Brent Stinebaker
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II-74 Pawns
🕑 Added 2025-03-07 18:44:24 +0000 UTCOh? What did you say his name was? Wei? Sounds like one of those… oriental Fictionals. Oh, wonderful. A Cultivator. I hate those. Always blood feud this and honor that. Never any real sense in those minds.
But I suppose I can’t blame them. They’re not real, after all. They can’t truly control the way they act. They simple… are. A pity. A shame. An ugly fate. Best they find themselves governed by a more gentle master in the end.
Anyhow, this has me thinking, my dearest Count, about a certain problem.
My oldest son, Herzog… He’s been talking to his mother a bit too much lately. Been getting rather unruly and rude. More than that, his skills have begun to slack. I think a good rival will do him some good, and that a friendly exhibition will settle your whispering rivals about how desperately you’ve been trying to court this little Sinner.
If he is as good as you say, this can only be to everyone’s benefit.
Of course, of course. I will make sure nothing goes awry. After all, it is my son at risk here.
-Duke Goldskull
II-74
Pawns
Wei watched as the Collectress guided Agnesia away. It made him feel wrong—abandoning her, no, allowing her to walk deeper into this serpent’s den. The Countess’s many limbs clasped around Agnesia’s back like bars on a cage. For the briefest of moments, the princess turned, and Wei saw the nervousness in her eyes. But he also saw something else—strength, resolve. She would see this done, or she would die honorably.
Die.
He didn’t want her to die. He didn’t want her to be like her mother.
The young master looked away first, his own weakness winning before hers did. He had a duty to do, and if this went right, then another adversary could be eliminated, and an ally could be claimed. Vendrian’s significance would be his, but more importantly, the Scion of Death would be under his sect. And they would be one step closer, too. Yes, there was still Earth looming, and he had his own den of snakes to face.
“All right, good job, kid,” Bishop said. The Trespasser let out a sigh. “Better wait here for a second. I think the Collectress is gonna send her down and come back for you. By the way, the Duke is making his way towards the Old Man. I intercepted some words—so you might want to expect trouble. He mentioned your name. I think he’s going to put you on a collision path with his son—Herzog.”
“His son?” Wei said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, there’s been a family issue with the Duke. He and his wife—well, let’s just say they don’t see eye to eye no more after a little bit of infidelity, mutual assassination attempts, and a particularly ugly failed divorce.”
“Failed divorce?” Wei repeated. Breaking a marriage was something horrible, but failing to break a marriage after all that? Wei didn’t even know what to say.
“Yeah, just play along. Act surprised, and whatever he tries to get you to do—try to stay ahead. I’ll figure out whatever he’s planning. You just pull your punches. I don’t need you starting an incident at the gala.”
Wei bit his lip. He hated politics. He hated these falsehoods and half-truths and moving with so much caution. He hated restraining himself, but he would do it. He would play the pawn if it meant eventually becoming a player.
As the Collectress finally deposited Agnesia upon the platform, two demons—sinuous forms glistening with gems—circled around her. Their bottom halves were serpent-like, but their upper bodies were those of nubile maidens, underdressed and holding fans. One immediately engaged the Princess in conversation while the other sang a bewitching tune. A loud groaning sound echoed from the platform, and slowly the Collectress backed away, allowing it to descend. Moments thereafter, Agnesia faded from sight, her eyes locked away, and his on hers as the Collectress returned.
“On the way down,” Agnesia sent. “I see a lot of portals. Ignium… There are so many… so many slaves. T-the anchor is stable. I don’t think she knows.”
“She doesn’t,” Wei replied. “She would never allow you into her sanctuary if she did. Stay strong. I will be there if you need me. Any time you need me.”
A pause followed. “Take care of mother.”
“I will.”
“She will be taken care of,” the Collectress said. Wei nearly jumped back as he found the Collectress fast approaching. “I will go to her later, after the festivities have ended. She will be kept safe for now. You can trust me.”
Wei simply nodded. He didn’t trust her—not even a little—but he hoped that his lack of reply would be seen as worry rather than suspicion. Her features softened. “You mean the best for her. You care for her. This is—” She paused, “a weakness. I would tell you to kill it, but I cannot ask such a thing of you. If there were more like you, perhaps this world would be a better place. Perhaps we wouldn’t be sacked and tortured by monsters. But there are not more like you, and the ones who are kind are so often weak. Look at me, Wei An Wei.”
