| Devi | Level 89 | |||
| Endurance: 25 | Strength: 0 | Dexterity: 40 | Magic: 0 | Spirit: 25 |
| Slot | Equipment | Ability | Level | |
| Mainhand | – | Simulacrum | 11 | |
| Offhand | Silverfang | Imitate | 7 | |
| Head | – | Disguise | 6 | |
| Torso | Novice Fencer’s vest of Minor Endurance | Shroud of Light | 5 | |
| Legs | Novice Fencer’s leggings of Dodging | Flicker Strikes | 3 | |
| Hands | Novice Fencer’s gloves of Minor Precision | Tarrying Strikes | – | |
| Feet | Novice Fencer’s boots of Minor Speed | |||
| Accessory | Moon’s Eye amulet of Regeneration | |||
| Set bonuses | ||||
| Novice Fencer’s set (4) | Parry: You gain bonus speed and accuracy while attempting to parry your opponent’s attacks. | |||
| Poise: While using Weapon Skills, you’re more likely to hold your ground against your opponent’s strikes. | ||||
| Riposte: After successfully parrying your opponent’s attack, your next Weapon Skill will gain bonus speed, accuracy, and piercing power. | ||||
Whack! Her wooden sword struck the straw dummy across its head. Her hand ached, but she tightened her grip on her sword, not letting it slip out of her fingers.
Not enough. This wasn’t enough.
Her stance had gotten sloppy again. She activated Head Splitter—a Weapon Skill that was an alternate, more precise version of Vertical Slash—and her collar took over her movements. Sliding one leg forward, shifting her hips, raising the sword with straight back. Devi focused on her body, tried to etch the movements into memory.
Clang! The wooden sword smashed into the dummy’s head with enough force to reach the pole upon which the dummy hung. Devi breathed out slowly, then took a step backwards and repeated the same movement—this time, without her collar’s help.
Crack! Her wooden sword hit the iron pole again, bending and breaking, the wood splintering. No matter. It had been a cheap practice sword to begin with, definitely not built for movements like Head Splitter. Now it fell out of her numb hands, the dull ache in her fingers too much to keep holding on.
Not enough. Nothing she did was ever enough.
Why? Why had the Inspectors done this to them? What had they done to deserve this?! Randel had carried out what they wanted—it was obvious they intended him to confront Ryder. Why did they turn his victory into defeat? What was the point of struggling for a better life, if the Inspectors could just intervene and end it in an instant?
There were no answers, no matter how many times she asked the same questions.
Devi left the training yard slowly, leaving her broken sword in the dust. She usually went to the bathhouse next, but today she wasn’t in the mood. Nobody would care anyways how she smelled; she had been alone in the last two days. Randel was gone, Stanley disappeared somewhere too, Lily and Kiona traveled back to Fortram to continue their studies. Devi was planning to go back to Fortram as well, but she was holding out hope that—
“Your husband has returned,” the innkeeper told Devi as she got back to the inn. “You asked me to inform you if he did. He’s currently in your room.”
Devi froze for a moment, blinking at the elderly man in shock.
“Thank you,” she blurted before hurrying upstairs. By the time she arrived to her room—to their room—she was almost running, but once she got there she stopped, suddenly uncertain. She lifted her fingers to her neck, touching her still-tender skin. Was this a good idea? Probably not. Randel—more precisely, the creatures that controlled his body—might hurt her again. But she had to do something. She wouldn’t let go of her Randel that easily.
While she was hesitating, the door abruptly slammed open, making Devi jolt in surprise. Randel was looking at her with a blank expression, cold eyes measuring her up. He was half-naked and drenched in sweat, wearing only his shorts. The black metal was still making up for his left leg, shaped precisely like a real one, even down to the small details like his toes.
“Hi,” Devi said, looking back up to Randel’s eyes. “What—what are you up to?”
“Doing push-ups.”
“Why—”
“Are you coming in or not?”
Devi took a deep breath, then stepped inside. The creature wearing Randel’s body closed the door behind her, then went over to the bed and grabbed a towel, dabbing at his sweat-soaked face. The way he walked was different from what Devi was used to; his back was straight and his left leg moved with ease, making his movements look fluid and confident.
“You’re going to bombard us with questions again, aren’t you?” Randel asked, picking up a water pitcher from the table. “Why are we doing push-ups? It’s an attempt to strengthen our body. Make it more fit for survival.”
Devi nodded. As long as the shades were focused on exercising, at least they weren’t doing anything . . . worse. Like running away and murdering citizens. Or trying to hurt her. She still felt some trepidation—mixed with a sense of anticipation and excitement, as was often the case for her in flight or fight situations—but she also felt a spark of hope. Shade-Randel seemed to be capable of reason, and he seemed to be much more sane than Ryder had been.
Devi tried to relax her posture, looking around their room. It was gloomy, the sunlight blocked out by the heavy curtains in front of the window. She spotted Soul Eater’s dark shape on the desk, lying next to his mana-regenerating amulet. Her fingers rose up to her chest almost unconsciously, touching her own amulet under her shirt. There was no sign of Nosy—the little animal wouldn’t be able to get in, unless Randel opened the window or teleported him to the dagger. Nosy was Devi’s hope to get Randel back to normal—not much hope, because the little pet hadn’t affected Randel the last time. But still, maybe Nosy’s presence would make a difference . . . if only he were here.
“You should get some fresh air in,” Devi said, walking over to the window. As she grabbed the curtain to pull it away, she saw Randel tense up—but she went through her motion just the same, keeping a wary eye on him. Did the sunlight bother him? No, that wasn’t it; he relaxed as soon as she stepped away from the open window.
“Where have you been in the last three days?” Devi asked.
“Bought a Morph Ability,” Randel replied. “We were unconscious the whole time; it took some time for the Pheilett to install it.”
“Pheilett?”
“The Inspectors’ species.”
Devi furrowed her brow. “How do you know about them?”
“We have been fighting them for ages,” Randel said. “Here, on this planet we are prisoners of war—but the war is not over. There are enough of our kind out there, hateful, furious, and thirsty for their blood. It’s only a matter of time till the Pheilett pay for their crimes—and time is nothing to us.”
Devi just nodded once again, unable to reply. Conflicting emotions warred within her chest; she liked what the shades said, but they said it through Randel’s mouth and it tied her stomach in knots. If only their voice wasn’t the same as his, if only they didn’t look at her through his beautiful green eyes…
Randel waited when he finished drinking, expecting her next question. The gesture hurt Devi even more. Why didn’t he ask how she felt? Had he been just a slightest bit interested, it would have made a world of difference. But Randel just watched her as if she was a waste of time, as if he wanted to be done with this conversation so that she would leave him alone.
“What kind of Morph Ability did you get?” Devi asked in a desperate attempt at a conversation.
“Wings.”
“Wings?” Devi asked. She had been expecting something else. Something that made Randel more powerful, the way Ryder’s Morph had. “Of all things, why did you want wings?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“Why wouldn’t I need to—” Devi bit her tongue, forcing herself to remain calm. “Please, just tell me what you plan to do now. Where are we going next?”
“Oh, we have lots of things planned,” Randel said. “You aren’t coming with us, though; for these tasks you would be no use to us.”
It took Devi a moment to find her voice.
“No— No use?”
Randel nodded. “We want to build up muscles on this body. Then, we want to travel to the mountains to retrieve a wyvern egg, and raise the creature as a Companion.”
“You aren’t serious,” Devi said, incredulous. The whole point of getting another pet had been to keep the shades in bay. Why did Randel want—ah, perhaps it was Randel, her Randel who fought from the inside, influencing the shades?
“It might give us an attribute bonus,” Randel said. “We can control the wyverns, so it makes sense to try. We want to get stronger.”
“That’s all?” Devi asked. “You just want to be . . . stronger?”
Randel shrugged, and even that motion seemed somehow fake. “We also want a steady supply of essence to feed upon. You might be able to help with that part, if you wish. We need to find a solution for acquiring the essence of the mortals living here. We understand that killing them regularly would bring all kinds of unwanted attention down on our head, so we’ll need to find another solution.”
Thank the Creator for small blessings. Devi didn’t know what she would have done if the shades made Randel slaughter innocents—or if they made him a publicly known criminal. That card was still in the deck though, but Devi at least had a chance to stop this madness.
“I could help you figure something out,” she said.
“We already have ideas,” Randel said. “We were thinking about creating a farm; we could breed humans and feed on them. The problem is that a project like that would take too long to bear fruit. This body doesn’t have that much time.”
