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Book 5: Chapter 30 - Disposal Team (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-02-26 12:45:11 +0000 UTCThe Kakupuna is a luminous plant native to the Everdark. It boasts a remarkable seed dispersal mechanism: the first creature to touch its petals triggers an “imprint,” prompting the flower to form a miniature replica of that creature as its seed. This facsimile then wanders off, searching for others of its kind. The precise workings of this process remain unknown, and the evolutionary reason behind it is equally mysterious.
- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.
Under our careful ministrations of interrogator Malik, the prisoner sang. Lelinae the elf, or one of the “First Children,” as her people refer to themselves—revealed many things. One thing was the existence of blatant elitism within their so-called “advanced” society. They viewed the elves on this continent as lesser creatures, tainted by interbreeding with other races. From a biological perspective, this was fascinating. If humans and elves could intermingle—and Larynda was living proof of this fact—then it implied that both species had once shared common ancestry.
More pertinent, however, were their objectives. Though they claimed to be on a war of conquest, the reality was far more grim. They had come to pillage and burn, a pastime these so-called “First Children” seemed to relish inflicting on what they deemed “lesser” races. With their extraordinarily long lifespans, they sought new experiences purely to stave off the endless ennui that plagued their hollow existence.
She offered a most tantalizing piece of information: the elves had among their ranks a Visitor from my world, a man called Alexandros. Intriguingly, he was not human at all but occupied an elven body—perhaps he had chosen a different race when he first “started the game.”
I found myself salivating at the thought of what powers he might possess. Harvesting him for experience points would be the sweetest prize, but I planned to savor it first, toying with him just enough to give him hope before crushing it entirely. The rush I felt from killing my previous Visitor still lingered, and I longed to experience it again.
When I pressed Lelinae on how they managed to summon Alexandros, not even Malik’s torture skills could pry out the secret. She simply did not know. According to her, only their king possessed knowledge of the summoning ritual.
Lelinae had been privy to one of their more secret aims: they were searching for a “Daughter of Chaos,” intending to kill her before she could fulfill a prophecy heralding the end of the world. It all sounded like nonsense, yet the conviction in her words set my teeth on edge.
Larynda was, after all, a Chaos Mage—and Hamsa had sent her away to a supposedly safer place outside Ansan. And now, Ansan lay at the bottom of a new freshwater sea. If the stories I had heard were true, it was far too big to be called a mere lake. It was a rather damning coincidence. Still, I doubted an old Alchemist could possibly know about some obscure elven prophecy from a distant continent. In a world without anything resembling the internet, the dissemination of information would be slow at best.
“Lelinae,” I spoke her name softly. “Lelinae Zansforen.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. “What is it, Father? Is it time to tend to the groves again?”
I nodded. “Yes, daughter,” I answered, tossing a seed that looked like a shriveled embryo onto the packed earth floor. “It is time.”
It felt like the right thing to do in the moment—an impulsive act, but somehow fitting. The pale, twisted seed writhed in the dirt, sinking with frantic energy into the ground below. Malik flicked his gaze at me in alarm, but I held a single finger to my lips, demanding silence.
Truly Malik had broken her.
Though he was gifted in his craft, Malik disgusted me. He reminded me far too much of Overseer Degei in Ansan: a man who relished inflicting pain as though it were a delicacy. His countless hours of practice in the art of torture had honed his skills to a fine edge, and I had witnessed enough of them to last a lifetime. But I had also learned what I needed. And now, I believed it was time to, if not fix exactly, then render into a shape that would be useful to me what was left of the elf.
“Freedom,” I whispered. My voice sounded strange to my own ears—weighted with a mad certainty. “That, I cannot give, for I am not truly free from that which binds me. But I can grant you a fair measure of vengeance. How much do you desire it?”
I waited, looking for some spark of will that the interrogator had failed to scrape away. There it was, an ember of anger blazed to life in her sea-gray eyes.
“Vengeance?” she rasped. “Though I am dead, I would have it… give it to me. Give me justice.”
Across the dim chamber, Malik gave me a wary look, clueless as to my intent. I only shrugged, offering him a wink and a sly smile. He smirked in return, as if eager for yet another twisted game.
“But what will you give?” I asked with a slight echo in my voice that was not mine.
She answered in a hushed, raw voice. “Anything…and everything.”
I inclined my head. “Then rest for now and abide a while.”
My words must have held within them a hypnotic suggestion for she fell into a forced sleep.
“Samasa, what is it that you plan?” Malik asked, and I clenched my jaw to keep my revulsion in check; my mind kept superimposing Degei’s features onto his face.
