Brent Stinebaker
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II-93 Assassination (I)
🕑 Added 2025-04-29 07:25:51 +0000 UTCAssassinating the great and powerful. Ah. My favorite topic, and a hell of a thrill.
Anyone who has spent any time in the Fathoms likely knows the sheer distance between a normal person and even a Level 20 Classed. Well, for those of you new guys, understand that you would probably have a better chance of killing a gorilla dosed to the gills on meth and coke with a steak knife than dropping a Classed with heavy explosives and a small army behind them.
And if you have to kill someone with an Essence Level over 100? Well, you might as well be hunting a god with a .22.
But hey, that’s where the fun comes in, right? No glory in stomping bugs. We’re here to kill giants.
So. I’m going to tell you how to kill giants.
The first thing you need is intelligence. A lot of it. You’re not moving on them directly without being a near peer in terms of power, and you’re not going to want to draw their attention if you don’t have the capability for evasion or escape. Being Classless in these situations might be more beneficial than having one, because you can avoid drawing their attention.
After that, you want to know their habits, their routine, their relationships, if they have any enemies, their mental state. All that funny shit. And after that, you want to see if you can make them solve themselves as a problem. If there’s someone with a vendetta, if they have a mental health issue, if they have vulnerable family—all these things are vectors of attack.
It sounds ugly, but it's not uncommon for a Duke or a Count of the Claimed Hells to die from coerced suicide because they got attached to someone—and that someone got grabbed. After that, they usually get a snuff video and a simple offer: Take yourself out, or we find out how much torture this one can take.
Dark. Nasty. But sometimes effective. And if you’re having an ethical breakdown right now, I’m going to say this: Everything you won’t do, everything you can’t imagine and someone else can will be used against you. If you don’t have power, then you need to go further, to places where your enemy can’t.
Or you can try to be honorable, creative, or dead. Up to you.
-John Bishop, Trespasser
II-93
Assassination (I)
Vendrian’s infant son gurgled loudly as he gazed at Wei’s new rifle. The infant’s large, blue eyes were wide with wonderment, while streams of drool ran down his chin. Incoherent noises sounded from his throat, and Vendrian patted the little one awkwardly, his stress growing with each passing second.
“So. Let me get this straight.” Vendrian flinched back as his son opened his mouth wide. The Scion angled his body, preparing to dodge to avoid being painted by some other horrible child fluids. After a few moments, a burp sounded, and the tension drained from Vendrian’s body. “I’m going back to the Collectress’s hellpit, I kill myself. She gets pulled into the Final End. And then Wei pops out through me thanks to that Anchor thing he has and then shoots the Duke?”
His son made a squealing noise. Wei flinched at the sheer pitch the child was capable of. “That… seems to be a very rough summary, but yes, the general idea has been presented.”
“Look,” the General began—and was interrupted by continued squealing. MacArthur squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to glare at the infant. “The gun—” The squealing turned into active whimpering. The child began to kick and paw at his father. “Okay. I’m putting up with a lot here. I let you in my office because the kid asked me. I let your kid come with you because this is a special moment for you. But dear god, can you please control your child.”
William started laughing under his breath and shaking his head. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Fucking two-year-olds will hear you and not do what you tell them. This is a goddamn baby. You’re not getting any kind of compliance out of the baby. Or the father, because he’s not letting go of the kid.”
The General directed a flat glare at William, only to turn and frown at Vendrian when the Scion interjected with: “Well. He’s right.” Vendrian bounced the infant slightly. “Not letting this one go—No matter how much he pisses on me. Or pukes.”
“Then you have more than sufficient motivation to follow through with our plan,” Kalrus said, smiling slightly at the infant. “In fact, you will want this assassination done as soon as possible. You know that the Collectress views you as her property—and now that you have a child who is also a Scion, you know the black fate that awaits you if you do not act first.”
Vendrian didn’t scowl or curse or even snarl like he usually did. Instead, his attention narrowed in on his son. His son, who was currently yawning, who emanated with a paltry Essence of death cold. Whose Essence mingled with his fathers, whose small hands clung tight to his father’s finger. It was remarkable how much influence such a small, fragile thing could have over a man so large, so dangerous.
