Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 101 - Endgame IV
🕑 Added 2024-12-18 16:00:10 +0000 UTCThere was less subtlety about the second attempt. If they hadn’t figured out the drakes had been involved in the kidnapping of Edward Montague, they were dumber than I thought.
It was still just Valicent and his harp-playing friend, though, who dove out of the sky, heading right for the tower Lady Karsin called home. No need to let them know there was a third Drake involved. Yet.
Valicent collided first, claws sliding off the stone of the tower to his obvious frustration. Roaring, he sprayed a golden stream of fire down onto the roof of the tower. That slid off as well, sent skimming along the tower’s surface into thin air, where it dissipated.
He scrambled on the slippery surface, claws failing to find purchase. He beat his wings to stay aloft, claws trying to tear through unyielding stones. Above something formed in the sky, a blood-red circle that expanded, trying to swallow all the sky outside its bounds.
Silver darted through the edge of the circle, ripping it apart as the harp-player dove through. The spell construct crumpled, no longer joined together, and the forming red was what was devoured, the sky consuming it instead.
Down from a nearby rooftop, I watched as snakes of green emerged from the tower, only to be burnt away by Valicent’s flames as he tore again at the tower.
A few feet away, the third drake stood, not caring if anyone saw him, idly munching away as if at the carnival or a street performance.
To my irritation, all the Drake had brought with him was a tray full of fancy cheeses I had been told I want not allowed to take a bit off of.
I’d inquired about if he’d brought a specific drink, only to get a choked laugh in return.
“The tea?” He asked, forcing down a chuckle. “The drugged tea we fed you to make you tell the truth only for you to spout it before it even worked?”
I’d considered that fact and had only one thing to say in response.
“If it’s not addictive, then yes. It tasted like liquid stars, and I’d appreciate the chance to taste it again.”
We’d been waiting for things to kick off after no more idle chit-chat and he hadn’t even bothered to share his name.
“He’s got good spirit, but I am glad we decided to alter the plan,” I said as Valicent failed to breach the tower again. “I don’t think even the three of you combined could force your way in.”
The drake snorted. “No, we would have.”
I waited for an explanation, but there was no elaboration as he turned his attention back to the cheese.
“Well, either way, I think this one works better,” I said. “I’m glad there were no arguments over it.”
“He was accommodating, but he wants your head still,” the Drake informed me. “Once this is all done. He’ll have restraint, so you should be safe as long as you have a strong enough protector. The empire serves that purpose well enough. It’s big enough to get through his skull, at least.”
“Sounds like you disagree?” I said, continuing to watch Valicent and the harp-player’s overt assault on the tower. By now, guards had emerged down below and were unloading rifles and pistols at the two drakes as they flew around. Their fire still failed to affect the tower’s defenses, and I’d made it clear no one should die from this, so there’d be no attacking the guards.
No need to make any potential backlash from this worse.
“I don’t blame scavengers for acting in their nature,” the Drake said. “Besides, you’ve been rather polite for one and at least somewhat open about it. Also, it wasn’t my relative whose grave was robbed.”
Ah. Yeah, that might explain this one’s relatively lax position.
“Family is a tie that’s supposed to bind,” I said. “Never really stuck to me, with one exception. My relatives either despite me for what I am or want to exploit me for what I am. Everyone else seems to have that bond, even with people they, by all rights, should hate. Not me though. Still, not the worse fate. Nobody is going to manipulate me the way we’re about to manipulate Lady Karsin.”
There was silence from the Drake, not even the munching of cheese as I watched the ongoing fight down below. Valicent had ended his attempts to force open a hole in the wall, pulling back. Gathering spirits had latched onto his limbs, and I could see his scales darken as they tried to cut through.
They failed, but he still flew away from the walls. They detached, a swarm of shadows forming into a single tendril that tried to wrap around his foreleg, but bursts of fire-breath drove them back. They fled to the safety of the Tower’s wards, still coiled and ready to stab out if he ventured closer. Meanwhile, more spells lashed out from the ground below and the tower windows, bolts of lightning, bursts of fire, even ice spikes. Elemental assaults, the easiest to conjure but they had the sheer mass to be a problem for Valicent.
The Drake finally spoke again.
“Why would she care?” the Drake asked me as he grabbed another slice of cheese from the tray. “From what you’ve described, her son is nothing more than a cover, and she poisoned him to test this poison. Then there’s this cure that she had you test on him, personality-altering. Why would she care for the boy?”
“Why would she adopt him in the first place?” I asked, watching as Valicent retreated further, roaring as spells scoured his flanks. His scales were holding for now, but he’d probably reached the limits of the firepower he could endure. The harp-player was doing more than disrupting spells, having gone on a rampage through the gardens and surrounding structures. Lacking the wards of the tower, Valicent had badly damaged them. The gardens themselves were on fire now, exotic plants crackling away.