I forced myself to sound thoughtful. “This one might still be hiding something—unwillingly, of course. The elves must have placed some sort of mental block placed upon her mind. It is possible we can unlock it, bypass them, if we work through her subconscious.”
My Charisma had recently improved, but was it enough to make this deception work?
Malik pressed closer, chin in hand, curiosity piqued. “A fascinating approach, yes…an appeal to the subconscious mind. I must make note of this—”
People, it seemed, had the gift to believe what they wanted to believe.
I prattled on, feeding him a line. “Indeed, the subconscious is tricky. It takes time for our suggestions to undo what was planted there. Eventually, the blocks and seals may come undone. It is worth a try. For the good of Al-Lazar we must extract what we can from her.” Inside, I laughed at the ridiculousness of my own words.
Malik nodded in fervent agreement. “So we must wait, then for these suggestions of yours to do their work?”
“We must,” I replied with a tired smile.
Time slipped by in that stifling chamber. Interrogation exacts its toll not just on the victim but on the questioner as well, and Malik, lacking my Stamina, soon succumbed to weariness. He slumped onto a wooden stool in the corner, eyelids drooping, and eventually dozed off.
I crept to Lelinae, who slept fitfully, her brow knitted in distress. Gently, I stirred her awake. She murmured like a child before opening her eyes.
“Father,” she breathed, unshed tears shining in her gaze.
“The time for suffering is over,” I said quietly. “The time for vengeance is now.”
Malik awoke to see me looming over him. Before he could draw breath to scream, I clamped an armored gauntlet over his mouth. His eyes bulged with shock and fear. He kicked and punched at my plated arms, blows that rattled uselessly against metal. I dragged him over to Lelinae, who stared at him, hatred swirling in her eyes.
Though iron shackles still pinned her, she reached out, fingers closing around his throat with surprising strength. Strangulation is a slow, very intimate process. I watched her find a disturbing sort of peace in it as she stared into the eyes of the man who had tormented her. Malik’s struggles weakened. His face darkened. Eventually, a soft rattle escaped his throat—then he was still.
A death notification flickered across my vision, a strange echo of triumph. Lelinae, trembling and spent, looked up at me with a silent plea.
“Rest now, child,” I said gently, stroking her red hair. “Shh… It will be over soon.”
I cast Greater Drain, siphoning away what remained of her Stamina. A heady rush of her life force filled me, nearly intoxicating. But I knew I must not take too much; I released the spell quickly.
She swayed, eyelids fluttering, then slipped away again.
You have gained 1 Charisma.
I almost laughed at this notification. For a “dump” attribute it had certainly been growing in leaps and bounds quickly of late
An instant later, a mild tremor rippled through the earth below. Tiny fissures opened in the dirt as claws emerged from the gloom—long, whiskered snouts sniffed the air. A ratman pulled itself free of the ground, then another, and another, until a pack had gathered in eerie silence.
Their leader, a black-furred beast with a jagged scar over one eye, crept closer. “Wh-what is your will, Father?” he hissed, voice laced with reverence.
I pointed to Malik’s cooling corpse. “Take this one now.”
His nose twitched, and he nodded.
They worshipped me fanatically, these vile creatures. That alone spared them my blade. More importantly, they obeyed without question, as though it were holy writ.
I jerked my chin toward Lelinae’s slumped figure. “Take her below in two turns of the glass. You know how long that is?” I paused to ensure he understood.
The bipedal rats nodded to me. “Later! Later!” they squeaked. “Fresh food.”
“No! She is not food. She is to live. Learn from her—her ways, her secrets. She will bend to our cause more easily than you think. Learn of the ways of magic. If she proves difficult, remind her of me. She is my gift to you.”
I looked at each of them in turn, staring into their beady eyes.
The black ratman cleaned his whiskers with a long claw. “We’re of the Covenant-Covenant. We hear and obey, Father! By your will! By the Change!” he squeaked. The rest echoed his words in chittering worship.
“Quietly, now,” I commanded. “Leave no trace of your coming. Cover the entrance behind you and hide in your tunnels. Seal them when you are done—but do not collapse them. The walls must not be weakened.”
With frantic efficiency, the ratmen descended into the hole, dragging Malik’s corpse. The earth closed around them, leaving behind only a faint scarring on the floor. I nudged a stool over the spot. It would have to do.
It was as if they had never been, but soon they would return.
***
Leaving the dungeon behind, I found some guards slumped against the walls, their heads nodding with fatigue or simple boredom. They barely registered my approach. Anger flared in me—had our situation not grown dire enough for them to keep watch?
