this rooftop, the thing that caused him dread was because of what the box contained. A piece of card with an image impressed on it. The picture was small and square and, slightly curled at the edges where it had been tucked beneath the mechanism of the box. It was a group picture. Arebella. Hel. Karolen. Ortel. All of them. They were tied up, faces pale, drawn and utterly furious. Lowes grip on the box tightened as his Perception flared and he locked onto the details, ensuring Grid View was firing as he did so. His friends didnt appear to be hurt in the picture. They werent bloody. But they were clearly very stressed. His friends were being held. But that wasnt the worse thing, was it? No. That was the single folded note that lay at the very bottom of the box. Lowe pulled it out,, unfolded it, and read the single word in familiar handwriting. Checkmate. Lowe stared at it for a moment, before closing the box. The laughter stopped. Chapter 140 - The Mourning After Lowe was aware that the rest of the day passed, though not in any meaningful way he was truly able to mark. It was just a bunch of somethings that happened, with the bells sliding past in a shapeless smear of movement, voices and obligations that he, temporarily, did not have the energy to care about. He wasn''t entirely sure who had come to collect him from the rooftop. Probably Latham. Yes. It had to have been Latham, didnt it? No one else would have been able to so easily pick him and carry him down to ground level. And even if they could, theyd have needed the sheer bloody-minded force of will to bother. At some point, he thought he had given a statement. To Staffen, he believed. That much he thought he could remember. Or at least, he remembered saying words and hearing questions, but the actual content of either was lost somewhere in the fog of his fear. He assumed his boss had said something comforting. Probably something about getting a fucking grip you utter wetwipe. Lowe remembered that Cenorth had said something similar to him in the days following the collapse of the Highberg case - another time when everything had ended and he had spent too much time staring at the inside of a bottle, trying to find a version of himself that he didnt hate. That was the last time he had experienced such a strange unreality of time. The sense that existence was something happening to him rather than something he was involved with. Except, and he couldnt believe he was even thinking this, he thought back then had been preferable to now. Back then, hed still had choices. Not many, for sure. Whether hed choose Classtration or Execution wasnt much of a menu to select from, but at least that veneer of possibility still existed. Now? Now he had nowhere left to fall. And the Black Knight had taken his friends from him again. Lowe didnt think the full horror of that had fully hit yet. He sensed he was too numb to properly appreciate it and that the pain was lingering at the edges of his awareness, waiting for his brain to slow down enough to really feel it. But he knew the moment was coming. And when it did, he suspected that it would break him. So he didnt dare let his brain stop whirling. He couldnt stop, because if he did that would be it . . . Somewhere between leaving the rooftop and ending upwherever the hell he was nowhe thought his memories must have become unreliable. He felt like he was experiencing a mix of a hangover, severe head injuries, and particularly ambitious drug cocktails. Whatever mental Skill had battered against him had packed quite a punch. Just because hed been able to tank it, didnt mean there were no after effects. And, on top of everything else, they were kicking his arse. His body was moving on autopilot, responding to the external stimuli of the chaos of an urgent Cuckoo House investigation without the inconvenient process of thinking getting in the way. Because people he cared about were missing, but that seemed to be being trumped by the Warden of the Reserve being murdered and evidence of an OOB squad operating in Soar. He guessed, in a moment where rationality and consideration met, it was unsurprising that the disappearance of an assassin, a lawyer, a bean counter and a truth-teller ranked pretty low in the scheme of things. Not when it seemed like the Black Knight was riding again. At some point in the day, it seemed hed taken a shower. He remembered the warm water had washed over him, dragging some of the dried blood and soot away but failing to remove any of the actual dirt he felt under his skin. At some point, he appeared to have changed his clothes. At another, hed ended up in a chair. And at some pointdefinitely later, possibly earlierhed come to this bar. The drink in front of him was full, although the six glasses next to it were not. He had no memory of ordering it. Or them. He wasnt sure if that meant he had drunk the empty ones, but if he had, they had scoured his taste buds clear and completely lost track of tasting them. But, he supposed, it didnt really matter. The point was, he was still sitting. He was still waiting. For what, exactly? He had no idea. The laughter from the box was still ringing in his ears. Thin, warped and ever-so amused. And somewhere beneath it, the image of his friends, looking up at whoever had captured the image of their faces. Man, had they all looked pissed . . . He had asked each of them for their help. And as repayment for their kindness, he had let them be taken. That thought slipped through his mind, causing Lowe to dive once again into his drink. Then somewhere, in the periphery of his vision, the world tilted again. His hand twitched toward his manacle on reflex, but there was no mental attack taking place. No, there was no Skill being used on him this time. Just his memory choosing to torture him some more. The fractured - too-bright - wrong kind of memory that didnt feel like remembering so much as reliving. It was Grid View mixed in with remembrance, so it came in uncertain flickers. There he was, inside Soar Museum. And he was dead. The heat. The pressure of the Dreadnaught crushing him. Then, the moment when the Dungeon had collapsed in on itself, when the past had forced itself upon himwhen it had dragged him back into the moment of his Classtration. Into the screaming. The pain. The sensation of being ripped apart and left hollow And now. Now, this. A different kind of hollow. A different kind of being ripped apart. Something in the back of his mind laughedthe box, the Black Knight, Soar, Arkola, himselfand the memory shifted. He was back in the park as it erupted into chaos with the horrifying suddenness of the end of the world. Faulks. Her head A crack, echoing off the buildings, off the cobblestones, off the inside of his skull The moment of frozen horror, the stunned silence before the screams Sniper! No. Not again. This isnt happening again. Arman. His chest, caving inward like someone had taken a hammer to a porcelain doll. Coda. Golden light shattering through his shield, his body twitching, the smell of burning flesh. Faulks, Coda, Arman The words were falling out of his mouth again, like a prayer. Like a curse. Like a fucking tally sheet. Rook? Can you see anything? Silence. The bags of gold rolled harmlessly to the side. Mocking. Mundane. The people behind them, however, were gone. Just like now. Just like . . . No. Not like now. Lowe snapped back to himself. His knuckles were white against the glass. His jaw hurt. Had he been gritting his teeth? He didnt remember. He supposed it didnt matter. He forced his fingers to unclench from the glass, and dragged himself back into the present. If there had ever been a time to wallow in it, it wasnt now. Because, right now, his friends had been taken. And he could either be all sad, or he could get them back. Lowe finished his drink, pulsed Roll with the Punches through him to clear the alcohol and stood up. He was done playing the Black Knights game. It was time to put some pieces of his own in play. *** How good is Hel? Little man, what the fuck of you doing here? We both need to sleep if were going to be any use to the search tomorrow. I dont want to be any use tomorrow. I want to be useful now. Which is why I need you to confirm something for me. How good is Hel? Lowe, you smell like a fucking brewery. What have you been drinking? The sweet scent of inspiration, my friend. A little smell Im thinking of bottling and selling to the masses. Im thinking Im going to call it victory. But only, and this is crucial, only if you wake up and clarify for me how good Hel is. Latham swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up, staring at Lowe. Look, I get you have had a shock, we both have. But you have to believe theres no way they dont get found tomorrow. The Mayors authorised all sorts of exciting overtime to find the fucking Black Knight. In a few bells, were not going to be able to move for motivated and well-recompensed powerhouses kicking arse and taking names to solve the murder of the Warden of the Reserve. Very, very quickly, the Black Knights going to have nowhere to hide and that is when well find our friends. You breaking into my house and waking me up is not going to help with that. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. What if I told you I could find a way to get our hands on him before anyone else. Wouldnt you like that? Lathams hands bunched, then he said softly. Yeah. Id like that. Well then, how about you answer my question. How good is Hel? Latham stood and it appeared that he was sleeping in his Temple Warder armour. That was quite a trip, Lowe thought. Shes the best Ive ever known. Yeah, thats kind of what I thought. Okay, so I have a plan. Is it a good plan? Its not a terrible plan. How likely is it to get us killed? You? No chance. Me? An absolute certainty. But Ill rally. Sold. A plan with no downsides. So what do we do? First up, we need to make sure that neither of us are Shimmerskins, Lowe said. Theres far too much of that sort of bollocks going around and if were going to do this properly, then we need some sort of safeword. Little man, I never, ever want to hear you tell me the two of us need a safeword. Fair point. Tell you what, you tell me what Hels codeword to Tenia was, and Ill believe that you are you. Youre serious? Im serious. A Rune of Silence appeared in Lathams hand, and he crushed it, putting an impenetrable bubble around them. Moist weasel. You happy? Very happy. Okay, so the plan is this . . . No, no, no. You now know Im not a Shimmerskin, but how do I know the same about you? Ask me something only I would know. Actually, I think I need something a bit more . . . you know, hands on. Something you can do, but a Shimmerskin wouldnt be able to. Like what? Latham moved too quickly for Lowe to be able to track, striking him under the chin and sending him flying through the air. Blood of the Phoenix had kicked it before the Inspector even hit the floor. What the fuck, Latham! You just killed me! And you broke into my house in the middle of the night. Were quits. Now, tell me your plan? *** Lowe held the picture the Black Knight had sent in his mind, studying it through Grid View, letting his Perception go to work. Latham, standing beside him, held the actual photograph, pouring over it, trying to identify what it was Lowe wanted him to notice. Its no good, little man. I just dont see it, Latham said. Its a picture of all of them tied up. Which, I agree, is not ideal. However, theres no way the Black Knights going to let you have anything with any sort of clue in it. This is supposed to be mocking you. Nothing more. I get thats the intention, Lowe said. He used to send us loads of these when he was first active. They drove us all mad because they felt like they should mean something, but never did. For a moment, he was back in the past, Arman furious. Faulks swearing a blue streak. Rook silently pinning the images on the board whilst Coda studied them, He shook his head, looking the memory away. He needed to stay grounded in the present. But we already know something about this picture which he doesnt. Which is? Which is Hel being a fucking legend. Bear with me a moment, Lowe said, zooming into the image using Grid View as quickly as he could: Latham did not look like a man prepared to bear with anything. He looked like a man prepared to grab Lowes head between his hands and crush it into atoms. But, even though his healing cooldown was still not reset, Lowe did his best to ignore him. His friends were all there in this image. Each of them was furious, clearly exhausted and very tied up. None of them had any obvious injuries, which was both a good thing but was also a touch confusing. Neither Latham nor Lowe could think of many circumstances where Karolen or, especially, Hel were going to be trussed up without fighting back. However, the lack of obvious wounds suggested the Black Knight wanted them alive. That, or he was saving the entertainment for later, but Lowe was trying very hard not to go down that particular mental alley. Some of the bodies hed seen during the mans first rampage had been . . . not well treated. Lowe let his gaze drift over the details in the image, cataloguing everything in a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how completely he had, once again, failed to keep his friends safe. Karolens jaw was clenched with a barely suppressed fury that suggested whoever had tied her up should be very grateful she didnt have access to sharp objects. Ortels lips were pressed into a thin, white line, the edges of his mouth betraying a curse frozen mid-sentence. Arebellas glare was fixed on their unseen kidnapper, a look that, under normal circumstances, would put a man in an early grave. Shed only looked at him like that a few times and it had been more than enough. But then there was Hel. Lowes focus narrowed. And narrowed. And narrowed. She was tied up just like the others, but she wasnt angry. Okay, she was pissed, but she wasnt just angry. She was focused. On something that was just over the shoulder of whoever was capturing the image. At first glance, it might have seemed like she was just looking in the same direction as the others. But no. Her gaze was almost distant. As if she was making use of a Skill. I knew it. There it is, Lowe said. What? Latham said, flipping the photograph over, as if the back of it would reveal some hidden context. Lowe didnt answer. He was zooming further in, honing in on something else that had just caught his eye Hels fingers. They were captured in the process of twitching. Small, tiny movements. And Lowe didnt think it was just her struggling against her bonds. And it wasnt her fidgeting. He thought Hel was shaping air. Now, most people thought of Wind Tyrants as these flashy powerhouses. Big, sweeping gales. Storms. Tearing things apart with violent hurricanes. Literal forces of nature. But the best of them? The truly terrifying ones? Sure, they could do all that but, what was so much more, they could do some of their best work with subtlety. A hand resting on a table could steal the air from your lungs just as effectively as a hurricane could crush your skull. A whisper on the breeze could slice through armour as easily as a lightning bolt. A locked room with all of its air removed was as much as a death sentence as a tidal wave. And Hel? Well, Latham had confirmed it, hadnt he? She was the best. Lowes eyes were on her hair. All things considered, it should have been lying flat. Tangled. Limp from all the stress and the captivity. But a single lockjust oneseemed to be settled wrong. And he didnt think it was caught by a stray puff of wind, not disturbed by an unseen breeze. It was twisted. Looped. It spelled something. Tiny letters, formed by air, held for the briefest moment against the strands of her hairjust as the image was takenbefore they dissipated away. It would have taken split second timing, and it needed to be ever-so subtle for the Black Knight not to notice it. Lowe focused Grid View in even tighter, stretching the bounds of his Perception and the letters solidified. GNROLLG Got you, he said. Got who? What? Youre going to have to let me in on whatever grand revelation is happening in your brain, because Ive got nothing. Latham was staring at the physical picture. What are you even looking at? Because all I see is Hel tied up and glaring like shes trying to unmake whoever took the photo. Shes doing something with her hair, Lowe said, still locked onto the strands in Grid View. Or rather, shes using the air around her hair. Just enough to shape the wind for a fraction of a second. Latham frowned at the image again, flipped it over, held it up to the light, thenjust for thoroughnessgave it a little shake. Fuck it. I cant see anything. Thats because youre working with peasant-tier vision, Lowe said. How long is it before Im allowed to kill you again? Too long, Fine, then you better explain. Shes spelling something, Lowe said. Seven letters. GNROLLG. Lathams expression went through several phases of incomprehension before finally landing on, Thats not a word. No. Its an acronym. For what? I think shes telling us where hes holding them. You mean to tell me, he said slowly, that instead of just writing it normally, she decided to give us an anagram hair puzzle? Its not an anagram puzzle. Its an acronym. Oh, forgive me, I must have missed the national fucking standard for emergency hostage messaging! Look, I get it. Youre upset. You wanted a straightforward message. Help. We are here. Come quickly. They are not feeding Ortel and he is getting cranky. Well, that would have been nice and straightforward, little man. Well, welcome to Hels way of doing things. She didnt know how long theyd have before they were searched. She didnt know if this picture would be sent immediately or later. And she needed to tell us where they were in a way the Black Knight wouldnt spot. But you know where they are? I think so. Could you be wrong? Have you ever known me to be wrong? Are you fucking kidding me? Okay. Not a high bar, thats on me. But, yes, I think I know where they are. Chapter 141: The Cuckoo’s Nest Pernille Staffen was worried. And considering the general thrust of her career over the years, it took rather a lot for that to happen. She hadn''t wanted the Commander role. She''d been extremely, delightfully, comfortably retired. Little house in Jewel Town. More grandchildren than she could easily name. Finally, the opportunity to catch up on her knitting. But then Cenorth had shit the bed, and the Mayor had, personally, asked her to come in and change the sheets. "How hard could it be?" her husband had said. "It''s hardly like Cuckoo House is going to be like being back on the Wall, is it?" hed said. "Might be nice to have something to get you out from under my feet for a couple of hours a day. And, to be honest, there''s only so many fucking beanie hats one man can wear." How hard could it be? Well, it turned out pretty hard indeed. First, there had been all the fallout from Cenorths death to clear up. She had needed to ensure the Security Services werent left looking like absolute Soar-beating chumps. It had stuck in her craw to push the narrative that wanker was some sort of hero whod gone down in the brave defense of peace, love and the Soarian way, but that was the deal shed brokered to get Jana Lowe off everyones shit list. And she was pleased shed done so. Staffen had always liked the man - had kept half an eye on his career over the years - although she suspected he might not realise it. He might be an arsehole, but he was an honest arsehole, and in a world of gaping, sweaty crap buckets, that made him the rarest of things to Pernille Staffen. Then, hot on the heels of that thered been the Soar Museum debacle, which she was sure had added a whole host of new grey hairs to her reflection every morning. Nevertheless, Lowe had come through there again. And hed royally pissed off Grackle Nuroon to the bargain. Big tick there. But then there was the nightmare of these last few days Staffen lit her pipe as she flicked through the best info Cuckoo House had on the Black Knight. The pickings were slim. This twat was an old ghost story. One people whispered about in the dark rooms of power, half-believing, half-praying they never met the reality of it. Hed been a killer who had made a particular habit of targeting the great and the good of Soarthough great was a subjective term, and good was outright inaccurate. The victims had all been power players in one form or another. Bankers, council members, crime lords, the occasional overly ambitious military officer. Not the sort who left mourners, just empty suits whose deaths caused inconvenient shifts in power. Ones which a suspiciously well-connected number of people had made the most of . . . The Black Knight had been a problem for a while, a silent blade in the citys underbelly, and more than a few people had suspected that the Mayor had been the one holding the purse