“Yeah,” Vendrian said finally, swallowing. And there Wei saw it. The genuine terror. The genuine fear. The kind that a deathless immortal wasn’t used to. Vendrian lived his life knowing death to be his kin, but now he had impossibly more to lose. And death wasn’t the only thing he had to worry about now, for if the Collectress or some other master of hell simply took his child from him, would life not be worse than even a final end.
The Scion of Death looked to Wei now. Wei, and not anyone else. “You tell me. You ask me. If you believe in this plan, if you think this can work, then I’ll follow you. Only you.” There was gratitude in his eyes—so much that it made Wei uncomfortable. For Wei, though, there was also envy.
Here was a father that was about to return to the den of his enslavement just to give his son a chance in the future. Meanwhile, William Yu ran Wei through with but an apology…
“This is our path,” Wei said, pushing through his discomfort, his own misery. “I will not lie about the risks, but I am committed to the killing now. This is the most honest way to make a stand for ourselves. To make a stand for those we are responsible for.”
Vendrian’s expression quivered. “Yeah. I know. But if we fail… the things they will do to the ones we care for—”
“Those things have already been done. Your wife was a hostage. And she was set to birth your child in a den of slavery and savagery. My world was burned. Members of my sect slaughtered over and over again. You imagine things can get worse? No. No.” Wei growled. “They can get more creative in the ways they hurt us, but things will not get worse. There is torture, death, and slavery. This is the paradigm. Unless we do something about it.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Vendrian said. But there was a lack to his fire, his rage. With the arrival of his child, he was less an undying, vengeful force and more a new father consumed by vulnerability and anxiety.
Wei dug into that vulnerability. That anxiety. “I know your fear. But also your anger. These Claimed Hells, these Dukes and Counts and other players in this cesspit of degenerate politics do not view us as people. The Old Man is currying my favor for influence. The Collectress desires to own you and your child because it gives her power. Her, and no one else.
“Everything they speak is but a whisper of truth. She tells us that she thinks she can slay the Dying Queen. That she needs the blood of Scions. But what has her actions shown? What have they done with their power? Things will not get better. And inaction is a choice in of itself. I do not need you to stop fearing. I need you to understand. And act with me.”
Wei looked at the other members within the room and scoffed. “Don’t worry about the others in this room, either. Trust in me. I have not failed you. I have never failed you. I am the only one that hasn’t so far. We have done much in our short time together. Now, let us take the final step. Hold on to the terror. And know it can be infinitely worse if you are not the one attacker, the actor in this equation.”
Kalrus’s eyes widened with each word Wei spoke. He shared a look with the General and messages began to circulate between them.
Their startlement seemed to be shared by Vendrian. “Wei. Where the fuck did that come from?”
“What?”
“The speech. The whole convincing charisma thing. You’re usually about as charming as a lukewarm bottle of piss.”
The young master’s jaw fell open. He wasn’t used to being insulted and praised concurrently, and his response came as a mixed response. “How dare you praise me!” Wei blinked. “Wait. No.”
Vendrian chuckled and grinned at his son. “Well. There he is again, boy.” He let out a breath. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do whatever you ask. Anything you ask. Anything. But only for you.” Vendrian studied the others. “But I’ll make my other thoughts plain: I don’t trust the rest of you fucks, and there won’t be a deal regarding Aerea, my son, or myself. No more slavery. No more contracts. Nothing. Don’t even ask.”
The General was more interested in his pipe. William was no longer interested in this conversation by this point. Kalrus was the only one that nodded in response. “I think we can live with that. Now that the angst has concluded, shall we begin with the actual operational details?”
When no one objected, Kalrus proceeded. “The overall plan is simple. The Collectress is reeling. She has retreated from the Base and is likely taking stock of her losses right now. Soon, we anticipate that she will send an order to her champion—Vendrian here—commanding him to return. She will likely try to hoard and place more shackles on her prime asset. Usually, she would be able to force a recall on Vendrian.”
“Direct teleportation,” Vendrian said with a bitter tone. “I can’t stop it. It’s part of my contract.”
“But you can,” Kalrus said, his smiling turning vicious. He started circling the room like a wolf enjoying its hunt. “By fortune or wisdom, your falsified duel with Wei will prevent her from outright forcing matters.”
“Because that would incur the wrath of the Tribulators,” Wei said, surprised at this random bit of good fortune.