The young master did look at her, and for the first time, he saw something in the Collectress. It wasn’t just a monster there—there was, perhaps, a person once. Or was this an act of deception? A twist with her special skill? “I was once like her too. That, more than anything, is truth. But I had to kill that part of me. The girl, the concubine, the lamb. There cannot be lambs here. Lambs don’t last. All of us have to be wolves. All of us have to be capable of anything. Anything. Are you capable of anything, Wei?”
He looked at her. “I am capable of more than you know.”
A few moments passed. The silence between them turned to a grinding tension. Finally, she smiled, and whatever vulnerability she had momentarily dissolved. “Very good, then. Let us return. I believe we still have a gala to attend.”
***
When they returned to rejoin the others, Wei saw Vendrian waiting for them. The Scion of Death was a giant of a man, looming over the gathered sinners like a lighthouse, staring off in the distance. A group of demonic attendants cleared the path for Wei again, and as the glistening Essence faded from the Collectress’s body, he found himself a few short steps away from the dais where the Old Man was holding up a glass, offering a toast to all at the gala.
“And this is for a wonderful invasion,” the Old Man continued. A bitter, sardonic smile played across his face, for the fun and games they were all about to experience once they reached the Trespasser homeworld. A series of curses, slurs, and glorious roars resounded. It started nearby, with only a few carrying the call, but then it spread until the entire gala was in an uproar.
Oh good, the Collector muttered under her breath. “We didn’t miss the fanfare.”
As Wei drew closer, the Old Man turned and looked at him. The corner of his lip quirked, and he angled his body, aiming his toast at Wei. “Attendants, get the boy something to drink,” murmurs rose from the surrounding sinners. Multitudes split into separate crowds—some chattering about his victory over the Many-wed, others inquiring about who he was, why he specifically was allowed on the dais next to the Old Man, why he was so favored.
As his omniscience scanned the crowd, Wei felt a building pulse in the back of his head—an ache, a strain. This was more people packed into one place than he had ever faced in his entire life. “You holding in there, kid?” Bishop asked. “Yes. Yes, I am,” Wei replied. The pain was manageable. He just needed to focus. He just needed to watch. He knew that the likelihood of an assassination or attack right now was unlikely, but still—after what he experienced at the hotel—he couldn’t let his guard down. Never again.
An attendant handed him an ornate cup, designed from silver enamel and golden inlays, filled with red wine so fine that its color reflected Wei’s face right back at him. He looked tired, but still he forced himself to smirk, to play the role of politician and deceiver. He toasted the Old Man back. “To this invasion— I suppose we are talking about Earth? I have often wondered what the Trespasser homeworld is like, what wonders—or lack thereof await us there.”
Some sneers greeted him, but more than that were jeers and cheers. There were far more Fictionals here than Trespassers, anyway. “In time, I think we will all have the opportunity to see for ourselves,” he added, offering a salute to the crowd. “And when that day comes, I hope that you find whatever makes your heart content.”
“Well spoken,” the Old Man said. “Now, let the festivities continue, let the drinks flow, and if there are any more grievances—” He looked over the crowd. “Well, let’s see that settled. At any point—” At that moment, Wei felt a pressure slam down upon him, like a mountain suddenly materializing just a few feet away.
A figure stepped through the crowds, mingling with the common Sinners. As he approached, those nearby gasped and flinched back, his essence level almost unbearable for them to sustain. He wasn’t remarkable in most aspects—he wasn’t large, he didn’t have any suns floating above pauldrons, nor did he possess strange body architecture of any kind. To the casual observer, he was an average man, of average height. But he did have one particularity: he had a golden skull.
And that was how Wei met the Duke of Pride. Not with a grand entrance, not with a display of awesome power or dominance—a casual stroll, and several people collapsing in his wake. His hands rested casually in his suit pockets, and he whistled a jaunty tune, despite the stillness of his facial features.