strings. It would have made sense, she supposed. The Mayor had always been good at arrangements, and sometimes arrangements required knives rather than words. But no one had ever been able to pin it on him. And, from flicking through the Black Knights file, it looked like everyone and his Aunt Bessy had tried. Then the whole thing had come to a head in that disastrous operation Lowe had overseen, and his had been the head which had been the one to roll down the hill. Fucking Cenorth. If there was one thing Staffen hated, it was a boss who didnt stand up for their people. Cenorth had as good as Classtrated Lowe himself. The Council rubberstamping his recommendation had been pretty much assured once hed finished with his evidence. And, for whatever reason, that had been the end of the Black Knight. Well, at least it had been, until that night in the Vault. Staffen puffed away on her pipe in silence, before closing the file in disgust. There was nothing of interest in here. Nothing new, anyway. A knock on her door. "What? "Sorry to interrupt, boss," Osbourne said. And to be fair to him, looking at his face, he really was very, very sorry. Or was at least scared to interrupt her musing. "Well, you have, so get the fuck on with it before I pull your nose off and use it for an ashtray" "Its Inspector Lowe" Staffen sighed. "Of course it fucking is. Whats that wanker done this time?" "Were not sure. Its just" "Any more ellipses, and Im going to use this pipe to complete a fucking radical colonoscopy. What is it?" "You know how you asked for a tracking cantrip to be installed on his Sending Stone?" "As Im not yet suffering from senile delusions, yes. Yes, I do." "Well it appears hes, somehow, turned it off. Well, at least someone has turned the tracking off. Staffen sat still for a moment, swearing under her breath, before grabbing her coat and moving to the door. "Fuck it. That means either hes going to do something stupid or someone is going to try something stupid on him. Neither fills me full of glee." She moved fast through Cuckoo House, cane tapping against the floor, the scent of her pipe smoke trailing behind her. Osbourne struggled to keep up, but he was a younger man, and she wasnt about to slow down for the sake of his knees. "Where was the last ping?" she asked. "Somewhere near the Central Market," he replied, "About half a bell ago." "Half a bell? How long did it take you to find your balls and come and tell me. No, dont answer that. So, do we have any idea where he might have gone now?" "Sorry boss. Either hes gone somewhere that scrambles the signal, or hes switched it off deliberately." "What do we have near the Market?" "Weve got two agents covering the North side, but theyre on foot. We could deploy a unit from the nearest Portal Stone" "No." Osbourne frowned. "No?" "Lowes a prick, but hes a competent prick. If he worked out were tracking him and turned off his Sending Stone, it means he either doesnt want us watching, or hes already in the middle of something that doesnt need a battalion of jackboots stomping through it." But what if someone has turned it off for him . . . Staffen paused, and then shook her head. No. Lets give Lowe some time to sort things out himself. Thats what Id want you fuckers to do in this situation if it was me. "So what do we do, Commander?" "We watch. We wait. And when he inevitably gets himself into deep enough shit that he does need us, we make sure were ready to pull him out." "Understood." Staffen took one last draw of her pipe before knocking the contents out onto a nearby table. "Oh, and get me the restricted file on the Black Knight. The one everyone thinks we dont know about. The one from the Mayors private stash. Osbourne hesitated. He liked it when he got to get his hands really dirty, but - well - there was dirty and then there was dirty. "You think the Mayor might have a hand in this?" "I think the Mayor always has a hand in everything," Staffen said. "The question is whether hes playing both sides, or just making sure he wins either way." She buttoned up her coat and turned toward the exit. "And find out where Lowe was last seen. I want discreet eyes on him before this turns into another mess." Osbourne nodded and jogged off, leaving Staffen standing at the edge of the corridor, the city stretching out beyond the high windows of Cuckoo House. Good hunting, Lowe, she whispered, and then went out into the night. *** The Mayor stared out of his window, enjoying the slow movement of Soar beneath him. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. This was a nice office, he thought. Spacious. Elegant. An office people nodded approvingly at when they walked in. It was a space that whispered of control. Which, after all, was exactly as things should be. The thick rugs, the mahogany desk, the bookshelves filled with weighty tomes hed never actually read but which suggested their owner was a man of depth and consequence. He enjoyed the projected illusion of being the repository for centuries of hard-earned wisdom. He was aware that people expected it from a man in his position, and he was more than happy to oblige. There was nothing so useful as being thought wise by fools. He had worked hard to get here. Done many, many things that may not sit at all comfortably on his conscience, but the trick of it all was making peace with necessary sins. They had not come all at oncethat would have been a fools game and no matter what his detractors thought of him, they all agreed he was no fool. Nevertheless, slowly, over time, each negotiated compromise had been a single stone in a road paved straight to his current seat in City Hall. And now he had this view of the whole of Soar beneath him. A city of opportunity. A city of ambition. A city of cutthroats who liked to pretend they werent cutthroats. He had a particular fondness for those who fitted in to that last description. And a city, more than anything, of gods . . . A frown crossed his face as he thought of that. Yes. The fucking gods. The gods in Soar were the reason it was the greatest of cities. Not its wealth, not its trade, not the glittering towers or the sprawling underbelly. It was the gods which made the city great. And gods, as anyone with half a brain in the city knew, were a problem. The role of the Mayor in Soar was entirely straightforwardkeep the gods happy. In practice, that meant ensuring they could do whatever they pleased with as few consequences as possible. It meant cleaning up after them, smoothing over the inevitable wreckage of their divine tantrums, and ensuring the mortal population didnt start asking questions they had no right to ask. It meant keeping the bodies hidden. And there were always bodies. The fucking gods. And one god in particular. Arkolas threat to destroy Soar was causing him no end of concern. Not quite as much as the death of Arven Morholt, to be sure, but it bothered him nonetheless. Those who provided him with information from within the Celestial Temple had been clear: the god did indeed intend to destroy Soar by the end of this newly breaking day if his property was not returned to him. Which was, by any measure, utterly terrifying. And yet The Mayor watched Soars mana lights flicker out as the sun of a new day arose. By his reckoning, and he had thought long and hard about it, Arkola was bluffing. He could have destroyed the city six years ago if he had been so attached to that statute. That he had not was significant. Gods were many things, but they were not known for patience. That suggested Arkola wanted something more than simply vengeance. And it also suggested he was aware he was being reported on. Which was interesting. That meant negotiation was possible. That meant there were Priests who could be sold out for a favour. And a favour from a god . . . well, that was always worth having. And there would always be others within the Temple that were willing to sell their loyalty, if the price was high enough. All things being equal, he thought he might actually end up ahead of the game on this one. Especially if that blasted Inspector could actually recover the missing item. Of course, the surprising, and entirely unwelcome, reappearance of the Black Knight had somewhat thrown a rather large spanner into his wider gears. As, likewise, had the inopportune murder of Morholt. In the Mayors experience, Wardens of the Reserve who were so openly corruptible were rather thin on the ground. He suspected that the reemergence of the former probably had something to do with the latter. Which was irksome. Especially as he had thought that had all been dealt with. Once the usefulness from that quarter had ceased, he had seen to it personally. Permanently, he had thought. And well over a year ago. Yet here that figure was, back from whatever grave had failed to hold him, and causing an absurd amount of disruption. There were few things that truly made the Mayor nervous, but a vendetta left unfinished had the potential to make even his considerable confidence waver. But he would deal with it. The same way he always did. Something glinted on the rooftop opposite. The Mayor did not move, not at first. There was a certain animal instinct, deeply buried, that told men when they were being watched. He listened to it now, keeping his breathing even. The glint did not come again. Still, his hand drifted to the Sending Stone on his desk, and he pushed some mana into it. Seconds later, the door opened. Cairn entered, silent as ever, his bulk moving with surprising ease for a man of his Class. The Mayor did not look at him. He did not wish to take his eyes off the window. Rooftop opposite, he said quietly. Cairn nodded once and slipped back out. The Mayor watched the awakening city as he waited for the allclear. He thought about Arkola. About the Black Knight. About the Inspector currently dragging his way through the filth of Soar to retrieve something stolen from a god. He thought about the people who had tried to outmaneuver him over the years. About the men and women who had whispered in the dark, certain they possessed the upper hand. None of them had lasted. Not like he did. A minute passed. Then another. Cairn still hadnt returned. Yes, it would all be fine, would it not? Arkola was bluffing, the Black Knight would vanish into history again and Lowe would recover the statue. And all would be well in Soar. Another flash. Perhaps a trick of the early morning light? Or perhaps something else. And he thought that right until the explosion