Chapter Nineteen
Siurad stood on the ridge overlooking the town, the metal of his gauntlet scraping against his chin as he paced.
“It’s been a while, Obi. I’m starting to worry.”
'...THE WITCH IS NOT SO EASILY SLAIN.'
“What if she got jumped? She might not have had time to signal. I haven't seen any fire, and I haven't heard any dying poultry.”
'...THAT WAS NOT A FOWL.'
“True, but still I shouldn't have let—”
BOOM.
A massive, spiraling maelstrom of flames erupted from the town square, lighting up the night. Embers rained down like a twisted Fourth of July.
There’s the signal.
“Fuck,” Siurad hissed.
He broke into a sprint, charging down the steep slope. He let gravity take him, his weight turning him into a runaway freight train. He didn't dodge the undergrowth; he trampled it. Saplings snapped, and bushes disintegrated under his boots as he gathered momentum. He burst through the tree line, shattering a low-hanging branch that sent splinters spinning into the dark.
Below, the chaos was visible. Yona was pinned. And standing over her was Mao.
He’s too far, Siurad realized. “I'll never make it in time.”
“Obi,” Siurad gritted out. “We’re doing the Crash Dummy Protocol.”
'...THERE IS NO CRASH DUMMY PROTOCOL.'
“There is now.”
The math was simple and stupid. Anything past fifty feet, the void step lost its accuracy; anything over one hundred, it gained exponential velocity. He was going to become a cannonball. Without Obi's ever-present augmentation, the G-force of the stop would likely liquefy his organs inside his armor.
“Aiming for the orc,” Siurad muttered, trying to lead the target. “This is going to hurt.”
He found a tether and his mind snapped to it.
Pop.
His stomach lurched into his throat. The world twisted, colors inverting, sound going silent before dampening to a dull roar. For a split second, he wasn't anywhere.
Then, reality snapped back.
Siurad arrived like a meteor. He rocketed out of the void mid-air, his six-foot-four frame and three hundred pounds of black steel becoming a kinetic missile.
He aimed for Mao.
He missed.
Instead of hitting the orc, Siurad slammed directly into the crowd. A cluster of mages soldiers and townsfolk standing near Mao.
SPLAT.
The physics were instant and horrifying. The force of a barreling Siurad, multiplied by the velocity of the long-range step, deleted them. Armor buckled, bones shattered, and human beings were instantaneously converted into a fine pink mist and wet gravel.
Mao, who had been standing two feet to the left, was blasted backward by the sheer shockwave of the impact, his coat drenched with what had been his henchmen.
Siurad hit the ground with a heavy, tectonic thud. He tumbled, metal screeching against stone, twisting his body to absorb the momentum before skidding to a halt.
He stood up slowly, groaning, and wiped a piece of someone’s ribcage off his chest. He looked at the crater he made, then at the shivering, gore-covered Mao.
“Damn,” Siurad wheezed, checking his hands. The realization hit him like a freight train. “EWW EWW …. EWW YONA ITS IN MY HAIR.”
“Oh god I… I can taste them, Yona.”
The ring pulsed on his finger, vibrating with a mix of disgust and dark amusement.
'...YOU ARE STUPID BUT INNOVATIVE. THE RESULT IS ACCEPTABLE.'
Yona didn't waste a second processing the sheer stupidity of what she just witnessed. She was a professional. The crash dummy was the distraction; she was the executioner.
While Mao stared in horror at the red mist that had once been his soldiers, Yona moved.
She kicked off the fountain, triggering a gust of wind. The air screamed as she broke the sound barrier over a short distance. As she flew, she ran her thumb along her dagger.
“Hellfire.”
The black dagger turned glowing green.
Mao turned, his eyes widening. He tried to get away, but he was one second too late.
SHINK.
The superheated blade sank to the hilt into the Orc’s chest, cauterizing the wound instantly. Mao gasped, clutching Yona’s wrist.