Devi slumped down to the bed, staring at Randel. No, she had been wrong. This was a disaster. A calamity looming over her head. If she was forced to choose between saving hundreds of people or saving Randel . . . she didn’t know how she would handle that. She just—she couldn’t. She desperately hoped there was another way out.
“The other problem is that we need a place where we won’t be disturbed,” Randel continued on mercilessly. “Obviously, we can’t hide within a city, or the project would be discovered sooner or later. But we’ll need to be near a Core; that’s the best way to fill up people with mana. Therefore, we have only one choice. We’ll find an undiscovered Core for ourselves.”
“Of course, why not?” Devi exclaimed, laughing bitterly. “Let’s just find a new Core. Easy! Is that where you’ll need my help? Searching for Cores in the wild?”
There was hysterical edge to her voice that she didn’t bother to hide.
“We don’t need you,” Randel corrected her. “We only said that you could help us if you wished to. We’re perfectly capable of finding a new Core on our own.”
“You are?”
Randel took his time to answer, walking over to his desk and picking up Soul Eater. Devi tensed a bit, though Randel’s posture was relaxed, idly caressing the dagger in his hand.
“We are. We can sense the essence within people, as well as the mana concentration in the air. Think of it as a form of sight, though we do not need functioning eyes for it. It’s easy enough for us to spot any Core from a distance—and it’s easy enough for us to spot uninvited guests, too.”
Before Devi had any time to react, Randel whirled abruptly, flinging his dagger. Soul Eater spun in the air, flying towards the door and—it stopped. There was a distortion in the air as a hand appeared around the dagger, pinching the blade between gloved fingers. An arm connected to the hand appeared next, then the chest, then the rest of a Sylven man’s body. Clad in dark leathers, countless knives strapped over his armor, white hair tied up in a tight bun.
“Ambitious plans you brew here,” Mivara’gonn drawled. “I like them.”
Devi sprang to her feet belatedly, drawing Silverfang. The dagger was the only weapon she had at the moment, but in close quarters it was better than the rapier anyways. Randel, in the meantime, didn’t seem to be bothered by the assassin’s sudden appearance. He turned his back to Mivara’gonn, picking up his amulet and hanging it around his neck without hurry.
“This is our room,” Devi told Mivara’gonn. “What are you doing here?”
“Tsk-tsk. Can’t you guess?” the assassin asked, twirling Soul Eater between his fingers. He dropped the weapon when it changed its shape, trying to latch onto his fingers. As soon as the black dagger hit the floor, it sprouted six small limbs and began to crawl in Randel’s direction.
“You’re spying on us,” Devi said.
“I came to see you, Lady Devi’lynn,” Mivara’gonn amended on a light tone. “We had an agreement, if you haven’t forgotten.”
“I know,” Devi said cautiously, trying to hide her anxiousness. The timing of the assassin’s appearance couldn’t have been worse. “Listen, Mivara’gonn . . . I intend to uphold our bargain, but at the moment it’s not—”
She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence as a thin, sharp wire dug into the underside of her jaw, forcing her mouth shut. She leaned backwards to avoid getting cut, but the wire followed her, digging into her flesh.
“A life for a life,” Mivara’gonn said. “That was our deal. I don’t take any excuses—a life will be lost either way.”
Devi tried to raise her dagger to cut the wire at her neck, but another wire was pressed to her wrist, trapping her. She could still get free, however; all she had to do was to don her Shroud of Light and switch places with Randel . . . provided that the shades were inclined to help her. Devi’s eyes flicked to Randel, but he was ignoring her at the moment, giving Mivara’gonn a calculating look.
“We could help,” Randel said. “You were the one who healed this body when it was bleeding out. We owe you one.”
“A generous offer,” Mivara’gonn said, smiling. “But I’m afraid that this task is tailored for our fiery female friend, here.”
He gestured at Devi with one hand, and the wires that bound her retracted. Devi tried to keep track of them, straining her eyes to see where they came from, but they had vanished without a trace. She shuffled a bit further away from Mivara’gonn, putting herself closer to Randel.
“The target is called Firo’kan,” Mivara’gonn continued, speaking to Devi now. “Rich man, with an odd fascination towards Human women. Unfortunately for him, he forced himself on one too many of them and—well, here I am. Hired and paid for his death.”
“This woman who hired you,” Devi said, willing her voice to remain steady. “Is she someone who Firo’kan…”
“Raped?” Mivara’gonn finished for her. “I’m not sure—and I don’t care. I don’t ask questions. Normally I wouldn’t even have mentioned my client to you, but I knew that you needed good reasons. You can rest assured that Firo’kan deserves his fate; you’ll find all the nifty details in this extract from the Core.”
With that said, he produced a small folder and tossed it on the bed. Devi made no move to pick it up, watching Mivara’gonn suspiciously. The assassin stepped back, leaning against the wall by the window.
“Why can’t you kill him yourself?” Devi asked.
“Not every Player is that easy to kill,” Mivara’gonn said, jerking his head towards Randel. “Just look at your companion; sees through my stealth and wouldn’t die from a single strike. Firo’kan is like that too; he’s got danger-sense paired with a nigh-impenetrable aura. As much as I hate to admit, I can’t sneak up on him—and once he has his shield up, I can’t injure him either.”
“But you think I can get close,” Devi said, her mind whirling. This wasn’t about stealth, but deception. How many men would suspect her carrying a weapon, let alone being able to use it?
“I know you can get close,” Mivara’gonn said. “Firo’kan may like Human women, but he wouldn’t turn you down either. Just throw yourself at his feet, and he would count himself the luckiest man alive.”
“He would get suspicious if I approach him out of the blue,” Devi said, grasping for excuses.
“You won’t approach him out of the blue,” Mivara’gonn retorted. “You’ll go to the Sylven gathering that’s taking place tomorrow. They’re holding a banquet at the Governor’s mansion.”
“No,” Devi said, shaking her head and taking a step backwards. A banquet was the worst place she could ever visit. It was a world full of predators—and she would be the prey.
Mivara’gonn smiled ruefully. “I can’t go to the gathering personally; too much bad blood between me and them, as you might imagine. But they’ll welcome you with open arms.”
“But—”
“This isn’t up to a debate, Lady Devi’lynn. Don’t make me repeat myself. Tomorrow is your best chance to get close to Firo’kan. Poison him secretly or stab him in his sleep—I don’t care how, but make sure he’s dead within a few days.”
Devi felt too sick to say anything. Things around her were falling apart quick, and she wasn’t able to stop them. She wished that she could find some of that anger the old Devi would have been feeling by now. She wanted to be angry, wanted to feel that spark, wanted to find the will to push back—but the only thing she found was desperation. Her world was falling apart, slipping through her fingers. She couldn’t do this. She really couldn’t. Randel needed her help, she had to remain strong for him, but now Mivara’gonn was telling her to kill someone, demanding that she wade into a banquet full of men, and after what happened the last time with Damoro’quinn, it was too soon, it was too much, it was—
She jumped in alarm as a hand gripped her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” Randel said, his eyes glinting with malice. “We’ll help.”
“You won’t even be allowed to enter,” Devi said, her voice tight. “A Human at a Sylven banquet? And some of them might even recognize you. You can’t—”
Randel’s hand shifted higher on her shoulder, fingers touching her bruised neck. She recoiled from his touch, but his hand followed her, grabbing her, his mouth whispering a single word.
“Disguise.”
They had bought clothes.
Normally, Devi would have enjoyed every moment of it—especially since she was dressing Randel up too. Oh, how much fun she would have had, if only this had happened a cycle ago!
Now all she felt was dread.
The only bright side was that the shades hadn’t been complaining while she chose an appropriate outfit. Devi had been half-expecting them stab her or the shopkeeper in impatience, but no such things had happened. It was eerie how much on board they were with this whole plan.
Randel was wearing tight trousers that opened up at his ankles, a loose silken shirt with flowing, long sleeves, and a richly decorated vest on top of it. His clothes were predominantly white, with light gray undertones. They weren’t exactly the traditional garments that Sylven men wore on formal occasions, but Devi didn’t have the time to order custom-made clothes.
Devi was wearing white too, to match Randel’s clothing. Her dress was cut out to be flattering to her frame; tight around the hips and the abdomen, not exactly something that women wore in Ylvasil. The sides of her skirt parted to allow her legs free movement—showing much of her skin—but at least her neckline was high, the silky fabric covering her chest sufficiently. She was still showing off much more than she would have liked to, but the plan was to catch Firo’kan’s fancy, so she had to compromise.
She stepped out to the street where Randel was waiting for her. He was already using her Disguise, his skin turned to a dark blue color and a pair of illusory horns jutting out of his forehead. He had cut his hair extremely short, getting rid of his messy black locks so that the Disguise barely had to recolor any hair. It was wiser to rely on the Ability as little as possible; though it could have changed Randel’s attire too, it wasn’t able to realistically imitate a smudge on his shirt or a lock of wet hair.