“A lawsuit, anyhow. It also makes her suffer a critical hit of reputational damage. Her pulling her champion away from you makes it look like a capitulation, and that can be near crippling for her influence. It will also substantially reduce his chances of becoming Hell’s Vanguard.”
“This means you have an opening,” General MacArthur said, entering the conversation gracelessly. “Though it’s already being stretched. People can be stuck in duels for a long while here, and the Scion is supposedly unkillable. A few hours of combat is understandable, but if we stretch beyond that, it starts to look absurd.”
“So, this operation will proceed with haste,” Kalrus continued, ignoring the General’s interruption. “As Vendrian is supposed to be locked in combat, we cannot see him inserted back over from the gala. But that is well, because we are due to charge the lines of Lust soon. And one of these positions should have a portal leading back to the Collectress’s mansion.”
“So they’re to overcome entire battle lines, push into the trenches, and then seize a well-defended position?” William asked with a raised eyebrow. “Come on. The war down here is a meat-grinder. Even if you support Wei and the Scion with an infinite amount of soldiers, they’ll get spotted by a Demon of Lust, that demon will inform the network, and then the Collectress will know the jig is up. She’ll seal whatever portal we need to take and then start hitting Wei with lawsuits.”
William’s words earned a most unexpected reaction from Kalrus, however. The orc threw his head back and barked a vicious laugh. “No. No. We are aware that this must be done in a circumspect way. That the Scion cannot be spotted until he is well within the confines of the Collectress’s mansion.”
“Okay, then how the hell are we going to get that one in position, then?” William looked Vendrian up and down. “You don’t have any stealth Skills, do you?”
“What is stealth?” Vendrian said, sarcastically.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, I’m guessing I’m getting volunteered for the trench crossing bullshit again?” William sighed with exhaustion. “Well, there’s going to be a problem with that. His Essence—”
“Wait,” Kalrus said, calmly. “We do not need overcomplicate matters. I believe in using sophisticated technical creations to simplify actual operational matters.”
“And what the fuck does that mean?” Both Vendrian and William asked at the same time.
“It is my understanding that you will not stay dead, Vendrian,” Kalrus began.
“A path to the Final End opens up and someone else gets taken in my place,” the Scion clarified. “But judging from how much you like to talk, you probably knew that all along.”
“Yes. So. You will not die from conventional causes. And I just so happen to have created a spiritual prototype for an alternative ICBM design.”
And suddenly, William’s jaw dropped. “What? How the fuck did you do that?”
The orc just chuckled. “Ambition and determination go a long way, my friend.”
Vendrian leaned in close to whisper at Wei. “Wei. What the hell is a ICBM?”
“I do not know.” Wei then looked down at his gun. “But I am looking forward to finding out.”
***
“What the fuck,” Vendrian muttered to himself as he stared at the “ICBM” created by the Circle of Wrath. Wei shared in the Scion’s reaction, gawking in disbelief at the techno-spiritual monstrosity looming before him.
When he asked Kalrus to show him what a V2 rocket was, the orc led them all to what seemed to be a nearby silo. When they entered and were taken up an elevator, they found themselves standing on a platform and staring at a large structure obscured by shadows. Even so, Wei’s Omniscience revealed the hidden object to him before everyone else.
Almost immediately, he felt the some five hundred screaming Classed bolted to the interior of the structure. Each of them had circuits running through their mangled bodies, and their Essences were actively being siphoned. At the core of this structure was a Common Concept Core of Destruction, and it pulsated like a blazing heart that fueled other mechanisms within the rocket with power.
As Kalrus flicked a switch, spotlights turned on, and the rocket was fully unveiled to everyone else. It looked like a massive tube of some kind, with a sprawling webwork of Essence circuitry that coalesced into a series of symmetrical runes. Comparatively, the hull seemed to be made of some kind of demonic bronze that was plain and unenchanted.
Odd.
“Vendrian,” Kalrus said, gesturing at the rocket. “Behold your means of rapidly approaching the target location without ever being spotted. You will be launched under the cover of our creeping barrage and while our forces assault Lust’s trenchlines.”
Everyone else just stared on in various states of confusion and awe.
“How… how does it land?” Wei asked.
For some reason, Kalrus started laughing—deep and malicious laughter.
The General answered that question on the orc’s behalf. “Very, very abruptly, son.” He took a drag from his pipe and breathed the smoke out at Vendrian. “You’ll see soon enough.”
