Brent Stinebaker
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II-124 The Message
🕑 Added 2025-07-07 19:01:51 +0000 UTCOne thing you will learn about the Claimed Hells is that its great Kings, Princes, and more don't agree on anything. Even the circles don't agree on anything. They don't like each other; they're just associated. That's the best thing you can hope for in the Claimed Hells—to be associated with someone. It's at once their greatest weakness and their greatest strength.
Let's take Wrath for example. They're a bunch of kill-happy, break-everything bastards. You can't rely on them to do anything that requires subtlety or precision. Well, usually. But that being said, there's still Wrath. Wrath is a whole spectrum. Don't expect to be running into every frothing psychopath there, because most of them aren't. A lot of them are just really, really good fighters who enjoy killing things in a variety of ways.
And that's why Wrath spends more time fighting itself than any other circle. In fact, practically every guild has a mercenary of Wrath fighting under them against another mercenary of Wrath, fighting against someone else, fighting against Wrath itself. Which consistently is the worst-performing circle because most of its best fighters are usually fighting for someone else for a greater cause, because the best fighters are from Wrath. It's a roundabout thing. They're there for the biggest fights, and the biggest fights are against themselves. They work for someone else to fight themselves in a real strange way. Wrath can't go away because all the other guilds need them, but also Wrath can't win.
Now let's get to Lust. Lust is really, really influential. Everyone knows what it's like to be extremely horny. Now imagine being extremely horny all the time. Yeah, not great. These people wish they were Envy. They wish they could plot half as good as Envy because Envy is obsessive; it spends all its time planning and thinking and all that. Lust fixates. Lust does not plan. Lust tries to control people. But the thing about Lust is that when you're constantly drowning in pleasure, you're not that useful. You don't get a lot done. And so with Lust, their biggest problem, partially, is that they're passive. They do something really, really well: grift. Jacked up on their own supply, they feel too good and do nothing. Well, some might argue their greatest problem is actually being bankrolled by Greed, because Lust needs to be subsidized for everything.
And let's get to Greed. The weirdos of the bunch. The people who attack you with monetary funds, stock graphs, and more. Yeah, as I said, weirdos. However, they're effective weirdos. They're weirdos who can bombard you with all manner of strange skills that no one else has. But then you quickly realize why no one else has those skills: because they're weird. Greed doesn't know half of what it's doing. They're all economists. And if you ever met an economist, they don't know what the fuck they're talking about.
Ultimately, the problem with Greed is they're all tied up with the other Circle. Every year, Greed hosts a junior stockbroker suicide competition based on who lost the most amount of sins. How do you lose sins, you might ask? Well, you bid on other guilds. You bid on other circles. And the one who performs the worst that year? Well, that might just be your portfolio. And then you'll be made to jump. Because Greed doesn't care about whys and what's. It cares about outcomes.
That's just a few of the problems. Frankly, this place shouldn't work at all. It should have collapsed a long time ago. But say what you will about the harbinger. The guy's got a vision. It's not a good vision. It's not a charming vision. It's kind of a sick-fuck vision with him owning and ruling over everything. But he does make a good argument when he keeps the Claimed Hell.
-The Trespasser’s Compendium
II-124
The Message
The Old Man was sweating as he marched up to the Unblossomed. It had been years since the Old Man last sweat, and it was a similar situation to the one he found himself in right now. It was simple. He was going to deliver a missive to Wei An Wei, the young master of the Drowned Sky Sect. The Drowned Sky Sect that was fully established and recruiting hundreds of people every day in the Claimed Hells. Most of the people entering the Unblossomed no-name Sinners: people without potential, people without merit, or any kind of possibility for the future. But the Drowned Sky Sect was offering shares, and most of them didn't fully understand what kind of scheme and scam that was.
Fools.
But there was something else as well. Wei had killed a Duke and Duchess of Pride and the Collectress. More, he came out of that almost entirely unscratched. The boy was a black miracle. Black as in the Claimed Hells wanted no part of that. The circles despised the fact that he could do that, and they wanted to understand how. And a miracle in the sense that if anyone managed to truly recruit him, the other circles might immediately band together and declare war, just because they wanted to know what that boy had going under his fleshy hood.
And that was the thing. The Old Man didn't quite believe that the young master was just a boy anymore. He started to think that this was all a long con, one created by the harbinger to shake things up a little bit. It wasn't unlike him. It had never happened before, either. In fact, it happened with quite alarming frequency when it came to Mepheleon, especially when he suspected some of his uppity kings were trying to usurp him.
And that was part of the reason the longest-lasting members within the Circles were usually princes rather than kings. See, kings were ambitious. Kings were climbers. Kings were people who wanted power above all else. And after you became king, there's only one real spot left in the hells. And after a lifetime of vying and fighting and struggling for position, well, there's only really one opening spot left. And so it would inevitably go for the throne, and inevitably Mepheleon would laugh, concoct some terrible scheme, and butcher the entire leading nobility for every single circle. After that, the next overly idealistic or overly unfortunate prince would take over.