“Why aren’t you wearing the shoes we bought?” Randel asked, looking her up and down. His voice was changed as well, smoother and resembling a Sylven man’s tone better.
“I changed my mind,” she replied, walking up to him. “I can’t fight in high heels—and I didn’t want to be taller than you, as it wouldn’t reflect well on your image.”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with our image,” Randel said. “We couldn’t care less how you mortals perceive us.”
“Oh, really?” Devi scoffed. “Then why do I remember you trying to kill Kiona when she insulted you?”
“That was before, when we were trapped in the dagger,” Randel said. “The weapon warped us, constantly made us hunger. But now that our prison got wider, we can think more clearly.”
“Randel can think more clearly,” Devi retorted, stepping forward and poking his chest angrily. “He is the one who wouldn’t care how others looked at him! Can’t you see? You’re still the parasites you’ve always been! If you have any shred of decency, if you are capable to hold any kind of mercy in your rotten hearts, then you know what you should do. Give. Randel. Back. To me!”
“We are Randel.”
“Stop that!” Devi growled. “Stop with this royal we! No sane person speaks like that. You say you can think clearly now, so why can’t you realize that?!”
“Hmm,” Randel just stood in front of her, his eyes glazing over. He cocked his head slightly, but otherwise remained utterly still. Devi was just about to ask what was going on, when he finally answered.
“You’re right. It just felt more natural to speak that way. We don’t like lying. I. I don’t like lying.”
That did it. Devi felt her anger slipping away, no matter how much she didn’t want to let it go. She couldn’t decide whether she was pleased with this turn of events or not. Would it actually be better if this . . . shade-Randel spoke normally? Maybe it would help her Randel. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . if he behaved more like himself, the influence of the shades would recede. It could be the way out of this dark tunnel. On the other hand though, if this creature kept speaking like this, it would remind Devi too much of her Randel. They would resemble him too much, yet be entirely different, breaking her heart even further.
“Shall we go?” Randel asked. “I can wait, but you wanted to arrive there early.”
Yes, it was definitely worse if he spoke this way.
“Let’s go,” Devi agreed, taking Randel’s arm as they began to walk. She didn’t allow herself to hesitate. Going straight to the heart of Phalak, to the city’s upper ring. Into the maw of the beast.
It was necessary. Not how she planned bringing back her Randel, but it couldn’t be helped now. She had intended to ask him to do something for her, something to remind him of his old self; drawing for her, or learning languages together. Attending a banquet would have been fine too, if not for their plan to murder someone. It was a terrifying situation, one that Devi had basically no control over. No matter what she chose, she’d have to kill someone; either Firo’kan or Mivara’gonn.
The two of them turned onto the main avenue, heading towards the Core. The street was wide and somewhat sunlit; it was as bright as it could ever get, considering the tall houses all around. Devi looked at Randel, taking in his familiar features in their altered state. He wasn’t a handsome Sylven; she had to admit that she liked him better as a Human. He looked more . . . exotic that way. Devi wondered whether he should use her Disguise to change his face as well. More delicate nose, higher cheekbones, slightly bigger eyes… But in the end, more modifications meant higher risk of someone spotting the illusion. Randel was already pretty difficult to recognize, unless you knew what to look for. Besides, even like this he was far from ugly.
When Randel turned his head towards Devi, she realized that she had been staring.
“Do you love me?” Devi asked—quietly, almost as if she said it only to herself.
“No, I don’t,” came the predictable answer. Devi clutched his arm tighter.
“Not even a little bit?” she pressed on. “Not even one quarter-bit?”
“Not even that much. It’s all just chemicals and hormones that this body’s brain produces. Since I can control what to feel, I define what I want to feel. At the moment, I find love an unnecessarily distraction.”
Devi was left speechless once again. What could she have said after that? Randel—no, the shades—regularly blurted out absurd things as if they were nothing. At times like this, Randel was as far from her Randel as he could ever get. Times like this was when Devi felt the most acutely how much she had failed him. She had told him it would be just a temporary setback. She created an illusion that everything would get better. An illusion that she herself wholeheartedly believed in. She thought that she would save Randel from the darkness within him. It was a good dream. A noble dream.
One that turned out to be a nightmare.
The two of them walked the remaining distance in silence, but as they were nearing their destination—the home of Governor Shemi’kon—Devi spoke again.
“No more speaking in Common from now on. Let me do the talking.”
Although Disguise changed Randel’s voice as well, he wouldn’t be able to speak her language fluently. Even the shorter sentences would sound strange due to his accent, so it was better if he played the stoic and silent type of a man. It fit his manner of speech, anyways; Devi had noticed that ever since the shades had possessed Randel, it took them just a little more time to formulate their sentences.
“And remember, you’re only courting me,” Devi added, whispering quickly. “Firo’kan needs to think that he has a chance to get me. But don’t make it easy for him; try to be possessive.”
Randel nodded absentmindedly, his attention directed elsewhere. Devi followed his gaze and saw a Sylven man standing in front of the decorated iron gate in the distance. As they got closer, Devi recognized him as a former guardsman from her House. She didn’t remember his name, but he was one of the two men she had met on the road to Phalak. She had lied to him, promising that she’d attend the gathering—and here she was, nevertheless. She should have kept her mouth shut.
“Lady Devi’lynn!” the guardsman greeted her with a sharp salute, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I cannot express how relieved I am to see that you’ve arrived safely.”
Devi forced a smile on her face. “Thank you, soldier. I am relieved as well.”
“And I see you’ve brought company,” the man said, his smile lessening somewhat. Devi didn’t fail to notice that he glanced at her untouched horns—and she barely had time to avert her eyes, looking down quickly. She had been living among Humans for so long that she almost forgot to avoid eye contact.
“Yes, I did,” Devi said. “He is—”
“Rona’lynn,” Randel said. “Former soldier of the Bluetide Legion. Protector of Devi’lynn.”
Devi froze, for multiple reasons at once. Randel had spoken with perfect pronunciation—and it wasn’t just how he said it, but what he said. Devi had never told him about the Legions.
The guardsman narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look like someone from the Legions.”
“How would you know what we’re like?” Randel retorted, sneering. “Guardsmen like you cover in the safety of our walls while the real men protect the realm.”
The guardsman drew his eyebrows together, his face darkening at Randel’s words.
“Will we be allowed to enter?” Devi cut in quickly, before the man could have spoken. “I’m afraid I don’t have any formal invitation.”
The guardsman looked as if he swallowed something sour, but looked back from Randel to Devi. He took a moment to school his expression.
“Of course, Lady Devi’lynn,” he said. “No need for invitations; all are welcome. Creator bless us, there are already far too few of us in this forsaken world to exclude one of our own.”
The guardsman turned around and opened the gate, holding it so they could pass. Studiously ignoring Randel, he smiled at Devi.
“I wish you a pleasant stay. Don’t forget; should you need help, you can count on me anytime. My blade is yours, my Lady.”
Devi nodded in thanks, tugging on Randel’s arm to get going. A sprawling green garden awaited them on the other side of the gate, far more luxurious than anything that could be found on Devi’s home planet. It might have been a more natural sight here, but considering the crowded living quarters of Phalak, the place was still a good representation of the Governor’s wealth.
“That was too much,” Devi whispered once they left the gate behind. “Keep speaking to others like that and you’ll make only enemies.”
Randel looked around silently, not deigning to reply.
Faint music was drifting their way from the mansion in the distance. Devi and Randel followed the winding pebbled path through the garden, slowly nearing the tall, richly decorated building. Several guests could be seen standing outside, talking with each other and eating from the vast variety of food set on a series of tables arranged in a half circle. Off to the side, Devi could even see children, two small boys play-fighting with wooden swords next to a fountain.
“The crowd is that way,” Randel remarked, sensing Devi’s hesitation. She had tried to veer them towards the fountain, hesitant to enter the scene so conspicuously. Already, she was feeling eyes on her, way too many eyes. Maybe in the past she would have enjoyed it, but not— Not today.
Although it was unfortunate that so many of the guests had already arrived, it could have been worse. At least there wasn’t any announcer to cry out her name as soon as she arrived. This seemed to be a rather open-to-all gathering. It felt odd, but probably only because Devi had only ever attended higher-class banquets.
“Could we enter the mansion first?” she asked. The nearest group of men stopped talking as they saw her. “I wanted to take a look around this place before mingling with the crowd.”
