Brent Stinebaker
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II-75 Rigged Game
🕑 Added 2025-03-08 17:45:55 +0000 UTC“I’ve sent Herzog to you. You know what to do.”
“Ah, yes. Herzog—a wayward son. Our greatest mistake. Why didn’t we kill him when he was just a babe? Your sentimentality. My sentimentality.”
“I remember differently. I remember you saying that we could make something of this. He has the cruelty. All we need to do is give him the discipline.”
“Oh, please. Spare me your spotted memory. This creature, this mistake of ours, continued to persist long after I declared that we should have removed him from our existence. But you thought it useful to have a dumb brute as a child—someone we can cast off to the base. I suppose his only significant success was not dying down in the Base Wars. I suppose.”
“But now, all that information he’s been selling to the Circle of Gluttony, the Circle of Wrath, and, frankly, the Circle of Greed… that’s one thing. We could censure him, have him punished, even launch an unholy crusade to redeem him. But attempted assassination and aiding people to remove us? Well, that’s a step too far, don’t you think? It’s been a step too far for far too long.”
“So, you plan his elimination through means beyond yourself—something to avoid implicating me and also giving me a reason to intrude on your behalf.”
“Yes. The fools and the Counts still think we are of bad relations. Truly, wife, I must commend you. This smokescreen is most wonderful and useful.”
“Fine. Are we meeting tonight again?”
“Oh yes.”
“Oh yes.”
-Exchange between Duchess Lein the Last and Duke Goldskull
II-75
Rigged Game
It didn’t take very long for Wei to figure out what kind of idiot Herzog was. Herzog was the sort of fool who focused solely on strength—maybe a bit on constitution—but mostly on brute force. He loved to wield larger weapons, pull people in half, swing oversized instruments to crush dozens of weaker foes, and loudly scream insults like “failure this” or “coward that,” daring anyone to fight him.
Wei had faced many Cultivators during his youth—among his first experiences were particularly large Outer Sect Disciples, farm boys convinced that rough fighting and hard living would give them the edge over a pampered young master. Not so, not so. Strength was more than muscle when you were a Cultivator, and it was a lot more than mere form when you were a Sinner—a hellish ascendant in these miserable realms.
“I’m going to give you a chance,” Wei declared. From the tip of his Pale Fang, his own lawyer did a pirouette. “You can withdraw. You can offer your apologies to your father, and I will let you go. I will spare your life—I will grant you this reprieve.”
With each word, Wei saw Herzog’s hands clench tighter. His hands were sheathed in blackened metal bands, from which tongues of flame leapt between the crenulations that allowed movement.
“Allow? allow!” Herzog roared. “You allow nothing, worm!” His golden helmet erupted with flaking tongues of flame dancing free from the slits of his visor. Though truly enraged now, the young master cared little—Herzog was, after all, mostly an annoyance. He was only level 100. Nothing Wei couldn’t handle.
“Remember, do not kill him,” Bishop’s voice echoed in Wei’s mind again. “If you kill him, we might end up drawing Lein the Last into this—and we don’t want her involved, trust me.”
“The Last,” Wei repeated. “Why is that her name?”
“Because there used to be a whole goddamn kingdom she was related to, and now they’re all dead Let’s just say you don’t want to meet her mount right now. Shit, I don’t think I want to meet her. Goddamn woman—she’s a killing machine. How the count pissed her off, I don’t want to find out.”
But despite these grim thoughts, Herzog might have finally bitten off more than he could chew. With a flick of his hand, his armor began to shift. The jagged spikes running along his right arm poured downward and transformed into a black halberd. Exquisitely decorated—the shaft lined with small skulls—the weapon was artistically done, yet the design made it difficult to grip properly. One could see the larger man’s fingers failing to find a solid purchase. The crossguard was equally problematic: too long, with four jutting edges extending in all directions, nearly poking out someone’s eye at one point. The only true advantage was its length—it was roughly three times longer than Wei’s pale fang and, judging by its thickness, over a hundred times heavier. Dense black metal with flames sprouting from the back, it screamed of outrage and impatience.
From the tip of the halberd, Herzog’s lawyer emerged. Unlike Wei’s lawyer—a golden tongue of refined articulation—this one was a small ember clad in a sleek black suit. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now, buddy boy. We’re gonna stomp ya, we’re gonna crush ya. You really shouldn’t have proposed this duel,” it declared. Wei’s lawyer scanned Herzog, and a tale of the tape emerged:
Lawyer of Pride and Warth
->Cases Won: 2
->Cases Lost: 3,512
Wei took a moment to digest that information. Truly, he was facing the cream of the crop. “Very well, then. If you are in agreement and have the courage to test me, let us see this done. I have no interest in making this a lasting affair.”
