Brent Stinebaker
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II-70 A Den of Bastards and Vipers
🕑 Added 2025-02-23 17:56:01 +0000 UTCIn the Claimed Hells, everyone has an angle. Everyone has something they’re going for, some goal they want to seek. More than anything, this is a city of dreams—damned, cursed, bleak, bloody, nasty fucking dreams, but dreams nonetheless. And ultimately, these people, these sinners, they’re dreamers. For this might be a place that’s called the Claimed Hells, but there’s enough hope here to build a ladder to reach the heavens.
So how are you going to navigate and understand the people you’re up against? Well, that’s simple, really: Gravity.
Gravity, gravity, gravity.
You want to watch who mingles with whom, who draws the attention and notice of the others, who commands respect, and who demands authority. Because if there’s one thing that supersedes hope and personal desires, it is a coalition—an alliance of sorts, where you can see people moving together.
And if you can target the big players, bend them to your whim, or eliminate them, then you can either direct this whole unholy train track to your own desires or create a vacuum of chaos, which makes a perfect time to do the looting. Understand the poles, the keyholders of power—the rest will collapse thereafter.
-John Bishop
II-70
A Den of Bastards and Vipers
“Did you see? Did you see?” Agnesia cried as she emerged, her face alight with excitement and joy. The glow of triumph radiated from her very being, and Wei couldn’t help but smile.
“Yeah, we did see,” Vendrian said. “It was… Yeah, you pulled it off.” A tendril of Essence glided between Rafael and the Scion, and the latter glowered slightly.
Wei squinted at them. “What was that?”
“Oh, just the transference of a few sins,” Vendrian muttered.
“Who lost?” Wei asked.
Rafael remained deathly silent, and Vendrim’s glower deepened. “Ah,” Wei said. “Well, no shame. In fact, losing consistently makes one better.”
Vendrian glared at the young master. “Fuck you.”
Wei threw his head back and laughed. “So, did you choose the Specialization in the end?”
“No,” Agnesia shook her head, biting her lips as she composed her thoughts. “I wasn’t sure if it would be beneficial to me.”
“The alchemist was powerful, but you made the right choice,” William said. Standing off to the side, he still stared at the scenes playing within the golden screen at the tower’s core. He knew how to manipulate and arrange the system within the tower better than Wei did, and thus he rewound the fights, watching them over and over, his expression frozen in concentration, his eyes unblinking.
He looked at Agnesia , and she took a step back. “Wei,” she said, sounding uncertain. “Why is he….”
“It’s fine,” the young master lied through his teeth. “He’s here because he needs to be.”
William walked up, ignoring his son for now, his attention entirely focused on the princess. “You made a good choice, not picking this Specialization. You don’t want to just pick some random bullshit—you want as good of a Specialization as you can get, as rare of a Specialization as you can get.” He looked her up and down. “That’s quite the power you have. Scions are always special, but as a Fictional, you don’t get a redo or another Class if things go wrong. I suggest you put this off.”
“Put this off,” Agnesia repeated, as if not quite understanding what he just said. “But the entire point—”
“The entire point is to make yourself more powerful, maybe,” she continued hesitantly. “But it might also be counterintuitive for what we’re trying to do. If you ascend right now, there’ll be questions. Sure, it’ll draw attention, but you’ll have to come up with an explanation on how you managed to do this. Everyone has an ace up their sleeve, so to speak, in the claim tales, but you don’t want to make yours obvious or have people speculating, especially not right now.”
William shook his head. “Probably better for you to keep a slightly lower profile—make the Collector see and think that she has the advantage on you. And she does, but she doesn’t have it on me.”
“So then what do I do now?” Agnesia asked.
“There are only a few challenges left. You leave them for now,” William said. “You come back when you’re ready, and then you overcome them. Wei can help you. Hell, we can all help you. You’re going to need to be as good as you can possibly be if you want to survive what’s to come after. Right now, though… Yeah, I’m thinking low profile will be good for you too.”
The princess considered his words for a long moment—a battle raged behind her eyes. For all she had experienced, power was the only thing that delivered her: power, Wei’s aid, and simple fortune. But those days were growing increasingly distant. The path ahead demanded more from them all—not just from the young master.
“I can’t be the weak link,” she murmured. “All right,” she said finally, “we will come back, and I will take that legendary adversary down.”
“Good,” William said. “That probably means more than actually having power. Easy power, anyway—the will to fight, the will to continue.” He gave Wei a brief look, opened his mouth, but said nothing, then waved him off. “All right, let’s get back. There are things we need to go over. Profiles we need to understand.”