“We will do no such thing,” Randel said. “Aren’t you aware of the etiquette? We will find the host first, to introduce ourselves.”
Devi pursed her lips in annoyance. “I always hated the etiquette. In fact, I always made it a point to act out as much as I could get away with.”
“Your father isn’t here to ward you—you’re Lady only in name. You will behave.”
Not giving Devi further chance to object, Randel steered them towards the thick of the crowd. The men were dressed formally, but Devi was surprised to see they didn’t wear traditional attire. Certain motives were still there—like the loose sleeves of their shirt or the wide leg of their trousers—but otherwise the colors and styles varied greatly. Even more baffling was the presence of weapons. In Ylvasil, it would have been one of the highest offences to bring a weapon to any such gathering, but here it was apparently perfectly normal to leave a sword hanging from your belt.
While Devi assessed the groups of men in the distance, they were watching her in turn, of course. Measuring her up. Dissecting her. Devi was a raw bundle of nerves; although a part of her noted that it was a very uncharacteristic behavior for her, she just couldn’t help it. She wasn’t able to—she was pathetic. She hadn’t been like this. She knew that she wasn’t like this. It was just a stressful situation, with Randel being possessed, with her being clueless about how to save him, with Mivara’gonn’s assassination Quest, with all these men watching, undressing her with their eyes, paralyzing her body so she couldn’t fight back—
No. She was being ridiculous. These were just men from her own species. They had nothing to do with what Damoro’quinn had done to her. These were the faces, these were the staring eyes she grew up with. She was used to them. Would she flinch every time a Sylven man so much as looked at her? Of course not. She wouldn’t.
It was a weakness. A mental illness, maybe, though she didn’t want to think of it that way. Because if this was an illness, it wasn’t getting better; in fact, it had become festered. Maybe she had spent too much time among Humans. It made no sense, though. Logically, she knew that they weren’t any different. By the Abyss, Humans could be even worse, with their judgmental behavior and their thinly-veiled antipathy towards Players. So why was this situation affecting her so? Why—
“Ease up,” Randel murmured abruptly. “I’ll go into Shadeform if you squeeze my arm so much.”
“Sorry,” Devi said, trying to focus. She needed a different mindset now. She needed to treat this as yet another fight. Another trial.
At least the creature by her side wasn’t nervous. Probably wasn’t even capable to feel nervous, if he didn’t want to. Shade-Randel was confident and relaxed, taking in their surroundings calmly as they got closer to the crowd. In a sense, it felt reassuring to have him take the lead. Not something what her Randel would do, but Devi was content with this outcome—just this once.
All other thoughts fled her as soon as she saw the tall, bearded man who stepped forward to greet them.
“And so we meet again!” Lord Tengi’quinn of House Quinn spoke, smiling pleasantly as if he was greeting long-lost friends. “Welcome, Devi! Or should I say, Lady Devi’lynn? I’m pleased to see you’ve found a new companion.”
Devi swallowed nervously, staying silent. Of all the people, Tengi’quinn was the one she wished to avoid the most. Once again, she tried to reach for anger, for something to give her focus. Once again, she failed. Since Randel was scanning the crowd in the back while completely ignoring Tengi’quinn, an awkward silence stretched among them.
“I see you have found a new companion,” Tengi’quinn said eventually, his eyes turning to Randel. Did he notice the similarities?
“Ah, yes,” Devi blurted, trying to find her voice. “He is—”
“Can’t he introduce himself?”
Devi gripped Randel’s arm tighter, but he seemed to be unconcerned with their situation, turning his head slightly as he eyed the people off to the side.
“Rona’lynn,” he said coolly, not even looking at Tengi’quinn.
Predictably, it wasn’t the kind of reply that the Sylven Lord was expecting. Devi flinched as Tengi’quinn’s eyes flashed briefly, filling her with terror, amplifying her dread. She wanted to shrink away, to cover behind Randel, and the only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that this feeling wasn’t real. Intimidating Glare—that was the Ability’s name. But knowing that it was artificial didn’t make it easier to withstand it, not in her current state. Not even if it wasn’t directed at her, but Randel.
“You call that an introduction?” Tengi’quinn asked, stepping closer to Randel. His height ensured that he was towering above him.
Randel tilted his head up slowly, meeting Tengi’quinn’s eyes—presumably. Devi was too afraid to look, clinging to Randel’s arm, shaking bodily despite her best efforts to stay still.
“You haven’t introduced yourself either,” Randel said. “Oh—but feel free to turn off your parlor trick of an Ability. Against someone in complete control over their emotions, it’s like trying to punch a mountain. You are, however, scaring Devi’lynn. Not very chivalrous of a Sylven Lord, if you ask me.”
There was a heartbeat of silence, before the pressure of the Intimidating Gaze vanished.
“Hmph, so you do know me,” Tengi’quinn said, taking a step backward. “Very well. I apologize, Lady Devi’lynn, for scaring you. I see you’ve chosen your companion better this time around. I’m glad to see you’ve been escorted here safely.”
Devi nodded, still reeling from Tengi’quinn’s Ability. Why was no one objecting against his blatant use of power? What happened with putting all hostilities away for the duration of the banquet? This would have never happened in Ylvasil.
And Tengi’quinn wasn’t done speaking, much to Devi’s dismay.
“If I may ask, Lady Devi’lynn, did you manage to take revenge on Damoro’quinn and his accomplices?”
Devi’s eyes widened at that. She had expected Tengi’quinn denying what happened at the castle. It would have been Devi’s word against his; there was no question who would have come out as the winner from that. But to openly admit that he sent a group of his subordinates to kill her friends? No, he had to have an angle, here.
“What are you talking about?” Devi asked. “Revenge? You sent those men to kidnap me, and now you—”
“Of course not, don’t be silly,” Tengi’quinn said, shaking his head reproachfully. “How can you think that I’d wish you harm? Surely you don’t really believe those men were sent to kidnap you. So few of them, against the third of our raiding party? No, my dear, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. You see, once I’ve found out what a horrendous things they attempted to do to you, I exiled them from House Quinn.”
“Of course,” Devi said flatly. “Right there and then, before you entered the castle.”
“That’s right,” Tengi’quinn nodded, and Devi had the sudden urge to strangle him. “They assaulted you behind my back, acting against my orders. They broke my trust in the worst way possible—I couldn’t trust them to be at my side, doubly not when there was an important battle on the horizon. It was either executing them, or sending them away. Much to my great distress, I didn’t account for the lot of them to go after your group as soon as they left my sight. For that, I owe you yet another apology.”
“So you admit being at fault,” Devi said, gritting her teeth. Randel at her side moved slightly, jostling her. Oh, right—she was clasping his arm too tightly again.
“I do,” Tengi’quinn said. “You were already risking your precious life by coming to the castle—on your own volition, no less—but my lack of foresight caused your adventure to be more dangerous than it was strictly necessary. I wish to compensate you for what you went through. You may—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Randel injected.
Tengi’quinn frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Consider Devi’lynn already compensated,” Randel said. “Due to your blunder, she was able to take revenge on Damoro’quinn. For any true man, an opportunity like that is worth more than a thousand promises. Devi’lynn might not be a man, but I think we can all agree that she is . . . special. So worry not, Lord Tengi’quinn. Settling an old score personally is one of the most satisfying compensation you could have ever offered.”
The Lord of House Quinn watched Randel quietly, his face carefully blank. Apparently this wasn’t the direction he imagined his one-sided conversation going.
“Hah! He got you there, Tengi’quinn!”
Another man meandered over to them, clapping Tengi’quinn on the shoulder. In contrast to the formal attire most of the men wore, the newcomer wasn’t dressed to impress; the simple clothes that hung off his thin frame were reminiscent of the garb that new Players wore. He was also slouching a bit, in a way that reminded Devi of Randel before—before things happened.
“Welcome to my little party,” he said with a lopsided smile. “Governor Shemi’kon, at your service.”
Tengi’quinn didn’t seem to be pleased by the interruption, prying the Governor’s hand off his shoulder and stepping further aside.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Randel said, nodding at Shemi’kon in greeting. “My name is Rona’lynn, and the lady here is called Devi’lynn. I’m afraid that the two of us are a little out of the loop, so please bear with us. This is our first time in this world that we visit any such gathering.”
“Truly?” Shemi’kon asked, glancing at Devi and then back to Randel. “Well, I’m honored that you chose my banquet to make your grand entrance.”
“Nothing too grand, hopefully,” Randel smoothly replied. “It already took me some time to convince Devi’lynn to come. She is extremely shy, you see.”
“Mmm-hmm, I wonder about that,” Shemi’kon said, meeting Devi’s eyes. “Be careful, Rona’lynn; your woman has awfully wandering eyes.”