Herzog finally laughed, mocking the idea of an “outlasting affair.” “Fine then,” he turned, “we duel!”
The Old Man waved a hand, and geometric lines extended from him. The flames dancing upon his pauldrons fed essence into these lines, and soon a repulsive force sealed Wei in—a tight structure barely larger than nine meters across and three meters wide. This was to be a close counter-encounter, an engagement that supposedly suited Herzog. But the giant failed to realize two things: first, that his weapon was far too long to be of any convenient use in these confined quarters; and second, that he was nothing more than a large lamb being fed to a very small, but very fierce, wolf.
“All right, fighters,” the Old Man announced, extending a hand. “Audience, Sinners of the gala, are you ready to see some blood?” A cheer arose—some muted, more curious than excited—as Wei prepared for what was to come.
Herzog was slow. He moved as if stuck in mud compared to the young master. Even so, Wei allowed him to take the first swing; he wanted to assess the quality of the Duke’s son as an opponent. The first attack was disappointing. Herzog swung with all his might—a thunderclap shook the air and a loud roar accompanied the strike. Herzog stepped forward with a terrible stance—too wide, unbalanced, and awkwardly arranged. Yet Wei did not immediately exploit this; he let the attack pass, simply shifting ever so slightly with minimal effort.
As Herzog’s blow went wide, he awkwardly angled his body, attempting to wrench his momentum into a proper strike. It was a feeble action: the momentum of his initial onslaught had already been lost, and his attack impacted the side of the dome with a ripple of translucent force dancing across the structure. Before Herzog could recover, Wei thurst out with his Pale Fang—a weapon smaller and shorter than Herzog’s, but far more efficient. The Pale Fang punched clean through, splitting through the black metal of the halberd. The weapon shattered into broken fragments.
The giant stumbled, jolting forward, nearly toppling over from his loss of balance. Wei then stomped down—targeting not the giant’s knee, but his ankle. All that weight concentrated on such a fragile joint caused something to snap; the socket slid out of place. The giant cried out. As he kneeled and staggered, Wei delivered a brutal kick to his throat—a casual hit with a burst of heat that made the giant gag and choke.
Before the crowd could erupt, whispers spread through the onlookers.
“What the fuck was that? It was barely a fight. Did anyone see that hit?”
“How fast was he?
“That’s too much agility for someone who’s a Knight—even a Marquise wouldn’t move like that.”
Wei kept his gaze fixed on Herzog. Now, the giant lay toppled, his foot crooked in a horrible angle while his right arm clutched at his throat. He clawed at his helmet—the gold-plated mask—and, after fumbling for a few moments, tore it off to expose a massive bald head scrawled with ugly, ritualistic scars. His face, however, was not entirely human; scales ran along the sides, and his ears appeared to have gills hidden just behind them. Wei doubted that this was part of any gold-masked lineage—only one person could be responsible for such calamity.
“All right,” John remarked bitterly. “That was a disappointment, even for me.”
The giant choked, clawing to stand. His leg made a horrible snapping noise as his armor shifted and pulled his bone back into place. The young master frowned slightly. “I suppose I could commend your determination, but your skill is lacking. There is no world in which you may best me. Capitulate, try again another day—remember this as a lesson.”
“No,” Herzog growled, forcing the words through a wounded through. He slammed a fist against the ground, making the space within the dome shake violently. “No!” he bellowed, trying to rise. But Wei casually kicked him down again. The absurd sight of Wei’s slight form punting a giant across the battle space drew a chorus of laughter from the crowd. Herzog’s back struck the dome, and another ripple pulsed through. The Old Man threw up his hands, addressing Goldskull, whose gaze was now fixed solely on Wei.
Once more, Wei’s Omniscience caught a single thread of essence leaving him—a subtle act of communication with someone. “Bishop, can you…?”
The Trespasser’s voice trailed off. “Whatever he’s talking to… I can’t pierce it. I got limits too, kid. Dukes aren’t easy to scry.”
Wei bit his lip; a bad feeling gnawed at him.
“Remember, don’t do anything stupid. Do not kill anyone.” This message came from inside Wei, a reminder from his father, watching the unfolding chaos. “You need Goldskull to accept something from you as a favor later, so keep your moves in moderation. But you don’t want him to pull you into his family business.
“I know,” Wei replied internally. “This one isn’t even a threat. I don’t think he could have threatened me like before I claimed the system.
“Don’t get cocky or arrogant.”
Once more, Herzog slowly pushed himself back to his feet. With a sickening snap, his left foot finally and fully reconnected, and a loud groan escaped him. “I’ll kill you!” he roared, shooting to his feet with fire blazing from every opening in his armor. His face was a mask of pure outrage as black metal flowed along his left arm, combining to form a weakened, fanged mace. Finally, the idiot was using something suited to the enclosed space—even if his technique was still rough.