Yona didn't pull the blade out. She twisted it.
“Die,” she whispered.
“Radial Shards.”
She channeled a blast of freezing ice directly through the hot dagger.
The reaction was catastrophic. The extreme heat met the extreme cold inside Mao’s chest.
CRACK-BOOM.
It sounded like a grenade going off. Mao’s chest shattered. A starburst of jagged red ice spikes erupted from his back, piercing his armor and turning his torso into a frozen, bloody pincushion.
Mao’s eyes rolled back. He collapsed face-first onto the cobblestones, steam rising from his shattered ribs.
Yona wiped a speck of blood from her cheek and turned to Siurad, spinning the dagger in her hand.
“Clean kill,” she smirked. “Don't look so green, Shepherd. It’s just anatomy.”
Siurad stared at the frozen corpse, then at Yona.
“You... you just turned his heart into a slushie,” Siurad said, his voice tinged with horrified respect. “Why didn't you lead with that?”
“Because he’s faster than me,” Yona shrugged. “I needed a meat-shield to distract him. Thanks for volunteering.”
Before Siurad could argue, the ground shook.
The two hundred mind-controlled townsfolk. They were charging. The blue light in their eyes burned brighter.
“KILL... THEM...” The Mask commanded.
Siurad stepped in front of Yona, raising his hands.
“Okay, new objective,” Siurad shouted. “Crowd control only! Do not kill them, Yona!”
“Easier said than done, big guy!” Yona yelled, readying herself.
The ring on Siurad’s finger vibrated with cold annoyance.
'...DO NOT DIE FOR YOUR PETTY MORALS VESSEL. THEY ARE ALREADY LOST.'
“Don't kill them!” Siurad shouted, holding up his armored palms as the mob of farmers and bakers descended. “Just… shove them!”
“I don't know shove magic,” Yona yelled back.
She didn't shove. She spun, her dagger flashing. A blacksmith lunged at her with a hammer; she sidestepped and slashed his throat in one fluid motion. He gargled and dropped.
“Yona!” Siurad roared, horrified.
“They’re soldiers now, Shepherd!” she screamed back, kicking the dying man into the legs of a charging baker. “Focus on the big threats!”
Before Siurad could argue, a wet, tearing sound echoed from the ground behind them. It came from Mao’s corpse.
Siurad turned just in time to see the massive, vein-covered gauntlet twitch. With a sickening slurp, it detached from the Orc’s ruined arm. It scuttled across the cobblestones on its blue veins like a severed spider, heading straight for a group of enthralled villagers.
“Oh god no,” Siurad grimaced.
The gauntlet leaped; it connected to them. The translucent blue veins shot out like harpoons, piercing the chests of three farmers and a town guard.
They were yanked together with the force of a car crash.
CRUNCH.
The Gauntlet pulsed violently, acting as a magnetic core. It pulled the living bodies tight against itself, using the veins to override their anatomy. Limbs snapped and reoriented. Torso pressed against torso. In seconds, a hulking, headless monstrosity rose from the groaning pile of humanity, anchored by the pulsing blue light of the Gauntlet embedded in the center of the meat-mass.
It swung a massive, misshapen limb made of three fused arms at Siurad.
WHAM.
Siurad took the hit on his pauldron. The force was heavy, knocking him back into a market stall. He scrambled up, breath hitching.
“Okay,” Siurad wheezed. “Magic. Range. Keep away from the hug-monster.”
He raised his hand. “Shadow Spike!”
He launched a jagged lance of darkness. It struck the creature’s shoulder, knocking a piece of one of the fused bodies clear of its bulk. The monster barely flinched.
Siurad felt the drain instantly.
The creature lunged. Siurad panicked.
POP.
He teleported ten feet to the left. The nausea hit him immediately, a wave of dizziness that nearly buckled his knees. He stumbled, gasping.
'...INEFFICIENT,' Obi hissed. '...YOUR RESERVES ARE CRITICAL.'