Tengi’quinn chuckled softly. “If you only knew…”
“Let me be honest with you,” Randel said, shifting his weight. “I do not care much about that part of the Divine Codex—especially not the lies that Archpriest Geruso added to it.”
Tengi’quinn scoffed. “What in the Abyss are you talking about?”
“Women looking only into their husband’s eyes,” Randel replied. “That entire paragraph is a forgery, added by the Archpriest because he was jealous of his wives. They looked at other men too much for his liking.”
“Anyone can make up tales like that,” Tengi’quinn retorted. “I’d appreciate if you kept your blasphemy to yourself.”
“Where have you heard this theory, Rona’lynn?” Shemi’kon asked. In contrast to Tengi’quinn, he was far from dismissive; his face was reflecting genuine curiosity. “The last Archpriest lived 700 years ago—and I don’t even know who Archpriest Geruso was! Were you a scholar before you got here? You certainly look like one.”
“Not exactly a scholar, no, but we know a lot about history.”
“We?”
“Me and my . . . friends.”
“Oh?” Shemi’kon ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a smile spreading his lips. “You see, I consider myself well-versed in the past of our people, and I have my own theories as well. Why don’t I show you around my little mansion here? We can talk along the way.”
Randel agreed, Devi was dragged along, and a thoroughly annoyed Tengi’quinn was left behind. Devi tried to listen to what Shemi’kon was telling them, but she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Her mind was racing in a much different direction.
How did the shades know so much about their world? At first, Devi thought that one of them had possessed a Sylven Player in the past. But if every Player was transported here from the same era, it didn’t explain how the shades knew about events a thousand years in the past. Could they be lying, then? Allegedly, shade-Randel didn’t like to lie—and it wouldn’t even have been necessary to lie in this case anyways, not to Governor Shemi’kon. Was building a rapport with him really that important?
For Devi, it was certainly more convenient to believe what the shades had said. She wanted to believe that the Divine Codex was flawed. Although she did approve of some of its teachings, there were just way too many rules and regulations that didn’t make sense—or were just simply unfair. The latter was something Devi had agonized over the most; she understood why it was imperative to bear many children, she just didn’t want to devote her whole life to it. Besides, having children in this world made even less sense than in Ylvasil. Here, Devi’s race would survive only as long as the Inspectors wanted them to.
It was better not to dwell on these things too much, in Devi’s opinion. She had never been the one to religiously follow the Divine Codex; if there was an afterlife and she was doomed to the Abyss because of her behavior, so be it. She would face it when it came to pass, and not before.
“Do you have a women’s room, too?” Devi heard Randel ask, jolting out of her thoughts.
“But of course,” Shemi’kon replied. “Should we head there now?”
Devi shook her head quickly. “No need—”
“Please don’t force yourself, dear,” Randel interrupted her. “I can see you’re unwell. You need a rest.”
Devi blinked. What was Randel doing? This was taking their role-play a step too far. She wasn’t supposed to be relaxing in a fluffy room, but trying to get close to Firo’kan!
“This way, then,” Shemi’kon said. “You won’t be bored, Devi’lynn, I can assure you; I believe some of the ladies are already there.”
Oh no.
“I don’t feel—” Devi began, but Randel spoke over her once more.
“Please, my dear, I insist. Relax and converse with the other women. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
Devi narrowed her eyes, studying Randel’s face—which was a futile effort of course, and not because of the Disguise he wore. The shades wore his face like a mask, blank and devoid of emotions. She could only guess what their intentions were.
In the end she nodded, walking with them obediently. It was probably an awful idea, but she would go along with shade-Randel’s plan.
Whatever it was.
Hours had passed.
Devi was becoming more and more uncertain about what she was supposed to do. Spending time in the women’s room was—and always had been—an utterly humiliating experience. It was a gilded birdcage, created by men to put their women on display—and also to have a place to tuck them away, if they didn’t want them in the way.
The chamber Devi was sitting in bore the telltale signs of Human architecture, but otherwise it was just like any other women’s room. The walls were tall and covered with paintings, with a balcony running along one side, half a floor above them. On the other side large windows opened to the lantern-lit garden—perfect for the men milling about, as they could feast their eyes on them from outside and from the balcony both.
The furnishing of the chamber was rich, with all the safety measures in place; from the lack of eating knives to the rounded corners of the tables, everything was as safe for them as it could ever get. There weren’t even any chairs, only sofas and armchairs, to Devi’s greatest disappointment. Chairs had been her favorite when she was younger. She would tip them back and balance them on two legs, waiting till the men rushed in to save her . . . it had been fun while it lasted. Eventually every single Lord had learnt to nail their chairs to the floor whenever she was invited.
Devi wondered how much the men here had heard about her reputation. Not that it mattered too much, though; she wasn’t planning to make a scene today. She already held way more attention than she was comfortable with. Thankfully, the room was spacious enough so that Devi could keep her distance from both the balcony and the windows, not having to engage in conversation with any of the men.
Unfortunately she couldn’t avoid every conversation this way.
“Pano’quinn has changed a lot too,” Shena’quinn said before taking a dainty bite from her cake. “I can’t believe how much the boy has grown in the last few cycles. Practically a man already!”
“Isn’t he a bit short of stature, though?” Lena’kan asked. “I’ve noticed that in spite of being two years younger, Terra’kan is already as tall as him.”
“Height won’t be an issue, trust me,” Shena’quinn said, smiling at the other woman. “Pano’quinn is his father’s son. Just wait a few years; before you know it, he’ll be towering over us!”
Lena’kan tittered. “Let it be so!”
Devi closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa, praying for patience. It was unbearable. The lesser evil, considering her other options, but unbearable nevertheless. Children this, children that. It never got old, no matter how much mothers talked about them. Devi had a running theory that the first childbirth changed something fundamental in women’s brain. Some kind of coping-mechanism for their dull lives. There was no other explanation how they could talk about this for hours on end, without getting bored.
The servant came over to them, bringing a tray full of pastries and cakes. It would have been a delicacy in Ylvasil, but once again, it was quite common in this world. The servant was the only male down with them in the room; a young boy at the verge of adulthood, born to this world, as evidenced by his lack of collar. He was running around and serving the women with endless enthusiasm, enjoying his work a bit too much.
Apart from Shena’quinn and Lena’kan, there were three other women in the room, playing on stringed instruments in the corner. Traditional tunes; slow and graceful, with a somber cadence to it. One of the women even sang to it from time to time, the other two joining her for the refrains. The music, the people, the atmosphere—they all reminded Devi of her home-world.
It wasn’t a pleasant reminder.
“—you think?”
“Shh, don’t bother her, she is resting!”
Devi cracked an eyelid. “Yes?”
“Sorry, my dear,” Shena’quinn apologized. “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to eat something. You haven’t touched the food ever since you got here.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure?” Shena’quinn asked, her eyebrows drawn together in worry. “You really should eat more. You’re so thin.”
That was about the fifth time she made a remark on her physique.
“They’re called muscles, thank you very much,” Devi said.
Shena’quinn gave her a funny look.
“Shena’quinn is just worried about you,” Lena’kan said. “You need a healthy body when you start having children. You can’t do that while starving yourself to the bones.”
Alright, that was it. Devi decided to try something new.
“That won’t be happening,” she frostily stated, “Because I’m barren.”
The horrified gasp of the two women were almost comical.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Shena’quinn said, her hands wandering to her rounded stomach. “I can’t imagine a worse fate, to be completely robbed of your purpose, of your worth—oh, forgive me, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sure you are— That is, if we can be of any help, please just say so. I’m terribly sorry that we spoke so much about our own children! It was so inconsiderate of us…”
“I see now why you’re in such a sour mood today,” Lena’kan said. “Thank you for confiding in us, Devi’lynn. If you wish, we can talk about something else.”
Devi looked at Lena’kan in surprise. She had expected a hidden barb from her as well, much like Shena’quinn and her innocent blunder. But offering to change the topic when she had just confessed such a juicy gossip-material? It was surprisingly considerate.
“You should still eat more, though,” Lena’kan added. “Barren or not, you need to have something in your stomach.”
Shena’quinn did a very unladylike snort as she tried to stop herself from laughing, while Devi did her best to keep her face devoid from emotions. She wasn’t sure how much she succeeded, as her mind was already on the next step. Enough was enough; she didn’t know why shade-Randel had sent her here, but she decided that she wouldn’t endure it any longer.
She just needed to create a distraction.
The thought had almost made her smile. She did have plenty of experience about making a scene and leaving early. True, she didn’t have her status as a Lady here, but she had something better; Abilities.