Today, the Old Man found himself in the unfortunate position of being associated with one of these unfortunate kings. The new one had only been there for a few centuries, not that long, all things considered, and probably not that much longer, considering how unstable the claimed hills were beginning to feel.
"Hey, you there!"
The Old Man sighed as he stared at a Sinner beside him.
"You're supposed to wait in line, you bastard!"
The Old Man pointed at his right pauldron, and the sun there flickered. The man combusted from the inside.
"Sue me if you feel like it," the Old Man said as the Sinner laid smoldering on the ground.
Everyone else just stared at him and shrugged. "Yeah, you know what? Let's let the old guy pass."
A series of agreements followed and cascaded along the line. And that was the thing about the claimed hills. You could get sued, the Tribulators could come, you could get your ass thrown in a prison, and the so-called law could fuck you up for a while. But ultimately, with enough gravitas, authority, and power, you could get pretty far.
The Old Man's thoughts came to a grinding halt as he walked in through the main doors of the Unblossomed. There, he saw on the ceiling a painting of Karl Marx. But Karl Marx as a dragon, as in the fucking original commie's face lodged on the body of a dragon. In front of him was a marble statue of Lenin, whose body was also a dragon.
The Old Man blinked and shook his head. "What the fuck?" he muttered to himself. He carried on inside, and a large orc wearing a chef's hat marched over to him. The orc was, well, to call him fat wasn't appropriate; he was burly. He was sweating, and he had several pancakes in a tray he offered to the Old Man. "Hey, are you here to try out?"
"Try out?" the Old Man said.
"Yeah, you know, to become an outer court disciple, comes with free pastries. Wanna try one? It'll really spike your insulin, and also keep you invincible for about three seconds. After that, you violently shit yourself."
The Old Man stared at the orc. "It does that?"
"Yeah, you know, it's a risk and reward skill. Real special skill, too. I got it after the young master decided to fill me up with shards." The orc threw his head back and laughed. "Ah, man, that was something else. I think I'm gonna go bake him the biggest cake in the world. Maybe that'll give me a few more shards, too. He's real nice when he's, uh, not in the mood." The orc paused. "Please don't put him in the mood. He makes people run laps when you get him in the mood."
The Old Man didn't have the words. He just nodded slowly, picked up a pancake, and kept going. The insides of the Emblossom had completely changed. No longer was it a mangled ruin destroyed by demons, with flayed trespasser remains everywhere. No, now it was a mixture between what felt like a medieval kingdom and what could best be described as the Soviet Union, but really, really clean. There were fucking commie blocks next to marble statues and borderline Roman-style townhouses. Worse, there were commie block-style Roman townhouses. And on the sides, he saw more of those messed-up Lenin dragons and Stalin dragons and more. It was like walking into a fever dream. What the hell was with the art direction of this place?
Then, as one got close to the middle, there was more traditional Chinese-Japanese-style housing, although the man couldn't tell. He didn't really care that much; it all looked Asian to him. There was a nice channel of water rushing by, and then there was the worst arguing he ever heard. There were some demons trailing through the air, pride demons at that. They were gold and bright, and they were holding their heads as if children flinching at their parents having a massive argument.
The Old Man just stared in disbelief. "The hell could do that to a demon?"
A few moments later, he got his answer as a lich was thrown out a nearby window. "You bitchhhhh!" Rafael cried as he crashed down against the earth. What followed were two massive gold-armored knights that descended and started beating him with legal documents. Rafael responded by casting a spell, one that immediately wrapped the two knights inside layers and layers of paper that kept multiplying. Then a third knight came down with a woman in a nice dress riding behind it.
Ellena of Dawnrest’s expression was more furious than the Old Man had ever seen. "I'm going to shove those documents into your non-existent stomach and kick you until you learn how to shit without an ass!"
Her roar echoed through the Unblossomed. Some of the disciples eyed her for a moment and did their best to pretend that they didn't see her, much like how the people lining up outside pretended that the Old Man didn't burn the poor bastard. The Old Man was speechless. He stared on as Ellena summoned new soldiers, trying to pin Rafael down. He shouted revolutionary slogans at her and proclaimed her to be just another bourgeoisie dog and that Wei's only problem was that he elevated her to an undeserving position due to familial relations.
She simply responded by describing the number of ways she was going to behead Rafael.
And as the chaos went on, a loud screech sounded, the screech of an infant. The sheer bout of noise coming from multiple directions left the Old Man staggered, and as he turned, he saw—
"Good holy shit," the Old Man muttered. "Was that the princess?"
Princess Agnesia of Dawnrest towered over him now. She was over three bloody meters tall, and she held a small baby in her hands, a baby that kicked and screamed and puked at her.
"Come on," she said, a slight frown on her face. "Why don't you bloody like me? I did a puppet show for you, I sang to you, I showed you my avatar."
"That might be the problem," a voice came from behind her. And there he was, the Young Master Wei, with what seemed to be a child harness on his chest.
The Old Man blinked. He looked at Agnesia, looked at Wei, and looked at the infant. "Hey, what? How? How? It can't be."
"Ah! Old Man," Wei said, offering the Old Man a smile. He got up beside the Old Man and briefly gave him a bow. And then the small infant began loudly howling with displeasure. "All right, Agnesia, you made it a full minute this time without him crying. Just give him back."