“Goldskull,” the Old Man laughed. “I’m surprised you came all the way down this long haul to greet a little old me. It’s not every day that a duke deigns to greet one of his counts. And it’s not every day that one of my counts hosts such a fine event.” Then, the Duke paused. His steps came to a sudden halt, and he spun on his heel. Somehow, Wei felt like he was being judged.
Just then, Wei felt another presence fast approaching. The essence bore a slight similarity to the Duke, and from afar, he heard yelling—the commotion of bodies being knocked aside, and a rage-filled voice echoing down the hall.
“Coward!” Several heads turned in the direction of the voice, yet Goldskull stared directly at Wei. He took a few more steps, slipping between people. Rather than pushing them aside, he gingerly angled his own body; everything he did was an act of surrender—or perhaps an act of unity with those of lower stature. He didn’t act like a great power at all. Despite all the essence flowing off him, was this truly a Duke of Hell? Was it a test, or some kind of illusion?
As he ascended the dais, he offered a few apologies to a person he’d bumped into—a short woman, wider than she was tall. She blinked slightly, mouth agape, as Goldskull brushed his hand through her hair.
"Count," Goldskull said, "is this the boy? The supposed talent?"
He gestured toward Wei. The old man looked at Wei, winked once, and nodded. "Yeah, he’s Mulver’s find."
"I told you. I know. I watched the videos. Quite a nasty fight."
"Well, I can’t claim to offer him something as hard to bite down on," Goldskull continued, "as hard as Many-wed. But in a few moments, he might be able to demonstrate his worth to all of us."
“Coward! Bastard!‘Adulterer!"
A second figure came into view, entering Wei’s senses. This one was of a weaker essence—possessing only as much power as perhaps Wei or Vendrian did. But as they stood closer, Wei noted their size: they wore heavy, golden armor, decked out with a layer of curved spikes jutted upward from their arms, and their helmet burned with blackened flames more fitting to the Circle of Wrath. Heavy hooves hammered against the ground, and the young master watched as the gold-helmeted behemoth stomped forward.
"Father!" a booming cry rang out. "You cannot run from me! You cannot run from the disgrace you inflicted upon Mother and I! I demand satisfaction! I demand that you stand and deliver and face me! You cannot avoid this! You know that you are not allowed back here— not until the marital disputes have been settled!"
Goldskull held out a hand toward Wei. "Hello, young sir! Yes, don’t be shy. I have a favor to ask of you. Don’t worry, it’s not a free favor. But if you do this for me, I can make life very, very easy for you. In fact, we can talk about partnerships, sponsorships, or even the movement of a substantial amount of significance." He wasn’t capable of smiling truly, but Wei caught the hint of a grin in his voice.
“And might I guess what you want?” Wei asked.
"Coward!" roared Goldskull’s son. “I see you. I see you hiding behind your minions.”
"Oh, you may guess," Goldskull replied again, “but I think anyone with even a moderately high Mind aspect will know what troubles I face right now. I can’t engage with him directly—legal issues, I don’t want to invoke the Tribulators, and I certainly don’t want to bring his mother into this affair. But if you intervene on my behalf…"
“Play the game,” Bishop interjected. “But don’t hurt the boy. You can beat him, but do not kill him, and definitely do not humilate him. No matter what you do, do not make this a bigger event than it has to be.”
Wei sighed. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to enjoy which way this would turn out. “As you command, my Duke,” he said. He summoned his Pale Fang, and with a burst of radiant energy, a series of cries and surprised yelps sounded from the silent sinners beside him. He gestured at those blocking his way, impeding him from the approaching giant.
“Make way,” Wei said firmly. “I have something to do.”
Somehow, this was the second family dispute he got into in the past few days.
Goldskull’s son stomped forward, and Wei met him halfway. An opening was created from the crowd—a small wedge of space where only the young master and the giant stood apart from each other.
Herzog Skullgnash: Hellknight Lv. 101
“Move,” Herzog commanded.
Wei shook his head. “I must decline,” he retorted with bitter resolve. “I abhor this game, my unfortunate friend. But politics demands that we stand across from each other.”
“I’m not your friend, you little fucking rat. I’m here for my father. But if you don’t move—”
“I challenge you to a duel, officially mandated in the eyes of the law.”
And with that declaration, the tension in the hall rose to a fever pitch, the fate of families and fortunes teetering on the edge of a single, perilous confrontation.