“You’re right, I’ll eat something,” she said, waving for the servant. “In the meantime, I’d like to take up on your offer, Lena’kan, and speak about something else.”
“Anything, dear,” Lena’kan said with a smile.
Devi ordered her food—telling the servant boy to bring a wide variety of meals for her to choose from—then turned back to Lena’kan.
“You see, I’m quite new to this world,” she said. “I understand that we need to participate in fights regularly, but I haven’t figured out yet what my role should be. Tell me, how you usually do it? You must have completed several Quests already.”
“Ah, yes, those awful Quests,” Shena’quinn sighed. “If only they didn’t exist…”
“I’m supporting my husband during the fights,” Lena’kan said. “You should find yourself a strong partner too, Devi’lynn. That’s the secret for us women—both in this world, and in Ylvasil.”
“But how are you supporting him?” Devi asked. “Do you have Abilities for it?”
“I can heal,” Shena’quinn said, then looked down, shoulders slumping. “Except I can’t heal my leg, so I remain bound to the wheelchair. I can’t heal myself, but the others make sure I’m extra safe. And . . . I can also create walls. Barriers.”
“You can consider yourself lucky,” Lena’kan told her. “My Abilities are much worse; I have to get close to be able to help. Touching those monsters—or sometimes Humans—to curse them.”
“You can curse someone with a touch?” Shena’quinn asked, eyes wide.
“Ah. It’s nothing too serious, believe me. I can make them float, or have them move slower. Things like that.”
She reached out to the small table between them, picking up a hand-sized fruit. Frowning slightly, she focused on it for a couple of moments before it lifted off, hovering above her palm. When she leaned back to her armchair, the fruit remained in the air.
“It looks like a handy Ability,” Devi said. “Especially if it works on larger creatures too.”
“It’s a decidedly awful Ability,” Lena’kan said, shaking her head. “Try getting closer to those disgusting monsters while carrying a child! It’s scary, it’s exhausting, and to top it off, by some cruel twist of fate all of my Abilities require physical touch!”
Cruel twist of fate indeed. Devi stayed wisely silent, turning her attention on the servant boy instead. He was pushing a small cart of food towards them.
“Your meal is ready, Devi’lynn,” the servant boy said as he stopped next to her. “Please chose anything that your heart desires, and I’ll prepare it for you.”
Devi eyed the cart curiously, not exactly as interested in the food as in the cutlery that lay next to the meat. Should she choose to try some meat, the servant would first cut it up into bite-sized bits for her.
“What about you?” Devi asked as she slid closer to the cart on the sofa.
The boy looked at her, clearly confused. “Mine?”
“Yes, yours. We were talking about magic powers. Do you have any? I’ve heard that everyone born to this world has access to magic, so you must have something. What can you do?”
She stared into the servant boy’s eyes as she spoke, which actually made him flustered enough to avert his gaze.
“Ah, umm, I don’t know if it’s magic . . . but I can use my mana to heal from my injuries faster. And . . . my body is also a little stronger than it has any right to be.”
Devi waited for him to add something, but the boy fell silent. He took another shy glance into her eyes before looking away again.
“Hmm, that’s all?” Devi finally asked.
“Y-Yes.”
“Their skin is also tougher than normal,” Shena’quinn injected. “It’s true. I’ve seen it on my little boys.”
“I see. So if I do this,” Devi snatched the knife from the cart and jumped back before the boy could react, “Then none of you can stop me?”
“Wh-What—”
Devi hopped up to the sofa, brandishing the knife in front of her. “You better hurry up and stop me,” she told the boy as she created two clones of herself, “Quickly, before I hurt myself with this knife!”
She created two more clones, and her already existing clones did the same as well. When she saw the dumbfounded look on the boy’s face she let out a brief laugh, and through her Imitate Ability all the clones laughed too . . . and created more clones.
“What are you doing?!” Lena’kan exclaimed, covering herself in her armchair. “Have you gone mad?!”
“Devi’lynn, stop!” Shena’quinn added her voice. “You’ll injure someone!”
As for the poor servant boy, he was just too shocked to do anything. He should have tried to disarm her, but he just kept glancing left and right as more and more clones appeared. Devi couldn’t blame him; there was already a lot of herself to choose from. She directed one of her clones to jump onto the cart that the boy had brought in—spraying food everywhere and making Shena’quin scream—while she sent two other clones to push an empty armchair towards the balcony. She then sent the rest of the clones in random directions across the room—swinging their knives blindly as they went—which made the other three women in the corner scream as well. Devi herself pretended to be one of the clones that went for the windows. She could still see most of the room through the reflections—it was darker outside than inside—and so she could track her clones more or less.
While her clones wrought havoc behind her, she tried to figure out how the windows could be opened. She could try smashing them in but—ah, no good. More and more men in the garden noticed the commotion, gathering closer. To the door, then. Devi took a sharp turn, causing some of the clones—those who were tasked Imitating her walking—turn as well. Other copies of herself were busy piling up on the armchair beneath the balcony, or running around Shena’quinn and Lena’kan in circles, just for fun.
The entrance door banged open suddenly, several men streaming in to stop the commotion. They didn’t have an easy time ahead of them; they had to be gentle if they didn’t want to hurt the real her—which meant that the clones wouldn’t disappear either. Some of their Abilities helped, though. One of the men at the balcony was shooting some kind of sticky web at the clones, while another was herding them together with carefully aimed bursts of air.
No matter. The clones on the armchair were already packed high enough, so she ordered yet another clone to start climbing. As it grabbed the balcony’s balustrade, two other copies of her surged forward and used the clone as a stepping stone to climb up onto the balcony. Men from upstairs moved over to stop them, but the clones were already creating more and more copies, clogging the way at one end and trying to escape through the other. Even the men downstairs had taken the bait, moving away from the now-opened door in the direction of the balcony, where the majority of her clones bustled.
Her mana reserves were draining quickly. After creating one last surge of clones, Devi stopped waving her knife stupidly at the window. She ducked behind the freshly-made clones and risked activating her Shroud of Light. The lamps were bright enough so that it hid her sufficiently, though if someone was looking for camouflaged people they would be able to spot her easily. Hopefully their attention would be on the clones, though.
She had to admit to herself that she had been wrong earlier. Being reminded of home wasn’t all bad; this chaos was wonderfully nostalgic. It was almost better than that one time when she set the entire dining table on fire.
She sneaked towards the door slowly, trying to stay in the brightest spots of the room. Shroud of Light was a strange Ability, granting her the power to hide in plain sight; it took her a lot of time to get used to it. Her knee-jerk reaction always had been to find some cover to hide behind—except that in this case, the shadow of that cover would actually make her more visible. She reached the door successfully, then hesitated. She didn’t actually have any plan after this point—to tell the truth, she hadn’t really expected her little distraction to work so well.
The best tactic at the moment would probably be finding Randel. Women weren’t allowed to be unaccompanied outside of the women’s room, but Devi would be damned if she had let anyone else but those murderous people-possessing apparitions to be her escort. As strange as that sounded.
As soon as she stepped out to the corridor however, her plan to find Randel was dashed into pieces.
“Having fun, Lady Devi’lynn?” Tengi’quinn asked, standing alone in the middle of the corridor. He had glowing symbols swirling around his eyes and could apparently see through Devi’s camouflage. She dropped her Shroud immediately—her mana was about to run out anyways.
“I was having fun till you ruined it, Lord Tengi’quinn.”
Tengi’quinn just chuckled softly. “I have to say that you surpassed all of my expectations tonight. I looked into your past after I had learnt who you are.”
“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Devi said, glaring at him.
“I was intrigued from the moment I first saw you,” Tengi’quinn admitted. “How could I not be? A woman with a sword and a human servant? More than curious! Imagine my surprise when I found out later on that some of my men knew who you were in Ylvasil; a Lady from one of the biggest Houses, no less!”
“So what?” Devi shot back, spreading her arms. “I’m not a Lady anymore, and you already have a wife, if you haven’t noticed.”
Tengi’quinn clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Guidance.”
“Excuse me?”
“What you need is guidance,” Tengi’quinn said. “You’re young and prone to make mistakes. Though I’m glad you discarded your human servant, you’ll need better companions than—”
“I didn’t discard him,” Devi interrupted Tengi’quinn, her anger rising. “He became possessed.”
“Ah. The shade at the castle? I’ve heard about it from the survivors. Such a nasty surprise. I’m glad that you came out of it unscathed.”
“Yes, I’m alive and well, as you can see. I don’t need you telling me what I need, but thank you for offering. Would you please send for Rona’lynn? I’ll be waiting for him here in the women’s room, apologizing for the mess I’ve caused.”