Herzog swung wide; Wei slipped underneath. Herzog swung his backhand—Wei again went under. A third swing came from high to low, intended to smash Wei into the ground. The young master shifted slightly to the side. Each blow was too slow, too easily anticipated by Wei’s refined sense of relativity. Every dodge sent a tremor through his very being, but even if he toyed with his adversary for hours, Wei knew he’d gain only a few minor Aspect Advancements.
As Herzog’s weapon swung for the sixth time, Wei delivered a precise kick to his armpit, striking a nerve. The weapon spun out of Herzog’s grasp, limp and useless. Wei kicked him in the throat again with the same leg and precision, and something in Herzog finally clicked. A loud, gasping wheeze escaped the giant as he stumbled back; Wei then stomped his other ankle, causing it to snap backwards. The giant, unable even to scream properly, was left broken.
“All right, this is starting to get really sad,” John Bishop remarked. “Just let him lie there for now. This will be over soon.”
Then, Wei felt something—a tendril of Essence snaking toward his foe.
“Bishop.”
“Yeah, Wei, I see it too.” The Trespasser intercepted the trickle of essence. A second later, Wei heard a command directed at his fallen adversary: “Kill him. Whatever it takes, kill him. Do not shame me. If you do, I will end you myself—and afterward, I will do so on you.” The voice was deep. Female. So casual and cruel it made Wei pause.
“Lein,” Bishop muttered. “The fuck is making him do?”
Wei frowned. His mother had expected much from him when he grew up, but this was beyond the pale. Fealty was a contract—one must respect one’s parents while demanding respect in return. A sob escaped Herzog. Wei took in his adversary once more. This was more than just a brutal idiot; this was a pawn, driven to perform acts in honor of someone who barely cared about him.
He rose one last time. Wei shook his head, his voice low and barely a whisper: “It is not worth it. No matter what she says to you, you cannot beat me.”
Herzog froze, eyes wide. “You—you heard, you know?”
Wei shook his head. “Don’t.”
The giant hesitated a few more seconds, then came at Wei once more. But this time, something triggered within him. Essence poured out, blasting in waves of fire, as his black armor turned to slag, and his body melted into molten gore. Wei felt immense heat wash over him.
The young master was not at a loss—he spawned a divine wind around himself, blocking and intercepting the blow. Wei would not be brought down by this onslaught. Yet Herzog continued to burn; his aspects spiked upward, moving faster than ever. Every step he took, molten metal leaked from his joints, spilling across the ground. He formed no weapons this time, relying solely on his fists and raw rage. Wei dodged as Herzog surged forward, stomping the back of his knee. However, as Wei’s leg collided with Herzog, he sensed something beneath Herzog’s shattered form—a blast of flame erupted, and Wei yelped as the sole of his foot seared with immense heat. Stumbling back, he pounded the ground in a desperate attempt to extinguish the latching flame.
Herzog turned. His flesh was becoming a nest of hives, sinews withering and blackening, the fat beneath his skin popping as if he were a pig being boiled on a spit. His eyes wept blood and tears in equal measure. “Oh, my God! I’m not useless! Herzog is not useless! I’m not!” he cried, struggling to maintain his dignity.
The young master swept backward, avoiding Herzog’s grasp. The giant smashed against the dome—the impact flattening an entire section of his head as bones shattered like a fractured plate beneath mangled flesh. He spun away, teetering on the edge of collapse, yet managed to remain standing. With the last of his strength and essence, he turned away and held out a trembling finger, pointing at the young master.
“I’m not useless.” He took another step, then another, and a final one. As his leg melted and he pooled across the ground into a mass of burning gore and magma, his feeble voice repeated, “I am not useless.” In the end, Herzog came undone—liquefied into a puddle of himself.
Useless.
As the giant reached for Wei, he splattered apart, leaving nothing but a bare hole. Silence followed. No master spoke; all that remained was a stunned gaze. Bishop looked on through Wei’s eyes. “All right. That wasn’t fucking expected at all. Goddammit.” William cursed silently inside Wei as well. “John, I think we just got fucked. Something’s happening here. Remember the Essence? The tendril going into the Goldskull earlier.”
“Yeah.”
William swallowed. “Lein—she’s encouraging him to kill himself. I think she was in league with her husband this entire time. I think we have tainted intel.”
“I don’t know…”
As they spoke, Wei turned to stare at the Goldskull. It didn’t seem miserable at all, but then he looked away. He simply shrugged. “Oh dear, my boy. I fear that in your haste to help me, you might have caused yourself some trouble. His mother will not be taking this well.”
And something told Wei that William was right.
Politics. What a disgusting thing.
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Brent Stinebaker
More ttf and godclads in progress. Also, a new project opener will be dropped soon. Stay tuned.