“Profiles?” Wei asked.
“About the major players here. Well, come morning, you’re going to start mingling.”
“Me?” Wei said.
“Yeah, you. We’re not going to dangle the former queen because she’s clearly traumatized. She’s not going to be that useful. Maybe she can have, I don’t know, some easy assignment while she’s recovering. But right now, it’s your show. You’re the main attraction here—the head circus freak, so to speak.”
Wei winced slightly at that analogy.
“Come on, Wei. You know what you were getting into. Let’s start with Gold Skull,” William began. He projected an illusory profile of the Duke of Pride. A picture appeared at the head of the scrolling screen, showing a large, multi-skulled man fused into a singular, albeit unsettling, construct of gold. Each one of the skulls was also grinning, frowning, or scowling in various ways. It seemed to have some kind of symbology that Wei couldn’t fully grasp. The rest of his body was hidden beneath a nice suit, but appeared mostly humanoid. His height, also, was nothing remarkable—in fact, he seemed to be around Wei’s height range. Nothing more, nothing really less.
That told the young master something. This one, for being a creature born of pride, didn’t seem to have any insecurities. And, ironically enough, that triggered insecurities within Wei himself.
“You should be more like this one,” the Shell said. “It would save us a lot of distress.”
Wei nodded. Yes, indeed, it would be better to have more control over oneself. But still, being taller—that’s an advantage in a fight. More reach… It’s good’s good for intimidation as well.
“Indeed.” The Shell sighed in capitulation. “We must find a way to overcome this weakness still.”
“So, what to say about Goldskull,” William continued, “he’s been a long-time operator in the Circle of Pride. However, he spent most of his first century operating as a low-level knight. Never fully climbing the ranks—just slowly progressing, patient. He’s pulled off different jobs for the major players, arranging trade agreements, such as the skin exchange with the Circle of Greed or a steady flow of aphrodisiacs with the Circle of Lust. The guy made a lot of friends during his long time at the bottom.
“Now, where he’s lacking is war. He doesn’t spend much time in the Base at all. Frankly, he’s been down there for maybe one or two tours, but he’s always used his connections in all different favors to get himself consigned to the heights or even the Middle.”
“So, they’re looking at a coward,” Wei said.
“No, we’re probably looking at a smart man.” William eyed his son and licked his lips. “Don’t get anything confused, Wei. This isn’t like Evernest. People here—there’s no safe place. The Heights can be just as bad as the base, if not more. Down there, well, the worst that happens is death or torture. Up here, up here, you might just get enslaved.” There was a little hint of bitterness at the end of his words.
For a single uncomfortable moment, Wei and his father shared a glance. And then, they looked away from each other. Why was this still so hard? “So, here’s the plan. When you go out and mingle with the guests— and Wei, you need to mingle with the guests. That’s not up to debate.”
The young master nodded, though he, to be honest, wasn’t looking forward to it. If nothing else, his time in the cleaned hells had taught him he was no socialite—not nearly half the diplomat his mother was.
William continued. “When they come to you, because you are a character of interest and likely have a great future for whatever circle recruits you, you need to offend the right people, and then you need to impress the right people.”
“How will I know which is which?” Wei asked.
“You won’t.” William grinned slightly. “But if you listen to me—well, I have connections here and experience. Just say generally what I tell you to say, and you’ll be fine.”
“Listen to what you say,” Wei replied thinly. His father was really treading on treacherous ground.
“Fine, don’t fucking listen to me,” William answered, shrugging. “You can ask Bishop instead. John knows about as much as I do, and he’ll tell you pretty much the same thing.”
“Now, you two,” he continued, pointing to Rafael and Vendrian. He paused for a moment and squinted at the Scion of Death. “‘You need to go back to your mistress. Report on what you think is happening.’”
“Report on what I think is happening,” Vendrian replied. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, she’s going to expect you to give her a debrief. It’s the point of you being here with Wei and his group. After that, she’s going to probe your mind for information. Well, as things have gone, Bishop’s probably already created a fake overlay inside of your memories. But she’s probably not that easy to fool. You need to give her something substantive, but also something dubious. She’s probably going to expect us to be playing our games, and so we’re going to need to reveal a little bit of our hand. Something to make her think we’re trying to turn you, I think.”