The men behind her were cleaning up the remaining clones, either not having noticed her standing in the doorway, or not wanting to interrupt Tengi’quinn while he talked.
“Ah, that won’t be necessary,” Tengi’quinn said. “You see, I actually came here to escort you out to the yard. A fight will be happening there, one that you absolutely have to see.”
“A fight?” Devi asked warily.
“Another man had challenged your Rona’lynn to a duel of honor,” Tengi’quinn clarified, the corner of his mouth curling up in a malicious smile. “And the right to court you will be the prize.”
“—how much longer do we have to—”
“—why’s it Firo’kan who gets to fight him—”
“Fight? As if!”
“Just look at him, you can hardly call this a fight—”
“—so skinny! There’s no way he’s—”
“—how did he get a woman—”
Devi did her best to ignore the chatter as she waited for the duel to begin, standing still by Shemi’kon’s side. As the host of this banquet, the Governor took it on himself to act as a judge for the duel. A shimmering-white, translucent wall was erected in a wide circle around the duelists—courtesy to two Players with matching Abilities—and the crowd was spread out alongside it, impatiently waiting for the action to start. The night was dark, the Moon hiding behind the clouds as the soft orange glow of the lanterns drew deep shadows on the men’s faces. It all looked like some kind of evil ritual from the tales of her childhood.
“Don’t you worry, Devi’lynn,” Shemi’kon slurred from beside her, misinterpreting the look on her face. “‘Tis a fine barrier. No harm shall befall on you!”
He seemed to be slightly drunk, much to Devi’s dismay. Compared to Humans, Sylven were much less keen on poisoning themselves for fun, which was doubly true for people of higher standing. Not only was it unseemly, but it also belied weakness of character. Shemi’kon didn’t seem to care about those things, though—so far he hadn’t shown any quality fit to govern an entire city.
But at least he also didn’t care about the mess Devi had caused in the women’s room.
He was also keeping the other men from approaching her, which was kind of a relief. Tengi’quinn was still hovering nearby, but that was fine, for the moment. For all their faults, at least neither Shemi’kon nor Tengi’quinn violated her personal space. It didn’t make them much better than the rest, of course; the fact remained that they basically treated her like an object. A prize that the winner could take home. Allegedly, the duel would be about the right to court her . . . but what did that really mean in this world?
In Ylvasil, the right to court—or marry—a certain woman was determined by status and prestige. The father of the woman would usually have the final say however, especially among nobility. And therein lay Devi’s problem; here she barely had any standing. Who would object if someone forced himself on her?
It wasn’t any news to her. She took pride in finally being free, but she had always been aware of the drawbacks too. What troubled her now, however, was the ease with which seemingly everyone had accepted that they could use the right to court her as a simple bargaining chip. Even Randel. True, he was possessed by shades and might just be playing along, but logical reasons aside, it still hurt. She wanted to have a more active role in this Quest, not just being treated as a tool.
Her time might still come, however. Randel’s opponent was none other than Firo’kan, the target of their assassination Quest. It was astonishing that Randel had managed to provoke Firo’kan into challenging him for a duel, but there was a slight problem with his plan; duels of honor went only till first blood. He wouldn’t be killing Firo’kan during this duel. Besides, would he attempt to do it in front of everyone, damning the consequences? Devi hoped that wasn’t the case. The shades might be thirsty for blood, but so far shade-Randel had demonstrated restraint and foresight. They wouldn’t get out of this alive if they murdered Firo’kan right here.
Oh, and there was another issue as well; no matter how Devi looked at it, Randel didn’t even have much chance to win.
He couldn’t rely on Nosy or Soul Eater’s dagger-form, as they were too recognizable. His teleportation had been seen by some of Tengi’quinn’s men, so that was probably out of the picture too. He couldn’t use Seize, because he had to keep up his facade with Disguise. Lastly, there weren’t any alutnarats nearby that he could mind-control either.
If the duel had been about swordsmanship only, Randel would have even less chance. Devi doubted they would prohibit Abilities, though; the collars couldn’t be taken off, so there was little point in setting up rules like that. No one would know if someone was using a passive Ability or a Weapon Skill, for instance.
No matter how Devi looked at it, Randel didn’t intend to win. Letting Firo’kan triumph just so Devi had a reason to get closer to him seemed to be a decent plan on one hand, but also completely uncharacteristic for the shades on the other.
“You don’t have to wait much longer, my dear,” Firo’kan shouted over the noise of the crowd, winking as he caught her looking. He was a relatively short, almost squat man; not at all how Devi imagined he’d look like, though his face certainly matched the descriptions she had gotten from Mivara’gonn. Broken pair of horns jutting out of his forehead, square jaw and wide nose, perpetual lopsided smile. Devi found that she had surprisingly few feelings against killing this man with her own hands. Perhaps she was just shallow, judging him by his looks—or gullible, for believing Mivara’gonn’s tale about Firo’kan being a rapist. Perhaps it was her past experiences with men why she didn’t feel remorse. It didn’t matter anyhow.
Firo’kan’s left hand rested on the pommel of an elegant sword that hung from his hips, his posture seemingly relaxed. He kept glancing at Randel though, in a way that spoke of anticipation and impatience, perhaps even nervousness. As for shade-Randel, he was as calm and collected as ever, taking the jeers and murmured insults in stride. Devi didn’t know what he did to make Firo’kan challenge him to a duel, but it apparently involved pissing off multiple people from the crowd. It was clear who the majority of the men here were rooting for.
“Done, finally?” Firo’kan asked. Randel tossed his left shoe to the base of the translucent wall, his vest already lying on the lush grass. He had shaped Soul Eater into a weapon; the black metal enveloped his right arm, forming vicious claws at the end of his fingertips. His left leg had transformed in a similar fashion; the leg of his trousers was rolled up to his knee, the talon-like digits on his foot in clear view. The dark material was interspersed by pulsing orange lines, giving the impression of veins bulging out of black flesh.
“I’m ready,” Randel said, barely audible in the chatter. He glanced at Devi—acknowledging her for the first time—and nodded at her. “This will be over quickly.”
Firo’kan barked a laugh. “Big words for someone who wouldn’t even use a sword!”
“Real men doesn’t need to rely on their sword to win,” Randel said evenly. “There’s only one shame; defeat. Everything else is immaterial.”
“That kind of back-alley logic makes you no better than a Kyntark,” Firo’kan shot back.
“It has been the way of our people for hundreds of years.”
“Pfah! You and your claims again. Listen here, you little—”
Governor Shemi’kon clapped loudly, interrupting their verbal spar.
“Well then—I see you’re ready!” he hollered. “Let’s just begin already!”
In spite of the rather unorthodox way to start their duel, neither of the duelists hesitated. Firo’kan spread his arms to the side, palms up, eyes closed. His defensive barrier materialized over his clothes gradually, shimmering in a bright yellow color. It surrounded his body tightly, humming with power, making the air vibrate in its vicinity.
Devi’s eyes however were not on him, but Randel. His Disguise flickered briefly as he hunched forward, his shirt ripping apart at his back as two grayish outgrowths burst out from his shoulder blades. They expanded rapidly, forming joints and segments in an eyeblink; the pair of skeletal wings were utterly without flesh, skin, or feathers. Their size was relatively small, barely reaching farther than Randel’s outstretched arms would have. As to how they were supposed to lift him up was answered when he flapped them once; like membranes out of shadows, dark energy coursed between the segments of his wings.
Firo’kan was far from impressed, however.
“Wings? Really?” he laughed, his voice distorted by the defensive aura covering his head. “You’re out of luck if you planned to win with such a cheap trick—try to fly away from this!”
With a finger pointed in Randel’s direction, Firo’kan shot a bolt of blindingly-bright lightning from his fingertip. Randel barely had the time to raise his claw in front of him, the back of his hand widening to form a shield as it caught Firo’kan’s attack. The lightning bolt bounced off the black material, splitting up into dozens of smaller ones that struck the ground around Randel.
As soon as the attack dissipated, Randel lowered his arm and began to advance with steady steps, folding his wings against his back. Firo’kan pointed once again—this time using two of his fingers—but instead of blocking the lightning bolt, Randel just sidestepped the attack; his left leg changed its shape, pushing him to the right abruptly. The lightning bolt—larger than the previous one—sailed past his head, striking the barrier at the edge of the arena and making the men behind it flinch. Randel barely broke his stride as he landed on his other leg, his wings fluttering slightly to keep him upright. His left leg snapped back into place a moment later and he continued his advance.
“Nice trick,” Firo’kan said, smirking as he raised his fist towards the sky. “How about this one?”