ripped through his window. *** Hel had a long and complicated history with Suppression Totems. When you were one-on-oning a Level 70 Ragehorror, having a spare one of those bad boys in your pocket to slap down could be the difference between bleeding out in the mud and skipping home to fuck the prom queen. It was the only Skill, way back when, she had ever insisted Irek had to raise to Epic before she would let him join her squad, and it had saved their collective arses more times than anything else the Empath Nullifier had in his repertoire. But being on the receiving end of its power, though? That sucked the big one. Hel pulled on the ropes binding her arms and swore a blue streak up, down, left and right. The Black Knight had calibrated the Totem in this room to pull them all down to Level 8which was proving to be the bugger to end all buggers. A slap in the face. A boot to the ribs. A shitty joke with her name as the punchline. Just a few days ago, she had been basking in the sheer delight of her newfound Level 50 Skills. Finally, shed made the jump into the big leagues. The culmination of years of sweat and blood. And now she was back to where shed been in kindergarten. Level fucking 8. Functionally, pathetically and frustratingly helpless. Of course, being kidnapped, tied up, and locked in a fucking tomb was pretty debasing too. She screamed and pushed all her available mana against the Totems enforced restrictions, shoving at the very edges of her ability like a caged animal. Nothing happened and there was a beat of silence. Did it work? Karolen asked from her side in the room. Did what work? The eight millionth time you tried to break free. I was sure this time would be the ticket. Fuck off, Auditor. Would love to. If only there was a Level 50 uber-assassin around to help me escape. Oh, hang on, there is. But all she seems to be doing is screaming like a little bitch. Kay, cool it, Arebella said. This isnt Hels fault. Well, technically Ortel began. You can fuck off too! Hel growled. Silence stretched. A pause for regret. None came. We all heard him go out, right? Arebella said eventually. Yeah, Hel said. Him and that fucking weapon of his. That gave them all pause for thought. That crossbow was, after all, the reason they were all here, was it not? Because when he pointed that thing at them, compliance was the only sane option. The Black Knight was packing a Mythic-enhanced custom crossbow clearly made for piercing . . . well, anything. Shields. Armor. Fleshit didnt apparently care. Hel worried even enchanted plate would fail against it, and could imagine the bolt searing through any barrier like it wasnt even there. To hear the Black Knight tell it, the weapon was one that made even the strongest defensive Skills irrelevant. And more than that, it had something worked into its enchantment that made it react to movement in a way she didnt like one bit. As a Wind Tyrant, she understood the mechanics of that, and she worried it could take down anything this side of an Avatar. And she had absolutely no intention of seeing whether Latham could tank a hit from that thing. So, now would be the time for anyone to share if they have any more ideas of how we get out of this,Arebella said. The complete and absolute absence of chat wasnt reassuring. As long as that Suppression Totem is running, I am afraid there is going to be nothing I have to offer, Ortel said. It is negating even the most basic of my Skills. You and me both, Karolen added. Hel focused again and tried to push against the restriction. Tried to fight. But all she managed was a short, pathetic pulse of wind that barely even stirred the dust. It wasnt even as much as shed managed when the Black Knight had taken their imageprobably to send to mock Lowe. She had no idea if the Inspector would notice the clue shed woven into her hair, but it had been the best she could think to do at short notice. Look, its going to be okay, she said. We all know Lowe. Theres literally nothing in Soar thats going to stop him coming through those doors. Huh, Arebella said. What? Youre telling the truth. You really believe that, Arebella said. Even with my Skills squished down to Level 8, I can see youre absolutely sincere in that statement. When it comes to your boyfriend, Bella, there are only two things that are certain. First, hes going to have been beaten to a pulp, probably killed, at least once since you last saw him. Probably twice, in all fairness, Karolen added. Okay. Fair comment. And the second thing? Nothing in the world is going to stop him from swooping in here and saving us all. No bad guy, no god, and certainly no fucking Black Knight is going to be able to keep him away. Youll see. Any minute now, Jana fucking Lowe is going to stumble through that door with a big dopey grin and make some sort of wisecrack. Arebella looked around at the room in which they were captured. At the reinforced walls, the lack of windows, and the heavy doors bolted from the outside. She looked at the Suppression Totem humming steadily in the corner, leeching them of all their Skills. She looked at the restraints biting into their wrists, and the traps that had been left for anyone seeking to break in. At the careful, methodical planning that had gone into all of this. Her worry was that the Black Knight hadnt just prepared for intruders. He would be welcoming them. Lowe would be coming to save them. That much she absolutely believed. And it terrified her. Chapter 142: Ghosts in the Hall I have to say, Mylaf said, adjusting her collar, I am absolutely thrilled to be coming undercover with you, sir. Thrilled. Tonight has been the most fun Ive had in years! Yeah, well, Lowe said, glancing over his shoulder, it turns out Ive already got everyone else I care about kidnapped by a serial criminal. It meant I was kind of thin on the ground for spare hands to bring to the party. Yep. Sure, Absolutely no offence taken, Jana, Rook said. Im pleased to interrupt my very busy day of Threshold Guarding to come to your assistance. Youre very, very welcome. You know, Latham rumbled from up ahead, if were all hoping to go the same way as the Mayor, were doing a pretty fucking good job of drawing all sorts of attention to ourselves. The four of them moved through the undercity which threaded beneath Soars tangle of passageways, scaffolds, and narrow alleys. The air down here stunkmostly of old rain and alleyway pissbut this evening it was cut through by the acrid sting of burnt wood and scorched stone. The residue of the explosion had torn through City Halls top floor. And considering the Black Knight is back blowing up important people, how about we all shut the fuck up and keep moving? Latham finished. Lowe, for once, was keeping his mouth shut. Hed never been a fan of spending much time in the undercity of Soar. He found the city above enough of nightmare as it was already. And the world beneath it? That was something else entirely. The undercity was Soars shadow. A reflection twisted by everything the world above cast aside. What the streets above discardedbodies, secrets, grudgesthe undercity swallowed whole. It was where debts were paid in flesh, where whispers carried farther than screams, and where the city above pressed down, squeezing life into something mean and desperate. But there was no denying if you wanted to get somewhere quickly and unseen, travelling via the undercity was the way to achieve it. Still, Lowe was pretty glad they had Latham with them right now. Although, I must say, as fun as this excursion is, I do hate the quiet, Mylaf said Its unnatural. Enjoy it while you can. It wont last, Lowe said. It never does. They turned a corner and nearly ran straight into a Justicar patrol sweeping through the street. Latham threw out an arm to stop them, pressing them back against the damp brickwork of a half-collapsed warehouse. All of the Justicars theyd come across this evening were being arseholes, but there was an edge to them now as they rousted people off the street. Fuck, Rook said, ducking more than usually into the shadows. Theyre pulling everyone out for this. He wasnt wrong. Although, considering someone - no one was saying the Black Knight yet, but thats what everyone was thinking - had tried to whack the Mayor, it was hardly surprising the various militias in Soar were losing their shit. From the increasingly frenzied calls for him to fucking answer your Sending Stone, Lowe knew Cuckoo House had hit the streets in full force. He felt bad for not answering, but if he did, he was sure whatever tracking spell Staffen had put on him would trigger again. And he didnt want that anyone knowing where he was until his plan was in place. He liked Staffen and was about as sure as he could be that she wasnt nefariously involved in all this but . . . well, the only way two people could keep a secret was if one of them was dead. And, perhaps, not even then. However, the Soar Security Service werent the only ones out and about since someone had taken their shot. The Justicars were out in their gold and black coats crisp despite the late-night drizzle. The Temple Warders were likewise making their presence known in places they normally didnt deign to walk and even the Dungeon Keepers, the citys most reclusive and least cooperative enforcers, had stepped into the light. The Mayors office had been hit and Soar did not know what to do with itself. It had been yearsdecades evensince Lowe thought Soar had last seen this level of unrest. The Mayors tenure had been so long that most people had simply stopped questioning it. Come what may, he had been a constant. An institution in and of himself. Something as unmovable as the stones the city had been built upon. And now, suddenly, that status quo had been nearly upended. The Tower of Law had summoned an emergency session, pulling every available Council member into conclave to decide how the city would move forward. Normally, such sessions would have been a quiet, bureaucratic affair, held behind heavy doors and thick curtains, but there would be no hiding this from the public. If the Mayor died - and no one Lowe had heard from actually knew the current status of the man - the Council needed to have a plan in place. And, while they deliberated, everyone was watching. On the streets, the people gathered in uncertain clumps, eyes flicking toward City Hall, where the smouldering ruins of the Mayors office still cast an eerie glow against the skyline. Some whispered of conspiracy. Others of