“I know!” Siurad yelled.
He cast another spike to deflect a grasping limb, then void stepped again to avoid being crushed.
POP.
He reappeared, retching bile onto the pavement. His vision swam. The tank was low. He was burning his meager mana pool too quickly.
The gauntlet beast loomed over him, raising a fist made of human legs and wood.
Siurad drew his sword. He was done being a mage. He was just a bouncer again.
He swung with all his might. The blade sank deep into the creature's shoulder, but the dark steel did little to slow its momentum.
It barreled into him. They both folded into a heap on the cobblestones, the massive amalgamation pinning him beneath a crushing wall of grafted limbs and dead weight. It pressed down, trying to squeeze the breath from his lungs.
'...MOVE, VESSEL!'
"I'm trying!" Siurad gasped.
He reached for the sword still impaled in the creature's mass, but his arm was pinned. He needed space. He needed leverage.
He improvised.
Siurad grabbed a handful of the creature's fused flesh, visualized a coordinate, and forced the void to answer.
POP.
The world inverted. Gravity vanished.
Siurad and the beast materialized twenty feet in the air, right in the shadow of a towering church spire. For a split second, they hung suspended in the cold night air.
Then, briefly, Siurad contemplated his life choices; he began to realize he should have thought this plan through a little longer.
Then, they plummeted.
Before the creature could react, Siurad shoved off its massive chest, and void stepped one last time.
POP.
He reappeared safely on the ground, his boots slamming into the dirt. He hunched over the nausea overwhelming his senses. He recovered just in time to watch physics take over.
Gravity was not kind.
The hulking mass hit the cobblestones with a sickening, wet thud. Grafted limbs shattered and bent at impossible angles. Large bulges of flesh ruptured on impact, leaving a hobbled, bulky mass of broken bones and blue slime.
But the blue veins still pulsed.
Slowly, agonizingly, the mangled pile of meat began to drag itself forward, making a straight line for a fresh group of unconscious, mind-controlled townsfolk. It was going to rebuild itself.
"Fuck me," Siurad sighed.
While Siurad fought the amalgamation, Yona hunted the brain.
The Mask of Chorus stood on the Town Hall steps, glowing with indignation.
“A NEW VESSEL IS REQUIRED,” the Mask intoned.
It dropped from the face of a man and was immediately grabbed by a hulking armored knight standing guard on the steps.
The knight stiffened. The porcelain mask fused to his helmet. Blue light exploded from his visor. He drew a massive greatsword and roared, the sound echoing with a hundred voices.
“DIE, VERMIN.”
The knight charged, flanked by four enthralled mages.
Yona moved like death.
She sprinted toward the mages. One began to cast a lightning spell. She slid under the bolt, her dagger glowing green.
“Hellfire.”
She slashed the mage across the stomach. He screamed and collapsed, burning.
The second mage cast a barrier. Yona vaulted off the dying man’s back, flipping over the shield. She drove her boot into the mage's neck with a sickening crack.
“Two down,” she counted.
The knight-host swung his greatsword. Yona ducked, the blade shearing the stone railing behind her.
“Stay still!” the knight boomed.
“Make me!” Yona taunted.
She danced around his heavy swings, looking for an opening. The Mask was the target, but she couldn't break it. She wasn't even sure if she could. Siurad needed it whole anyway.
Incapacitate, she thought. Knock out the battery.
The Knight overextended on a vertical chop. Yona saw her chance.
She cast Flash Freeze on the ground beneath his front foot. The cobblestones turned to a sheet of ice.
The Knight slipped. His heavy armor worked against him, sending him crashing to one knee.
She quickly moved behind him, grabbed the back of his helm, and channeled a pulse of lightning.
Lightning bolt
ZAP.
She drove the shock directly into the base of the knight’s neck, bypassing the armor.