Although Randel raised his claw above his head reflexively, Devi couldn’t tell if he was able to shield himself in time. The lightning bolt that crashed into him was so bright, so deafening, that for a moment she had trouble comprehending what had just happened. When she could see again—her ears ringing, with dark spots dancing around her vision—Randel was still on his feet, standing with his claw raised. Firo’kan was circling around alongside the wall of the arena, lengthening the distance between the two of them. Though it seemed like Randel was fine taking a lightning bolt of this scale, Devi suspected that the only reason he remained unharmed was his Shadeform.
“What are you doing?!” Devi shouted at Firo’kan. “You aren’t going for first blood—you’re trying to kill him!”
“Oh please, that’s hardly the case,” Firo’kan said dismissively, his eyes never leaving Randel. “We are both Players. If Rona’lynn is truly as much of a man as he says he is, he can take this much.”
“That’s—”
“Hush, now,” Tengi’quinn spoke into her ear, “Stop distracting the combatants. Let them settle this between each other.”
Devi shot Tengi’quinn an angry look as she took a step away from him, but she held her tongue. Randel would be probably fine with his Shadeform, as long as he had the sense to concede before his charges ran out. At the moment he decided to stop chasing Firo’kan and just stood still, his posture relaxed. Reaching out with his clawed hand, he then bent his fingers in a beckoning gesture.
Firo’kan sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“You’re way too confident for your own good, Rona’lynn.”
When he raised both of his arms towards the sky, Devi immediately closed her eyes, shielding her face with one hand. Sadly, it didn’t occur to her to cover her ears too; the following series of thunderclaps were so loud—and they lasted for so long—that all thoughts fled her, her head feeling like it was hit by a hammer. When Firo’kan finally ceased calling down his lightning bolts, it took Devi some time to get her bearings.
“—swear if this harmed my ears permanently I’m going to—”
“The Abyss take you Firo’kan, you’re—”
“—bastard, that was—”
“Quiet!” Shemi’kon bellowed, his voice surprisingly harsh. “The fight is not over!”
Devi’s eyes widened at what she saw—or rather, at what she didn’t see; Randel was completely missing. Her heart clenched in fear at the thought of him being completely incinerated—but that couldn’t be the case, could it? If the fight was not over, then—
“Hiding won’t help you either!” Firo’kan shouted. Either he wasn’t affected by the aftereffects of his lightning, or he was just too used to them at this point. He looked around with narrowed eyes, his crackling energy-barrier over his body increasing in intensity. Devi didn’t see any deepened shadows down within the arena, so it wasn’t too difficult for her to realize where Randel could possibly be.
Firo’kan had drawn the same conclusions, unfortunately. With his face turned upwards to the sky, he drew his sword with one smooth motion. His blade glowed in a similar manner as his aura, trailing a wide curve in the air and shooting an arc of light towards the night sky. The arena was illuminated once again, the air lit up as the light cut through it, revealing—nothing. No flying shape could be seen in the bright light.
Devi looked back at Firo’kan, seeing her surprise mirrored in his eyes—just in time before Randel struck. His translucent form had emerged from the ground right behind Firo’kan, eyes glowing green, wings outstretched. Firo’kan wasn’t quick enough to react, his attention still on the sky above. With a flap of his wings Randel flew up, closing his taloned foot around Firo’kan neck just as he was about to turn around. The black metal shifted its shape immediately, flowing around Firo’kan’s aura—taking hold of his body, instead of trying to penetrate the barrier. Another flap of wings lifted both of them up in the air.
“Hey!” Firo’kan tried to swing his sword at Randel, but the angle was awkward and all he could reach was Randel’s left leg. His blade bounced off the black material with a loud clang, unable to inflict any harm. A heartbeat later the two of them were off, shooting high up into the air. Randel’s wings were powerful enough to make it seem effortless; in no time they became nothing more than dark specks on the night sky.
A sudden flash of lightning made Devi flinch, though this time it happened high above her. The sound of the thunderclap was followed by Firo’kan’s scream as he fell—a scream filled with pure terror. His defensive aura was bursting with light, and he shot small bolts of lighting under him in panic—right until he slammed into the ground and fell limp, his aura winking out immediately.
Devi was almost afraid to look. Firo’kan’s aura might have been strong enough to stop any direct attack, but it was certainly not enough to break the impact of his fall; his arms were broken multiple times, neck twisted in an odd angle, eyes open, unseeing. A dark shape fell from the sky a moment later, left leg forming a simple spike as it landed on top of Firo’kan, impaling him through his chest.
The moment of utter silence that followed was broken only by Randel’s sigh of satisfaction.
“First blood,” he said as he looked up at the crowd, his usual blank expression returning to his face.
Quest completed: Hired by an assassin
Everyone burst out talking at the same time, while Devi frantically wiped at her message—hoping that no one had noticed it—until she felt Tengi’quinn’s hand on her shoulder, gripping her firmly. She elbowed him reflexively and was surprised to find his grip loosening; an opportunity that she took immediately by skipping away from him. The crowd was still focused on Randel, dismissing the barrier as they approached him and Firo’kan’s corpse, talking over each other in a loud mess of exclamations. Devi put her back to them to focus on Tengi’quinn. The man had the corner of his lips turned down into a frown, floating symbols orbiting around his narrowed eyes as he scrutinized Devi—but then his eyes drifted behind her, and he blinked in surprise.
Devi took that as a sign to retreat. As she tried to step back however, there was a slight rustle behind her and she bumped into someone—just to have something cold and hard encircle her head, digging into her scalp.
“Say a word and I’ll rip her head off,” Randel spoke from behind. It took Devi a moment to realize who he was talking to—and why. She had to suppress the urge to flinch away, to try to wiggle out of Randel’s grasp, hoping all the while that shade-Randel was just bluffing. They needed to escape, and they needed a leverage—which, in this case, was her safety. She had no doubts that shade-Randel would discard her without any regret, but she hoped that her Randel wouldn’t let the shades kill her. There had to be something left of him in there.
The look in Tengi’quinn’s eyes radiated hatred, but surprisingly enough, he stayed silent. He didn’t reach for any weapon either—but the swirling glyphs around his eyes changed their shape. They were quite attractive. Mesmerizing. Devi could have watched them all—
She gasped sharply as Randel’s claws dug into her skin, pain blooming at the sides of her head. She could feel her blood trickling down to her cheeks. Tengi’quinn stopped his Ability immediately, closing his eyes and huffing in anger.
“I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” Randel said coldly, then raised his voice for all to hear. “Try anything funny, and the woman dies.”
The next thing Devi knew was Randel lifting her up, holding her with his left arm under her legs and his clawed hand beneath her back. She threw her arms around his neck as they accelerated upwards, holding onto him as tight as she could manage. She dared to take only a quick glance down, the ever-turning city of Phalak sprawling beneath them in all directions. The height made her dizzy—or was it the blood loss? Randel’s shirt was smeared with the blood dribbling from her temple.
“They are going to be after you now,” Devi mumbled, closing her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder. “If you let Randel’s body die, I’ll make you pay. Somehow.”
The shades, quite predictably, didn’t answer. Harsh wind buffeted Devi’s body, her teeth clattering from the cold. They flew the rest of the way in silence, descending gradually until they arrived to the Feathered Stallion inn. Shade-Randel let Devi get on her feet when they landed on the street, but his clawed hand lingered at her neck.
“Shroud of Light,” he murmured, his blue skin and illusory horns disappearing in an instant.
“I meant what I said,” Devi spoke, her voice weak but her gaze steady. “Tengi’quinn saw through your Disguise. He would be able to see you in my Shroud of Light as well. He’ll go after you.”
“He’s welcome to try,” Randel said, taking a step back and opening his wings once again. “Goodbye, Devi.”
Devi shook her head, uncomprehending.
“W-What? Where are you going?”
“Tonight was entertaining, but we have no more use of you at the moment. Should we need anything from you, we’ll get in touch.”
Devi watched in disbelief as Randel turned his back to her, the dark energy between the sections of his wings flaring briefly before he shot up to the air. She stood in the middle of the street in a daze, watching his shrinking form, watching it for as long as she could.
She didn’t know how long she stood there frozen, her eyes on the empty sky. Eventually she walked inside the inn, up to her room, mechanically locking the door behind herself. She couldn’t take more than a few steps before falling to her knees, the emotional trials of the day finally catching up to her. Her limbs felt heavy as stone and her chest was empty like the Abyss itself, but her eyes were dry. She stared at the ground for a long time, stared at the drops of blood dripping down her face, splattering on the floor.
She stared, but she did not allow herself to cry.
Fantasy Fiction Factory 