“What is the punishment for dereliction of duty?” I barked, startling them upright. “The city is at war, you louts!”
They jolted to attention, faces pale. “F-First Tamkar!” one of them stammered, clutching his spear so tightly his knuckles turned white.
I let the echo of my voice die in the corridor before continuing in a colder tone. “Consider yourselves fortunate. I am feeling merciful this day.” I jabbed a finger at one of them. “You—go down and check on the captive. Make sure she’s still breathing. Give her water if she requires it.”
He fled down the steps without a word, armor clanking against stone. I turned a hard stare on the other guard. “And where is Malik?”
The guard swallowed hard. “We have not seen him...”
My lip curled with contempt. “You’ve paid so little attention that half the city could have marched past you, and you’d never notice. I ought to have you whipped. Instead, you will find him yourself and tell him to report to the Minister of War. Understood?”
The men snapped into a clumsy salute. “It shall be done,” they promised in unison, two of their number scampering away. Poor fools, I thought, as I stepped out of the tower’s gloom into the waning daylight.
They would all be most likely executed before the day was through.
The evening sky lay awash in a bruised red hue, as though the sunset itself bore witness to the bloodshed on the horizon. A profound weariness gripped me—not one of mere Stamina, but something bone-deep, the kind that no potion or spell could cure. Still, I had a task to complete before I could seek rest. I had to be seen by as many eyes as possible, and far away as possible from the tower where the elf was kept.
I summoned a young soldier from his post on the wall. His eyes shone with eagerness, and I recalled he had served with me before in the Contest of Knives. “You will guide me to the Minister of War,” I said. Though my voice lacked its earlier firmness, he obeyed instantly, leading me through the winding passages and narrow stairs that coiled through Al-Lazar’s defenses.
At last, we arrived at an eastern watchtower. When the guard stationed there first demanded our business, but as we came closer the sight of me served as clearance enough. The soldier at my side asked quietly after the Minister’s whereabouts, and we were directed up the final set of stairs to a broad chamber near the top.
There, I found Farzan, Minister of War, bent over a table strewn with maps detailing the coast and ramparts surrounding Al-Lazar. Colored markers indicated the positions of the elven fortress ships anchored at sea. A sea that even now beginning to recede. He looked up, exhaustion lining his face.
“Ah, Gilgamesh,” he greeted, his voice tinged with relief. He poured himself a glass of crimson wine. “Can I offer you a drink?”
I forced a smile, though I ached with fatigue. “No, thank you, Farzan.” I inclined my head in courtesy. “I’ve come to learn how we plan to counter the Elven aerial threat.”
He sighed, swirling the wine in his cup. “We have precious few options. Their eagles dominate the skies. Our engines on the walls can strike at them, but only from fixed positions. If we value the lives of our people, we must concede open ground and brace ourselves for a siege. It means the treasure of the Old City’s Trials falls to their hands. The wealth of nations sits on those wet sands, beyond our reach.”
I considered his words, a flash of impatience stirring. “If you only value human life. Are there still any Beastkin under the city’s control? Press gang them into service and let them loose on the elves. ”
Farzan shook his head. “Even Beastkin would suffer terribly under such an aerial assault. You nearly died to those winged terrors yourself, did you not?”
“I believe that was the point,” I smirked, to which he simply raised his glass and took a sip.
He paused, setting aside his cup. “But enough of this grim talk about strategies. I want to hear of their motives. Tell me—what have you and Malik discovered?”
I feigned surprise. “Has Malik not reported to you already?”
A frown tugged at the corners of Farzan’s mouth. “No, he has not.”
“Strange,” I murmured. “But no matter. I can tell you what I recall. You may question the prisoner yourself later—assuming the guards uphold their duty.”
Farzan snorted in distaste. “Questioning is a vile business.”
“Vile, yet necessary,” I replied, unable to keep an edge from my voice. “Al-Lazar is on the brink. Understanding our enemy’s motivations is vital if we hope to break them—or even bargain with them. Strategy demands good information. With what we know now, it would serve us best to stay behind these walls.”
He winced as though I had reminded him of a wound. “I know, Gilgamesh. But it does not sit well with me, all the same.”
I lowered my voice. “You are the Minister of War, Farzan. You’ll face uglier duties than this before the end. I fear the road ahead will be long and drenched in blood, but know I will be here with you. And, I have some ideas of my own if you will lend me your ear.”
His gaze flicked to the maps. I saw the weight of countless souls pressing on him, a burden that would only grow heavier with time.
“Very well,” Farzan said at last, voice quiet. “Tell me what you have learned…”
And so I began, weaving a careful tale of half-truths and guarded secrets.