“If she does not trust us, she doesn’t,” William interrupted. “Listen, these people—these demons, these Sinners—they’ve been here longer than you have. They’ve been here their entire lives. No one trusts anyone down here. That’s a really easy way to get killed. However, everyone’s got a little bit of experience in them. If they’re in this gathering, in this conference, then that means they’ve probably survived a good few assassination attempts—either because of luck, but usually because they tell themselves that they’re smarter than their adversaries. You want to make them feel like they’re smarter than you. Give them a sniffle to catch on to, so they don’t pay attention to the larger movements in the backdrop.”
William shook his head. “You have no idea how much expectation can be turned to your advantage. But that leads to another problem: Rafael, you’re Class is one of Envy, and that makes you especially vulnerable in this place.
“Vulnerable?” Rafael said. “But shouldn’t I be the most effective? This is a situation of subterfuge, no?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why. You’re not the first Sinner of Envy that wanders around where they shouldn’t be. Multiple eyes are going to be tracked to you. Multiple people are probably here specifically to make sure someone like you doesn’t cause a mess. So your job is to remain passive overall. Just talk to people. People mingle. You’re a Trespasser too, right? Where are you from?”
“Argentina,” Rafael said, sounding uneasy.
“All right. Argentina.” Willie laughed. “What a place.”
“You’ve been there before?” Rafael asked, sounding surprised.
“Been to lots of places, even before I got here. You could call me, uh, well—well-traveled,” William laughed. This time, however, there was a little bit more amusement in his voice. “Came with my previous job as well.”
“And what was your previous job?” Rafael inquired.
“I was a professional wet worker,” William grinned. “Anyway, talk to them about Earth. Try to drag out those like you. Other Trespassers. That’ll get a crowd going.”
“What’s wetwork?” Wei asked.
“Assassin,” Vendrian grunted. The young master stared at the Scion of Death. “What? I know Trespassers. No much changes about the bastards between lives.”
“No,” William shook his head. “Don’t think I could ever be anything else. And, uh, well, trespassers usually get chosen for a reason. Not all of us are murderers or bastards. But some of us—some of us are here because we’re really, really good at killing. There’s something about it, something about what we can do, what we’ve chosen to do, that makes whatever sorting algorithm pulls us over decide to choose us over someone else.”
“But what about me ?” Rafael asked. “I have only done good! Or at least, I tried…” the Lich slumped. “Failed, mostly. Like I did in life.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. You—you might be needed somewhere else. A revolutionary, perhaps. Hell, some people are specifically taken over to establish peace. I don’t know the interplay between us and the Fictionals, but it’s clear one thing: We get a lot of blessings they don’t, and a lot of what they want comes second to what we want.”
“And what about the rest of us?” Agnesia asked.
“You’re all going to be targeted,” William said simply. “All of you. You, your mother—your mother especially. By now, there’s probably a message spreading. They’ll narrow in on her, find her weakness, and then they’ll all come around her like a bunch of dogs circling a wounded gazelle.”
“We must protect her,” Agnesia whispered, seeming worried.
“No, we must let them come. You can’t hide this. This is the Claimed Hells. This isn’t someplace where people expose their care for each other. You want to lead them in, and then we want to encircle them.” William shook his head, ignoring the offended look on the princess’s face
. “Listen, if you do what I tell you to, she has the best chance of getting out of this unscathed—well, less scarred than she already is. If you don’t, they’re going to run over you, and then they’ll decide everything that happens thereafter. You don’t want to be overtaxed by what your enemy is doing. You want to create problems for them, or you want to create attractions for them. So far, you,” William pointed at Wei, “and you,” he pointed at Vendrium, “are going to be the main sources of attention here. Now, someone’s going to try to peach the Scion of death, but Wei, you—you just beat up a Countess a few days ago that sends ripples through the Heights. And that’s what you need to make more of: ripples. And you offend the right people, and you need to continue causing a ruckus—an entertaining ruckus. However, you cannot step on anyone powerful’s foot, and you cannot offend any legal laws. It’s a damn fine line we’re treading.”
He let out a sigh. “Of all the things I’ve prepared you for—”
“The sect prepared me for,” Wei said, determined to strip his father of credit.
“The sect,” William followed without a beat, “you’re not actually ready for this kind of danger. Politics is a vicious animal. Fuck I wish your—” William swallowed. Wei glared at him.
“Wish my mother was here?” Wei asked.
“Don’t treat this like a conversation. Imagine this to be a fight. Keep your focus.” William pushed on, ignoring Wei’s response. “Treat this like a fight.”
Treat this like a fight.
Wei balled his fists. “Very well. This I can do. Fine, then. Let’s see how vicious this den of vipers can be.”
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Brent Stinebaker
Apologies for being grindingly slow recently...