retribution. But all of them understood one thingif the Mayor didnt pull through, shit was going to get real. And, considering this was Soar, who knew what that might mean. For now, Cuckoo House was locking down the poor quarters of the city, reinforcing checkpoints, and deploying squads to all major intersections. Lowe didnt envy his colleagues that task. If there was one thing you didnt want to be doing when civil unrest raised its head, was standing in a thin line between the mob and where they wanted to go. The Justicars, on the other hand, seemed to have lucked out and had been given charge of the higher districts, ensuring that whatever power struggle came next, it wouldnt get anywhere near an expensive post code- which was just how the people in Jewel Town would like it. The Temple Warders were making themselves known in the markets and the industrial quarters, reminding everyone that divine authority still mattered and that the gods were always watching. And the Dungeon Keepers? Fuck knows what they were up to, but they were silently watching in a way that was terrifying pretty much everyone. It felt like there was a storm coming. But, right now, everyone in Soar was holding their breath. Well, most people. Are you absolutely sure were allowed to be walking around like this? Mylaf whispered, ducking between Latham and Rook as they paused, once again, in an alley as a patrol moved by. Those uniformed gentlemen seem very keen for us to be moving indoors. She wiped her hands on her coat and adjusted the dozen or so vials hooked onto the bandolier under her cloak. The glass clinked, and they all, instinctively, winced. Yeah, well, Latham said, checking the street ahead before motioning them forward, everyone is very keen for me to be at my post at the Temple, but apparently were not at home to doing what were told this evening. They kept moving quickly, slipping from shadow to shadow, their steps unnaturally light thanks to the Legendary Stealth potion coursing through their veins. Thanks to one of Mylafs more exotic creations, their bodies were moving faster and quieter than they had any right to, with their every movement sharpened to a razors edge. It made even Lowe, who was usually about as subtle as a bar brawl when creeping about, move with something that approached a predatory grace. Although extremely powerful, the downside of these particular Stealth potions was that their effects really did not last all that long. This was why Lowe had asked if the Drudge would accompany them as even stored in an inventory, theyd burn out well before they could be used. And using them too often would trigger a fairly awful debuff. Thus, she was with them to make sure neither of those disasters happened. Speaking of which, whe slipped a piece of gingerbread from her inventory and shoved it into Lowes hand. Eat. Again? Eat it. Youre Overjuicing again. I can tell. Your hands are shaking. Lowe shoved the gingerbread into his mouth without argument. The Overjuiced debuff turned all the benefits of the Stealth potion into a liability real fast. If he let it kick in his eyesight would become too sharp, his nerves too frayed and his muscles would react too fast to obey his brains orders. Even a man like Lowe with all of his healing ability would very quickly turn into mush. You two as well, Mylaf tossed Rook and Latham their own slices of cake before downing another vial of Stealth herself. The sensation of power was immediatelike stepping into a stronger, faster version of herself. Rook was chewing slowly. I have to say, I fucking hate this stuff. It tastes wonderful! Latham said. Not if you dont have functioning tastebuds, Im afraid. As it is, its like having wallpaper paste in my mouth. Still better its much better than getting caught sneaking into the Tower of Law, Mylaf said brightly. And infinitely preferable to your individual body parts liquifying due to Overjuicing. If weve all finished moaning, we need to move, Lowe said. The entrance ahead of them to the Tower of Law was , unsurprisingly locked down tightpatrols moving like clockwork around the perimeter. From where they were, they could see Justicars watching the main doors and a bunch of Temple Warders amongst them keeping an eye on the mana signatures of anyone with a dangerous Class trying to slip past. Considering those two groups absolutely hated each other, there was an unwelcome added frisson in the air. Interestingly, though, no group appeared to be overly concerned with the lower service doors. The trick though, of course, was going to be getting to them. They waited, listening to the rhythm of the patrols. Footsteps passed, growing fainter. Latham clicked his fingers once. That was the signal to take another potion. And to move. The first hurdle was a locked grate covering a drain tunnel beneath the outer wall. Nothing flashy, nothing clever of using any sort of mana rune. It was just an old-fashioned, iron-barred obstruction. Lowe pulled out a pair of wire cutters and went to work. Tell me, Mylaf said, should I be concerned that a member of the Security Service is quite so au fair with breaking and entering? You think this is bad, Rook said, you should see him in the canteen dinner queue. I would really love it if everyone could stop it with the Lowe is getting fat gags, please, he said, pulling the grate free for them to slip inside. Moving as fast as Stealth allowed them, they moved into the undercroftold storage tunnels used for maintenance and waste disposal from the Tower of Law above. They moved quickly - obviously - weaving through the tunnels and dodging the occasional guard on maintenance duty. Mylaf kept her potion vials handy and passed them out just before the last one began to wear off. Even down here, Lowe had drilled it into them that all sorts of alarms would trigger should that protection drop off. And this plan absolutely needed them to arrive in the Tower of Law unseen. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Before long they reached an iron hatch that, according to the blueprint Latham had scared up, would lead to service stairway to the roof of the building. Rook pressed his ear against it, listening, then turned to whisper two of them. He motioned to Latham, who nodded, flexed his fingers and positioned himself on the opposite side of the hatch. Lowe held up three fingers. Two. One. The hatch burst open as Latham surged through it. Literally. The others followed through the Latham-shaped hole he punched in the wall. The guards - common-or-garden City Watch - had just enough time to look surprised before he grabbed one and slammed him into the wall. Rook followed through the gap, striking the second guard with a blow to the face which knocked them out cold. I have to say, Mylaf tutted, I do think it is a little unfair on these poor gentlemen to be pounced on in such a fashion. They were only doing their job after all. Lowe dragged them back into the undercroft, stripped them of their security tags, and stuffed them into a storage closet. If it makes you feel any better for their discomfort, he said, were all absolutely in execution territory right now. Surprisingly, no one seemed to think that made them feel any better. They continued to climb higher up the Tower of Law. With every step they took, they could feel the tension around the building rising. The attempted assassination might have sent shockwaves through Soar, but that was nothing compared to the frenzy of activity since it had taken place. Guards were tripled, security runes were burning hot, and - theyd heard whispered as they snuck past - the entire Council was in an emergency session in a chamber at the very peak of the Tower, no doubt trying to figure out which of them was the person whose appointment, should the worse happen, would keep the whole damn city from tearing itself apart. Under the influence of as much Stealth as they could throw down their throats, they moved through corridors, slipping past the increasingly sparse and scattered patrols. Funny, Rook said, its all a bit like bees, isnt it? Like what? Latham said. Bees will die for the hive, Rook went on. But only at the entrance. The workers fight at the threshold, throw themselves at anything they think is a threat. But once you''re inside? Walk carefully, move slowly, and they let you be. The instinct to attack stops. They dont know what to do with an intruder who doesnt act like one. They climbed another flight of steps, passing through a corridor of draped silks and polished marble, walls carved with suitably lawyery reliefs. There were still no alarms about their presence. No hurried steps following them. Its like the higher we go, the less they notice, Rook said. Its why when reach into a hive with your bare hands to lift out the queen, no one will stop you. When the fuck did you start keeping bees? Lowe said, munching down on another piece of the gingerbread. Its very soothing, Rook said. Youd be surprised at all sorts of the things Ive had to pick up recently. Then, abruptly, they had reached the door to the roof of the Tower of Law. It had all been much easier than it should have been, Lowe thought. Thered not even been any sentries at the last stairwell. And now they were here, and the final part of his plan was ready to put into action. Lowe had been up here before. Not like this, of course. Not with his breath held and his pulse a steady drumming beat in his ears, but on days when the city had been nothing more than a teeming sprawl of ants beneath him. He and Arebella had countless stolen moments here over the years, snatching a kiss or two on a roof that looked out over all of Soar, the wind catching at her hair, laughter muffled against his collar. By the look of the blitz sticks crushed underfoot, they werent the only ones who made use of the place. This place was obviously a smokers retreat between duties, somewhere those who worked within the Tower of Law came to step outside of themselves for a moment. To let their thoughts dissolve into the sky. The door at the top of these stairs was plain and unmarked. No crest, no lock and no heavy iron bolt to bar their way. It clearly wasnt meant to keep anyone out. It was just a door to be used only by those who belonged here. By those who never imagined an intruder might reach it. Lowe glanced at the rest of his group. None of them spoke. Beyond the door, the wind would be waiting, the cold air rolling around under a vast open sky. However, most importantly, it would also afford them