The knight convulsed. His eyes rolled back. He slumped forward, unconscious but alive. The Mask, still fused to his helm, dimmed slightly, its connection severed by the blackout.
“Not so tough now, huh?” Yona smirked.
Back outside, Siurad was losing.
The gauntlet had him pinned against the wall, crushing him with sheer weight. The blue veins writhed against his breastplate, questing, looking for a seam, looking for skin. He understood, with sudden cold clarity, what would happen if they found it. He wouldn't die. He'd be added. One more face in the mass, one more pair of arms for the thing to swing.
He bucked against it. The creature didn't budge. He drove his knee up into the central mass. The bouncer's reflex: break the grip, create space, and then he felt his greave sink into yielding meat and pop back out. The thing didn't even register it. Of course it didn't. He'd been fighting it like a man. Punching it, throwing it, breaking bones it couldn't feel in a body that wasn't really its body at all.
The body was just a coat. The thing wearing it pulsed against his chest, cold and blue and alive in a way the meat around it wasn't.
Stop hitting the suit, he thought. Hit what's inside it.
"Get... off!" Siurad grunted.
He grabbed the Gauntlet with both hands. It burned cold.
'...THE LINK,' Obi commanded. '...SEVER THE VEINS.'
Siurad didn't have mana or a blade. He roared, channeling pure strength. He dug his armored fingers into the mass of flesh surrounding the artifact.
He pulled.
The veins stretched, taut as piano wire. The enthralled victims comprising the body groaned in unison.
With a wet SNAP, Siurad ripped the gauntlet free from the central chest cavity.
The monster instantly lost cohesion. The bodies slumped to the ground in a bloody, broken heap.
Siurad stood panting, holding the throbbing blue artifact as it dripped a blue viscous liquid. As the gauntlet emptied, the faint blue light seemed to dull as it went limp. He looked across the square. Yona was standing over the unconscious knight, waving at him.
“Shepherd! Catch!”
She pried the porcelain mask off the knight’s helm and frisbee-tossed it across the square.
Siurad dropped the gauntlet and caught the mask.
It felt heavy. It buzzed with the screams of a thousand minds.
'...IT IS TIME,' Obi’s voice thundered, sounding ravenous. '...OFFER IT.'
Siurad held the Mask in his palm. The Ring on his finger flared with a violent violet light. The light didn't just shine; it reached out. Tentacles of shadow erupted from the obsidian band, wrapping around the white porcelain.
NO... NO... WE ARE MANY... WE ARE—
CRACK.
The shadows tightened. The mask dissolved. The porcelain turned into blue dust, which was sucked into the ring like water down a drain.
Siurad gasped. A sound like a gunshot echoed through the room. A visible, jagged hairline fracture appeared on the surface of the ring.
'...THE CAGE HAS WEAKENED,' Obi observed, his mental voice echoing louder than usual.
Then, the ring pulsed. The temperature dropped as it reached out through the new crack in its casing.
Yona suddenly dropped her dagger.
She gasped, clutching her temples with both hands, her knees buckling. A trickle of blood ran from her nose.
"Ah! Get... out... of my head!"
"Obi!" Siurad roared.
He grabbed his own right hand with his left. He dug his thumb directly into the Ring, squeezing hard enough to bruise his own finger, physically fighting the artifact.
"Back off!" Siurad commanded, his voice dropping into the terrifyingly low register he used to clear out bar brawls. "She is not a variable! She is the party! You hurt her, and I will find a way to starve you!"
'...TESTING THE WITCH’S RESONANCE,' Obi replied calmly, though the pressure on Yona eased slightly. '...THE MASK CONNECTED MINDS. I HAVE ABSORBED THE WEAVE.'
Yona groaned, planting her feet. She didn't scream. She forced her amber eyes open, and they were burning with pure, stubborn rage.
"If you... don't... get out..." Yona hissed, her voice trembling but defiant. "I will... find a way... to melt you down into a chamber pot."