"No," Agnesia said.
"Agnesia…"
"I said no," Agnesia said, pouting. She met the baby in a fierce glaring competition. And somehow the infant managed to sneer at her. The infant couldn't have been more than a few days old, at most. But it just didn't seem to like her.
"Come on," Agnesia said. "Why don't you bloody like me?"
"Again, you shouldn't have showed the boy the draconic avatar. It takes time to harden a warrior spirit."
"Children love dragons," Agnesia said. "I bloody loved dragons as a girl."
"Yes, as a girl. Girls can talk and think. This is an infant. All it sees is something with a large set of teeth and a great many scales. I would be terrified of your draconic avatar as a boy, let alone an infant. So come on, give him back to me. We'll eventually get him acclimated to you."
The corner of Wei's lip curved upward. "Your victory is inevitable, Princess. Just be patient."
She sighed and handed the small infant over to Wei.
Afterwards, she folded her arms and then eyed the Old Man with a look of derision. "Oh, you. What are you doing here?"
"I, uh, I came to, uh," the Old Man shook his head, "I came to talk."
"Talk," she said. There was an edge to her voice now. The princess was a little uncertain before, but there was an increased presence of anger and frustration and barely restrained violence behind her every movement. In a short period of time, it felt like the princess had gotten used to killing and breaking things. And now she was considering doing one or both of those things to the Old Man.
"Oh, this," Wei said, as he patted the baby on the back, trying to get him to calm down. "Let me guess, the circles, or at least your king or prince, wishes to speak to me. Am I right?"
The Old Man stared at Wei. "You kind of expected this to be coming, huh?"
"Well, it was one of my hopes," the young master said. As he briefly cleaned the small child's face, he shook his head. "It took longer than I expected, but just as well. Tell them I'm willing to meet at any time."
"Before that," the Old Man held out a hand. "We need to talk, in specificity. I need to talk to you about the Circle of Pride."
"You want me to join the Circle of Pride because Lein and Goldskull. And you don’t want me poached.”
The Old Man swallowed. "Yeah, that's right. And I don't suspect, I know you did it, Wei. You did it at my gala."
"Do you have any proof?" Wei asked.
The Old Man's mouth dropped. "Are you fucking shitting me, kid?" The suns on his shoulder grew brighter. "I invited you to my personal..."
And suddenly, the environment around him changed once more. His suns were bright, but all of a sudden, the sky above vanished and turned to a massive scythe. All around him, the world went barren, and jagged, curved blades erupted from the ground. He stared, and he stared back at Wei, and the young master just kept patting the small child on the back.
"Oh, do continue your angry rant," Wei said. "When you're done, I will continue being cordial to you, unless you try to attack me. In which case, I will show you how I killed a count. I will show you how I killed the Collectress, I will show you how I killed Lein, and I will show you how feebly Goldskull died, without even leaving a single mark on me. So, are we going to be polite and cordial, or are we going to do the other thing?"
"I'm fine with both," Agnesia said, her voice a little growl. "I prefer the other thing."
And suddenly, the Old Man saw her draconic avatar. The damn thing was massive. It was the size of a small mountain. It was... was that a solar leviathan? The Old Man did a double take. It had barely been a week since these kids were gone. Not even a real month, how did they become this powerful? How did things get this out of hand?
The Old Man licked his lips. "Sorry, I got a little heated."
"You understand, of course," Wei nodded. "And I'd like to apologize." He gestured towards the nearby mansion. "Would you like to have some tea? The windows are..."
He regarded the upper section of the mansion. And the Old Man saw that, true to Wei's words, the windows were shattered. Nearby, Ellena and Raphael were brutally beating each other with stacks of paper. Their fight continued, unabated. And they didn't notice the Old Man at all, so consumed with each other.
"I, uh," the Old Man muttered again. He was completely fucking lost here.
"You, uh, you a what, motherfucker?" And suddenly a new voice entered the fray. A muscular, camo-wearing figure approached. And for some reason, John Bishop was here, and he was shirtless. "Shirtless with... what the hell happened to you?" the Old Man asked.
Bishop's chest looked marred. "I'm trying to catch a cat," Bishop muttered. He stared away. Wei stared back at him.
"I expected you to catch that thing by now," Wei said. "I will have to return to that demon cellar. This cat is devious."
"Yeah, well, it's just sneaky. It can dive out of existence sometimes, and it dives back in. But I'll get it. I'll motherfucking get it."
"It's looked like it got you several times already, though," Wei said, gesturing at Bishop's many cuts.
"You know what, Wei? I'm going to show your ass. I'm going to show you how it's done."
"Well, then show me, Master Bishop. But right now, you're showing me nothing. I don't see any cat in your hands."
Bishop gave a disgusted snort, and he wandered off. Behind, Wei stared and shook his head. "Ah, sometimes, sometimes pride is a problem for everyone, isn't it?" He looked at the Old Man.
"So, upstairs, tea, or stay here and fight?"
"Upstairs," the Old Man breathed, "tea."