a view that stretched down into the glass-domed Council Chambers, where a very tense meeting was currently going on. Lowe set a hand to the latch and pushed it open. No alarm. The hive had not stirred. Remind me again why we think this is a good idea, Latham said. Never said it was a good idea, Lowe said. I just said that, if I were the Black Knight, having just tried to take out the Mayor, the absolute next place Id be heading to would be here. The last time he was active, the Council made a resolution to never meet together to avoid giving him a target rich environment. I wouldnt be at all surprised if this is the last time they allow themselves to be in one room again before he is caught. If the Black Knight wants to up the ante - maybe finish off what he started way back when - it is going to have to be now or never. So, we go out there, get ready and when he shows up here we, you know, take care of business. They stepped out onto the roof. The wind howled about them, tearing at their cloaks, dragging at every loose thread like it meant to unmake them. If Lowe didnt know better, hed say that Hel was out and about and feeling very annoyed about life. Thinking of his friend made Lowe unaccountably sad, and he pushed that from his mind. From this position up high, they were looking down at the glass dome above where the Council were sitting in their gilded chairs, draped in all sorts of self-importance. Lowe didnt think there were any raised voicesnot yetbut the tension in there was clear. Someone had taken a shot at the Mayor and none of them were sure what that meant for them. At the very centre of the room, a great table sprawled beneath a mess of parchment. Lowe thought he could make out maps curled at the edges, documents held down by ornate seal-stones and, of course, Sending Stones buzzing repeatedly like dying embers. Each one of those was carrying a message from somewhere in Soar, another piece of bad news laid at their feet. Lowe was getting fed much the same info on his own device: reports of all sorts of unrest and riots. Not once did any of them look up. Lowe supposed there was no reason for any of them to do so. Lowes fingers curled against a rail that kept him from approaching too near the edge. He had no love for that place down below. The last time he had stood in their, it had been when they had voted, unanimously, to Classtrate him. To strip him of most of his Skills, and sever him from everything that made him useful to the world. That was the kind of people they were. And, not for the first time, he wondered if the Black Knight might not have had the right of it when he did his best to wipe these fuckers out. Wouldnt Soar just be better off if he just sat back and let things take their natural course over the next bell or so . . . But then he thought of a small, broken body in a deserted warehouse and, as far as he was concerned, that way of thinking could fuck right off. Any end like that could never justify the means. Nevertheless, Lowe could still see each and everyone of their faces in his mind. The way they had looked at him. Not with hatred. Not even with cruelty. But with such a weight of disdain. He had been a disappointment, and they had simply voted to throw him and everything he had been away. And now there they were beneath him, draped in their robes of power, gnawing at their own fear like rats on a ship that was both sinking and on fire. As a group, they set themselves up on the roof, each hidden in the deep shadows and eyes scanning the surrounding space for any sign of the Black Knights incursion. And now what? Mylaf whispered from her position on the extreme left of the Towers roof. Now? Lowe said, looking down through the glass dome where his Perception revealed an empty chair, its owner very conspicuously absent from proceedings. Now you get to be introduced to the little known, but most common aspect of the work of Cuckoo House. Were going to sit still, probably for a couple of bells, and wait for the real action to start. *** The Black Knight didnt like leaving anything to chance. He never had. That was how lesser men died, after all. Those poor fools never took the time to plan properly. They just acted and trusted to luck, blithely assuming Soar had a sense of fairness. Remember the six Ps, the Boss had always said. Proper Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance. The Black Knight had made it this far because he did not trust in anything else other than his own competence. Certainty was to be found in the little details. The way a guards patrol route could be measured to the precise second. The exact weight of a coin pouch so that it secured a mans loyalty. And, of course, both the silence that fell before a kill and the awful quiet that appeared right after. Those two were the key to knowing when to strike and, far more importantly, when to wait. So, right now, he was waiting. The emergency Council session was dragging on and on deep into the night. From everything he had been able to ascertain, the city outside the walls of the Tower of Law was still in complete shock, its heart stuttering from the sudden, violent attack on the Mayor. Good. That was, after all, the whole point. Of course, hed never had any expectation that his assault would actually be able to kill the man - from that range, and with the Mayor in his own office, his defensive Skills would have far too extensive for that - but that had not been his aim. The Black Knight knew that, should he seek to get all these important men and women in one room, that attack would be the only way. And now here there were. At his complete mercy. Although, things had almost gone wrong once he had kicked that particular hornets nest. The speed in which the Justicars had locked the Tower of Law down had taken him by surprise. He had expected to have been able to be in position before that had happened but - fortunately - he had prepared for that eventuality and had been able to use his trump card to assist him in slipping inside. And now here he was, hidden from sight, and making little adjustment to his crossbow, all the time being careful that the other hidden watchers on this roof did not notice him. The Black Knight took his time, adjusting things until he was in the perfect position for this final shot. He rested the lip of his weapon over the edge of the roof so that the weight was supported by the stone. He loved this crossbow. It was an executioners tool, created and given to him for a single purpose. Each of his bolts was powered to cut through any and all defensive Skills and protections and the one he had one loaded up for this final, dramatic shot was one which would engulf the entire Chamber below in a colossal, demon-infused fireball. All that remained was to wait until the star of this particular show to arrive. Then, even as he watched, the door to the Council chamber swung open, and the Mayor hobbled in. The man moved like someone whod been hurt badly and didnt trust any of his wounds to stay closed. Interesting, the Black Knight thought, hed seemingly hit closer to the mark than he thought! The Mayors grip on his cane was white-knuckled, and the muscle at his jaw twitched like he was holding back either pain or rage. Probably both. But that was to nothing compared to the paranoia which rolled off him in waves. The rest of the Council visibly shrank from it, their whispers thinning into silence. Everyone within that room was profoundly rattled and, perhaps, for the first time in a long time, the Black Knight was truly pleased. The Council members had all stood at the Mayors arrival, bowing their heads low. The Black Knight almost smiled at them presenting the perfect target. Almost. Then, he shifted his grip on the crossbow and prepared to kill them all. It was funny, but he hadnt accepted a contract in over a year. There hadnt really been any point. Having stolen away the Highberg ransom, hed been set up for life. But it had never been about the gold, had it. And it hadnt been about the politics, or the pursuit of power. Or even the settling of personal grudges. He had spent all that time cutting away the dead wood at the summit of Soar, but in the end he had grown to realise that, despite everything he had done to improve things, Soar remained no different. And, with regret, he had come to recognise that the Mayor and the Council were the reason for that. Whilst it might seem gauche to be about to bite off the hand that had so well remunerated him for services rendered, the Black Knight was settled on this course of action. The Mayor and the Council must die if Soar was to survive. He had hoped that Arkola would move immediately against the Mayor and the Warden once the Vault was plundered of its booty, but that had not come to pass. On reflection, perhaps, he should have known better about that. He had, after all, played that particular card once before, hadnt he? When he had originally delivered that strange statue to the Mayor. His expectation had been that, in short order, Arkola would immediate turn City Hall into an ash heap. But instead, there had been negotiation. Compromise. And the Mayor had continued to be in power. It just showed, didnt it, that you couldnt trust anyone in this city. A lesson he seemed to have needed to learn again and again. However, now he was here - looking down on all those important, serious people - he was actually quite glad how everything had worked out. There was nothing quite like being able to bring the game to a conclusion yourself, up close, was there? To pull the curtain down on the whole performance with one big boom. With all of these greybeards gone, Soar would finally be open to new arrangements. New balances of power would rise and the next pieces would be ready to be moved. It was time. The Black Knight took a final check of his aim, breathed in, and held it, focusing on the empty chair at the table below. The chair that belonged to Soars ruler. The one to which he was moving, painfully, towards. It would be fitting for the Mayor to be the first to die. After which, there would be no shortage of souls meeting their gods. The power of the crossbolt thrummed beneath his fingers. And he waited. Waited for just the right moment. Waited for the weight of certainty to settle. Because the Black Knight didnt like leaving anything to chance. He never had. Then, without any warning at all, he felt the cold touch of metal resting against the back of his neck. Well fuck me, little man. Who would