The pressure vanished. Yona slumped against the doorframe, panting, wiping the blood from her lip.
'...IMPRESSIVE,' Obi’s voice rumbled.
But this time, Siurad didn't translate it.
Yona froze. She looked up, eyes wide.
'...YOU DID NOT BREAK,' the voice echoed directly in her skull. It was cold, arrogant, and sounded like a cathedral door slamming shut. '...MOST MINDS SHATTER UNDER THE WEIGHT OF MY ATTENTION. YOU MERELY BENT.'
"I can hear him," Yona whispered, horror and fascination warring on her face. "Directly. Why can I hear him?"
'...BECAUSE THE ABSORPTION CRACKED THE SEAL,' Obi stated. '...AND BECAUSE YOU ARE SUFFICIENTLY STUBBORN.'
Obi paused, his presence lingering in the space between their minds like static electricity.
'...DO NOT MISTAKE THIS FOR INTIMACY, THIEF. I AM MERELY OPTIMIZING COMMUNICATION.'
Yona stared at the ring, then at Siurad. She looked terrified, impressed, and incredibly annoyed all at once.
"Great," she spat, sheathing her dagger with aggressive force. "Now I have two voices in my head. And one of them is a pompous piece of jewelry."
'...AND ONE OF THEM HAS TERRIBLE POSTURE,' Obi critiqued immediately. '...STRAIGHTEN YOUR SPINE. YOU SLOUCH WHEN YOU KILL, IT IS INEFFICIENT.'
Yona’s jaw dropped. She looked at Siurad, pointing an accusing finger at the Ring. "He's critiquing my form? After I just helped save his vessel's life?"
Siurad actually smiled. He felt the new strength thrumming in his blood. He felt solid. Capable.
"Welcome to the team, Yona," Siurad said, stepping into the morning light. "Get used to it. He never shuts up."
"I hate this," Yona muttered, though she fell into step beside him. "I hate this so much."
'...ONLY THE INEFFICIENT PARTS,' Obi assured her. '...WHICH UNFORTUNATELY IS MOST OF YOUR LIFE.'
"I'm going to throw the ring in a volcano," Yona promised.
"We can discuss murder later," Siurad said, clapping a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Right now, we have a long walk back to the road."
Yona paused, looking back at the unconscious knight and the fallen mages. A greedy sparkle returned to her eyes, pushing away the terror of the ring. “But first," she sang, stepping over a corpse, "it's time for looooot.”
The adrenaline was fading, replaced by the dull ache of bruised ribs. The town square of Unity was silent, save for the groans of the waking villagers.
Siurad was already scanning the corpses with the detached focus of a gamer checking drop tables, until he actually looked at the mangled reality of the mage leader.
"You alright?" Yona asked, wiping sludge off her dagger.
"The creature is down," Siurad replied, forcing himself to walk over to the body. "Which means the loot table is open."
He crouched down, trying not to breathe through his nose. The smell of copper and burnt hair was overwhelming. He patted down the mage’s robes, looking for the tell-tale lump of a coin purse, trying to treat it like a security pat-down at the club.
He found a hidden pocket inside the sleeve and pulled out a small velvet bag. He opened it, revealing three uncut blue stones.
"Shinies," Siurad muttered, tossing the bag to Yona to avoid looking at the mage's frozen, surprised face. "Garbage or gear?"
Yona caught the bag, peeked inside, and her eyebrows shot up.
"Sapphires," she corrected him. "Uncut. Mages use them for focusing arrays. Shepherd, these aren't just shinies. Each one of these is worth a good piece of coin."
"Good," Siurad noted, filing that data away. Blue stones equal a nice payday. He touched the mage's silk robe. "The robe feels... expensive."
"Grismore weave," Yona explained, rubbing the bloodstained silk between her fingers. "Waterproof. Not as good as the sapphire, still a decent haul. Help me get it off him."
Siurad recoiled slightly. "We are not stripping the dead naked in the street."