have guessed it? Like a stopped clock, youve actually been right twice today! If the first voice was wryly amused, then the second one to speak was cold as ice. Okay Rook, I think it''s about time you put the crossbow down. Chapter 143: The Measure of the Fall You know what, Jana, I actually dont think I will. Rooks hands didnt so much as twitch on the crossbow, which was quite something considering Latham had a massive broadsword poking at the back of his head. Nevertheless, despite that handicap, the Threshold Guardians stance remained solid, and his mana-powered breath was entirely slow and measured. There was absolutely no sign that he was feeling any fear. There was no uncertainty in his posture. Even at the end, it seemed that he would be the consummate professional. And, in these sort of circumstances, Lowe didnt like professionals. . . . Okay, mate. Well, how about I put it another way for you and see if you can get on board with this instruction, Lowe said. Either you put the crossbow down right now, or Latham is going to cut your head off. The pressure of Lathams blade against Rooks neck increased ever so slightly. Not enough to do real damage. Just enough to absolutely promise it. No blood ran down from the small cut that appeared at the nape of his neck because, of course, as a Threshold Guardian, he didnt have any of that running through his body, did he? You could do that, Rook said. But then youll never find where I left the bodies of all your poor friends. I know you, Jana. Youll go mad with grief, wondering where their mortal remains lie. If I die here, youll never get a moments peace wondering about their final moments. Wow! Well, doesnt that sound shitty? Lowe said. Never a moments peace. My word, what an awful outcome that would be for me. What do you think about that, Mylaf? I agree, sir. And, frankly, Im quite shocked about the whole thing. That does indeed sound like a quite horrible thing to experience. To be honest, sir, it is almost enough to make me not feel quite so bad to have put all that poison into his gingerbread. What? Rook went to turn, but Latham pressed his sword a touch deeper. A good inch of the blade vanished beneath the skin. How about you, Latham? Does that threat never to know about Hels final moments get your knees knocking? Sort of. But, you know what? Latham said, I reckon that sort of creepy ultimatum would sound pretty fucking persuasive for us to let him go. Well, that is if we didnt already know where he was holding them. Rooks body didnt move any further, but Lowe thought there was a new set to his shoulders now. Was that a flicker of doubt? Of uncertainty buried under all those years of hard-earned control. If there was, he continued to hide it well. Bullshit, he said. Im afraid its the true word, mate, Lowe said. Well, true acronym, anyway. Oh, he said as Rook seemed to shiver slightly, are you starting to feel the poison work on you yet? Rook made to turn again, a flicker of intention in his stance, but Latham pressed down even harder, and this time, a thin line of goo spurted out of the wound to trace its way down his neck. Was that . . . embalming fluid? Ah! Ah! Ah! Lowe said, taking a step closer to the Black Knight. I need to be clear that you should be very careful about making any sort of sudden moves right now. My Templer Warder friend here is experiencing all sorts of vengeful, dare I say, deeply homicidal feelings right now. It might be best for you not to give him any more of an excuse to do you catastrophic damage. Especially as youve got a metric fuckton of . . . sorry, what did you say youd put in the gingerbread, Mylaf? I made the dough for the loaf Mr Rook has been eating this evening from with Aqua Mortis, sir. Which is, of course, more commonly known as Deathwater. A rather overly dramatic name for a distilled alchemical toxin that binds with necrotic energies, severing the force keeping the undead animated. When ingested, it calcifies necrotic tissue and forces the undead body to, really quite rapidly, collapse into inert matter. Now, I know that Mr Rook is not technically one of the undead, but I do think that my Legendary Skill might have . . . oh, how did you put it, sir? Henched the impact the fuck up. You snuck Deathwater into me? Lowes grin became even wider. Damn straight. I finally got around to reading up on Threshold Guardians, and it was clear that, without a little something, something to even the odds, even Latham was going to struggle to take you down - especially once you hit Level 50, killing Synchler. Now, though? Well, now I reckon youre probably just a few minutes away from turning to goo all on your own. Which sounds like a pretty shitty way to go, but, you know what, Im not feeling all that empathetic towards you right now. Rook still didnt say anything. Oh, come on, mate. Surely this is the time for some good old fashioned villain monologuing. Speak now or forever regret it as a puddle of gingerbread vomit. For example, youre probably dying to know where you slipped up. And I tell you, its a doozy. In other circumstances, it would probably really make you laugh. Let me tell you about Hels new hairstyle. What are you talking about, Jana? Rook said, head starting to swim as the effects of the Deathwater bore down on him. GNROLLG, Lowe said, drawing out the letters in the air like a schoolteacher leading a slow child through his lessons. What?! The Grand Necropolitan Rest of Our Lady of the Lingering Glance, Lowe said watching Rooks hand on the crossbow carefully. He was fairly sure that his ex-friend hadn''t positioned a remote-release bolt this time like he had used to wipe out Drefleck, but he wasn''t absolutely certain. And he wasn''t really sure how Rook was able to trigger it anyway. That was a sort of uncertainty that ramped up a person''s paranoia. Well, no plan was foolproof. You know, the place where the two of us, after such a long hiatus in our friendship, accidentally bumped into each other once again. Right after the Black Knight apparently came back. He let that hang in the air for a second. Thats where youre keeping them, right? In one of the tombs at your place of work. Silence. Im going to take your awed, dumbstruck silence as an eloquent fuck! You got me. Lowe tapped the side of his head. Too late to try to mask it now, mate. I see you. He turned slightly, glancing towards the district of Soar that held the graveyard. And, as we speak, Im sure Commander Staffen will be busy breaking them free. You see, thats the good thing about having a Guardian of the Wall on your side. Theres precious little that woman wont stomp into dust given half a chance. Im sure youve got all sorts of epic and suitably nasty traps rigged up for when poor little old me goes stumbling through the door. Im not sure how much cop theyll be proving against her, though. So sorry about that. Now, that was a lie. A massive, gaping, reality-defying, absolutely unverified lie. Although hed eventually managed to get a message to Staffen, he had no idea if shed done anything about it yet. The attempted murder of the Mayor kind of took precedence over pretty much everything else. However, Lowe was putting the house on Rook not being sure of that. And, right now, that was all that mattered. Rooks body remained frozen for three whole seconds. The sound of a round of applause for the Mayor drifted up from the chinless wonders below. Somehow, no-one down there was noticing the drama being enacted above them. Which, once again, didnt speak especially highly for the effectiveness of the Justicars on full assassin watch. If they all got out of this alive, Latham and the rest of those who worked at the Celestial Temple were going to be able to do quite the gloating. Maybe. More embalming fluid slipped down Rooks collar, spurting from the wound Lathams blade was gouging in the back of his neck. Finally, he spoke up. You know what, Lowe? I think youre bluffing. Am I? Yes. I mean, I dunno, mate, Lowe said. That would be a hell of a bluff, wouldnt it? Especially for someone like me who has all sorts of, you know, feelings for other people. Obviously thats not your thing, but some of the rest of us bother about details like that. Its the only reason you still have a head, for example. Rooks lips parted slightly, but no words came. Lowe took another step forward. This is not really going your way, is it? Why dont you drop the bow and then we can have a chat about old times. Rooks grip tightened slightly on the crossbow, which made Lowe sigh. Okay, fine. Lets say, for the sake of argument, that I am bluffing. That Staffen isnt right now, at this very moment, kicking in the doors of that little tomb youve got them stashed in. That she isnt already marching their very pissed-off selves to safety. Whats actually your plan here? Rook laughed at that. A big, booming laugh that rang around the Council Chamber. The sound caused all sorts of people to look up and point towards them. Someone screamed and then the Mayor was being bundled out of the room. Rook raised his arms in the air. Fine. You win, Jana. Can I turn around? Drop the fucking bow, Latham said, and Ill think about it. Rook did so, the crossbow clattering over the balcony edge. "And release any ''oh, it can''t be me, I was standing right here when it happened'' magic fucking bolt'' that you might have floating around." A bolt smashed from nowhere into the ground at Lowe''s feet. Sometimes, it was nice to be right. And sometimes, it absolutely sucked. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. When Rook turned around, Lowe was struck by how much the man he had thought his friend had changed. And he didnt think that was just the Deathwater and the partial decapitation. Oh dont look so fucking disappointed in me, Jana. Its pathetic. Is this really so much of a surprise to you? That you are the Black Knight? Yeah. Pretty much. Of course I was the Black fucking Knight, you moron! Did you really think poor Coda had it in him to pull that all off? Lowe didnt know what to say to that. Hed been rehearsing how this conversation was going to go ever since Latham and he had hatched this plan, but he still couldnt decide what he wanted to say first. But . . . why? Well, that seemed to be a solid catch-all way to go. Jana, you look like youre about to cry. Pull yourself together., mate. This is your big moment, dont spoil it by being all tragic. Why? What a moralistic way of looking at the world. Why? You know what? To begin with, the why was just because it was so fucking exciting! Ah, theres that disappointed face again. Look, Commander Cenorth himself asked me to do some little off the book jobs for him. Can you imagine what a rush that was? Well, actually, Im sure you can. Because you were his good little Golden Boy, too, werent you? Little man, Im not sure we have time for this right now, theres a couple of Justicars down there looking pretty pissed . . . Oh, do be quiet, Temple Warder. It doesnt matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. Rook said, and then turned back to face Lowe Yeah, you know what Im talking about, dont you? You got to be Cuckoo Houses White Knight. So many plaudits for Jana Lowe. All of those commendations. Did you know how much the rest of us hated you? It was so obvious you were the favourite. And then there was me. I was the one getting my hands properly dirty for the boss. And where was my thanks? Theres a big difference between getting your hands dirty and slaughtering people, Rook. Dont pretend to me that you dont know theres a line. Fucks sake! When did you become so sanctimonious, Jana? Did I kill people? Sure. And I got very well paid for it. Very well for it, indeed. Rook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. You better believe that the Mayor was a very generous sponsor. All he needed Cenorth to do was thin out his competition a little. And I was happy to take my cut in doing that. But I got my fucking comeuppance, didnt I? Or did you miss the part where Cenorth blew my fucking chest out? Behind them, the door they had exited from shuddered under the impact of heavy, motivated bodies slamming against it. The Justicars were seeking to force their way through. The frame groaned as Latham ran to brace himself against it, his bulk absorbing the subsequent impact. Wrap it up, little man! Rook swayed again, then dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. In your heart of hearts, tell me you dont think I did the right thing, Jana. His voice was lower now, but it carried across the roof. We talked about it often enough, didnt we? How the rich in Soar were getting fatter, hungrier, more powerful, while the rest of us were left choking on their scraps. Tell me you didnt feel itjust a pulse, just a flickerevery time you found the next body. Another rich twat, brought down a peg. We dont take the law into our own hands. Dont we? Rook let out a rasping chuckle. Ha. Tell that to the shade of Cenorth. You took a whole lot of law into your hands there, didnt you? I read all about that. Whats good for thee is not for me? To be honest, I should thank you. It was only with him gone that I was able to get back to my work. Lowes hands curled into fists. What happened with Cenorth wasnt Wasnt what? Vigilante justice? Bloody retribution? Rook grinned, dark fluid flecking his teeth. It was the same thing. Its always the same thing. Its just a matter of who writes the story afterwards. White Knight or Black Knight. It just depends upon where you sit. And what your own, private score is. Well I dont have one. And I dont care. The doorframe cracked, and Latham dug his heels in. He was doing sterling work, but it clearly wouldnt last. Rook tilted his head, looking past Lowe, out over the city. The lights of Soar stretched in every direction, flickering like dying stars. You want to know what I think, Jana? Rooks voice softened, becoming almost wistful. I think you did feel it. The joy. The rush. You just dont like what it says about you. I didnt enjoy it, Rook, Lowe said. His friend had always been able to find where the hidden bruises were. A final impact against the door sent Latham stumbling forward. The appearance of the Justicars to proceedings was just moments away. Rook dragged himself to his feet, wiping a smear of bubbling liquid from his mouth with the back of his hand. He was starting to lose this physical composition. Mylafs Death Water was doing its worst. The Threshold Guardian turned his gaze back to Lowe and studied him for a long moment. Perhaps youre telling the truth. You were always the best of us, he said, voice almost gentle now. But you know the thing about being a White Knight, Jana? It might make you feel better about things, but youre still just another piece on someone elses board. Rook But Rook had already moved. One step, two, onto the edge of the railing. The wind caught his coat, sent it billowing like a torn flag. He swayed, just a little, and gave a lazy salute, the half-smile still playing at his lips, like all of this was just a joke hed been waiting to tell. All the defensive Skills in my tomb are tagged to my Core. Once I die, theyll switch off, and your friends will be able to walk free on their own. With effort, he breathed in, tasting the night air. So thats one good deed for the record, at least. I never meant that child to die, Lowe. Please believe me on that one. That was all the Boss. He knew Id never stand for anything like that, and you a low chuckle, almost fond youd already turned him down as my replacement, hadnt you? He knew you were never gonna play his game. Neither was I, not on that one. He left the gold in my tomb, you know? As a sorry. But you know how it goes. You stand still long enough, and someone moves the pieces around you. The wind tugged at his hair, at the edges of his words, fraying them into the dark. Ive been thinking a lot about what happened in the park. The best I can make sense of it is that it turned out we werent Knights at all. Just Pawns to be sacrificed. But when you took Cenorth down, I thought, maybe, I could cause Arkola to finish the job with the Mayor. To wrap it all up nice and neat. A pause. A wry smile. Turned out I was wrong. Hey ho. For a second, just a second, it looked like he might say something else. Something final. Something that would help Lowe make sense of it all. But then he just gave a little shrug, an easy thing, like a man stepping off a train at his stop. And then he jumped off the edge. Lowe lunged forward, but it was too late. He caught only air, and then, with no hesitation - just insane instinct - he dived off the Tower after him. The wind tore the breath from his lungs as he plummeted. Rook was below him, a dark silhouette against the glow of Soars endless sprawl, his coat flaring like the wings of a broken bird. A cuckoo making its last call. And then their eyes met. And then, Lowe wasnt falling any more. He suddenly became weightless, suspended in a universe that had seemingly been waiting for him all along. But then, of course Arkola had known this moment coming. Maybe not the details, not the when or the how, but certainly the feeling of it. The inevitable pull of a conclusion they had spent too long pretending didnt have its hands around all of their throats. He supposed Rook had known, too. The look in his friends eyes wasnt fear at the imminence of death. It wasnt even surprise. Just complete and total understanding. Soar rushed up to meet them. And then It can end here, should you so wish. The voice was not a voice. It had no sound, no shape, nothing for the ear to catch. It was simply there, sliding into Lowes mind as effortlessly as breath. Arkola. The city below blurred, the glow of lanterns and flickering arc-lights stretching into smears of colour, distended and dreamlike. Even the howl of the wind softened, became something almost intimate. Lowe suspected this had become a very different kind of descent. Not so long ago, you were given a gift, Inspector. The Blood of the Phoenix. The chance of return, where none should be given. Lowes fingers spasmed. His coat twisted around him, catching the slow drag of the air. But gifts can be refused. Arkolas voice was patient. Unhurried. As if this had always been a conversation waiting to happen. You can choose to let go, should you wish. Lowes heart hammered. He could feel the strain in his body. The pull of gravity. The pressure in his skull. The crush of it all exploding in his chest. But any pain was oddly muted, like some afterthought. It was Arkolas words that interested him, though. This could be it. Lowe could choose not to come back. To not crawl out of yet another grave. After all the tumult of the last year. . . All the pain and tumult and effort. He could choose to accept the silence. Because it was so tiring, wasnt it? Getting up. Again and again. Carrying the weight of things that never changed. That never got better. That just turned to shit in different ways. Hed done everything he needed to do since his Classtration, hadnt he? Recovered his honour. Avenged the death of Highbergs kid. Finally defeated the Black Knight. He looked at Rook, who was still smiling up at him. Just a little. A knowing curve of his lips. A flicker of something behind his eyes. That man had never expected to make it out alive. That had been the difference between how they had played this game. Lowe had fought to survive. Rook had known he wouldnt. You were never supposed to exist this long after losing your Class, Arkolas voice buried into him. Should you choose to step away, this would be just a return to the nature of things. The balance would be restored by this fall. Should you so wish. Lowe closed his eyes. And in the dark, he thought about the possibility of letting go. Of there being no more waking up with blood on his hands. No more dragging himself through another day in a city that ate its own. No more wondering if anything he did really mattered. Just . . . The end. No more pain. The wind pulled at him again. He could feel the weight of his body. The approach of terminal velocity and the inevitable, crushing end. It would be so easy to accept it. Rook had already let go, hadnt he? Why shouldnt he? They could leave this game together. Yes, hed like that. Lowe opened his eyes. Decision made. But then he saw that Rook was still watching him. And in his gaze, Lowe thought he recognised something unexpected. Not resignation. Not triumph. More something like . . . disappointment. And that made him angry. Something old and defiant inside him roared to life. He was still here. And if he was still here, then it wasnt over. He wasnt ready to give up. Not yet. You hesitate to leave this life. Why? Because fuck you, thats why. You and the whole pack of them. A blur of stone and metal approached, shifting light and waiting dark. Lowe met Rooks gaze and saw something flicker there. Understanding? Maybe. Or something like it. See you soon, mate, he said. Rook hit first. And then Lowe. Then, the world went white.