"We're leaving the underclothes! That's dignity!" Yona argued, already unbuttoning the collar. "The robe is just an estate tax!"
"You do it," Siurad grunted, standing up quickly. "I'll check the orc."
He walked over to Mao. The massive mercenary captain lay in a puddle of blue slime and blood. It was a mess. Siurad grimaced, using just his fingertips to cut the heavy leather sack from the Orc’s belt.
It hit the pavement with a dense, promising thud.
Siurad opened it with the toe of his boot. Inside was a stack of silver bars and a heavy purse full of gold coins.
"We're funded," Siurad muttered, dumping the gold into his armored pouch. It clinked heavily against the gold from the Kel raid. They were walking around with a small town's GDP, but right now, all Siurad could focus on was the smell.
He looked down at the orc’s face. The thick gold ring in Mao's nose caught the sunlight.
"Yona," Siurad said, pointing. "The nose ring."
"Way ahead of you," she said, skipping over and drawing her dagger.
Siurad looked at the dagger. He looked at the thick, tough cartilage of the Orc’s nose.
"I'm going to check the perimeter," Siurad said quickly, turning his back and walking away.
"Don't be a baby, Shepherd," Yona teased.
'...THE CARTILAGE IS TOUGH,' Obi’s voice echoed in their heads, sounding clinically interested. '...APPLY PRESSURE AT THE SEPTUM.'
"Thanks, Spooky!"
SQUELCH.
Siurad winced, hunching his shoulders as the wet, tearing sound echoed across the silent square. He hated this part. He hated that he was getting used to the violence, but he wasn't used to the butchery.
"Got it!" Yona called out. "Solid gold. Another half-coin in weight. That buys us a bath and a hot meal."
Siurad exhaled, composing himself, and walked over to the unconscious knight on the steps. This was better. No blood. Just a guy sleeping on the job.
"What about Sir Sleepy?" Yona asked, joining him while wiping her dagger.
Siurad loomed over the knight. He saw a heavy platinum ring on the man's finger, set with a massive ruby crest. It looked like high-tier loot.
Siurad reached for it. "This looks valuable."
"Don't!" Yona hissed, grabbing his wrist.
Siurad froze. "Why? It's platinum."
"It's a Signet," Yona explained, her voice dropping. "See the crest? That's a House seal. You try to sell that, and every fence from here to the capital will know we rolled a noble. That ring isn't loot, Shepherd. It's a tracking beacon."
Siurad pulled his hand back as if the ring were hot. Right. Politics. Not just a vendor item.
"Good catch," he grunted. He pointed to the silver clasp holding the knight's cloak. "That?"
"Generic silver," Yona nodded. "Safe to fence. Grab it."
Siurad unclipped the clasp and pocketed it. Then he checked the knight’s belt pouches. He pulled out two crumpled letters. One appeared to be a love letter to someone named Eleanor. The other was a request for assistance in a far-off land in a town known as Crystal Bay.
He stood up, eager to be done with the looting. He looked at the Town Hall. He remembered Yona’s obsession with the random clutter in Vane’s house. He pointed at the two heavy silver candlesticks on the porch.
"Those?" Siurad asked. "Worth the inventory slot?"
Yona beamed. "Solid silver. We melt them down, no questions asked. Good eye, Big Guy."
"If it fits, it ships," Siurad muttered, grabbing the candlesticks and shoving them into his bag. He preferred stealing furniture. The furniture didn't bleed.
"We did good," Yona said, bouncing on her heels, the heavy clinking of her pack a happy rhythm. "We are rolling in dough."
"We're solvent," Siurad corrected, wiping his hands on his trousers, trying to get the phantom feeling of dead mage silk off his fingers. "Let's go."
'...HYGIENE IS CRITICAL,' Obi added. '...YOU SMELL OF ORC BILE AND POOR DECISIONS.'
"Add it to the tab," Siurad grunted. "We're leaving."