“She didn’t need an heir,” I continued. “And I checked the records. Adopted when an infant, raised since then. Long investment for that plan, assuming they even had it plotted out back then. And it presumes she was always the leader.”
Admittedly, my grasp of the shape-changers organization was tenuous at best. Getting information from Hawkins was like pulling teeth. The Bishop had done nothing but pray since arriving in the Coffin, and the puddle of flesh Voltar and Dawes had caught steadfastly refused to change from said puddle.
“It feels like leadership is lacking,” I said. “I think the bishop being of Halspus helped me put it together. Why the Black Flame was targeted, at least. They needed her help to make the plan work, so they gave it to her. Not that all leadership hierarchies are dictatorial, but other cross purposes indicate a lack of central authority. They robbed my lab for an income stream despite the fact that it only helped tip me off and they didn’t need the cash. Someone wanted to keep the scheme running to make money off the cures, despite them only needing to replace Edward Montague.”
It made little sense any other way. The endgame was the Black Flame, and myself being blamed, and presumably myself and some other key members executed. Push the idea that Versalicci would continue the poisoning scheme? Anyone who turned up with a cure would be suspected of being Black Flame, no matter if they had no horns. Not a good way to earn extra cash unless you took it and moved elsewhere. Someone looking for a quick way to earn cash if they had to burn it all down here.
Valicent and the harp-player had left now, leaving the burning wreckage of Lady Karsin’s estate behind. Relieved defenders and shocked onlookers filled the ground in equal measure.
“I am surprised he agreed to this,” I said. “Honestly, I half expected him to just devour me like a rat when I suggested it.”
The drake grunted. “He’s young. Still thinks he’s invincible. But I will suggest he and Malletearia perhaps take their honeymoon to the countryside this coming year after this.”
Hrrm, that I hadn’t been told about. Not all that relevant, but you never knew what might be useful. Wonder where that put this one in terms of relations to them? Friend? Relative to the bride?
“You should have brought more cheese,” I said. “This will take a while.”
It did, as Lady Karsin’s servants got to work trying to dig out the ruined buildings and more people emerged from the tower. Guards kept both the Watch and the onlookers from entering the estate, and that brewed a small confrontation demanding her ladyship’s presence.
A cart left a side gate, a tiny one with a single, bundled up driver, and next to me the Drake tensed.
“No,” I whispered. “It’s never the first one out.”
“Unless someone sends one knowing everyone assumes it’s never true, first one out,” the drake replied, turning his attention back to his cheese tray. Not much left on it, a quarter of what he’d started with. He’d turned to rationing since I’d mentioned him needing more.
“The first one is never it,” I insisted. “Besides, we have someone trailing it, in case it is. But you always have to account for those who will assume it’s the first one. She’ll panic, yes, because we’ve showed we have greater power than she can hold off forever, but the danger isn’t immediate. She can wait to send him away till later in the day. Besides, she probably has her hands full, making sure no one died.”
That last word was more a question than anything else, and the drake snorted.
“Valicent is impetus, but he is not a fool, Infernal,” he said. “No one in service to the murdered died. Inured, perhaps, but they should have known that before choosing to serve a villainess.”
A retort that people rarely thought those they worked for were evil formed, but I dismissed it. I did not want to get involved in a debate over morality with a Drake.
We waited. Another pair of wagons left, much larger, but both packed with injured. Not any dead yet. Probably not in either of those. The injuries weren’t faked, and she’d want competent protection.
The fifth cart, though, when they started taking rubble out? Me and the drake teleported to follow that one.
“Could you simply not spray them with fire?” The drake asked me.
“No,” I said. “Fire spreads could harm the boy. Also, demonic corruption could make something that could kill the boy. Since I want him alive, no diabolism. Or alchemist’s fire.”
“Ah, so you brought me here to be the muscle,” the drake said sardonically.
Actually, I’d brought him here to act as my taxi service. Once I’d found out he could teleport, it cut out so much legwork that would normally be involved in this step. The wagon traveled at a slow enough pace I could have followed on the rooftops easily enough, but not having to race across them was a relief.
“You don’t need to assist me if you think it beneath you,” I said. “Mind you, if I die and the boy gets away, I doubt Valicent would be too happy.”
I couldn’t tell if the drake’s solid color eyes rolled or not, but his body language gave the impression. “Yes, yes Infernal. I do not need to be instructed on how he’ll react if his chance for revenge slips through his fingers. In front of the cart?”
“Fifty feet,” I said, and in a blur of blue and vanished sensations, I was there on the street.
I moved quickly, drawing my revolver.
“Off the wagon!” I commanded, and the driver shakily nodded, letting go of the reins and holding his hands up. He jumped off, then moved to the left as I waved my revolver that way.
I moved towards the wagon, a wary eye on it, only for the driver to lunge towards me.
I turned swiftly, revolver ready, but the damage was done. A large, hulking figure emerged from the wagon, a man the size of an orc.
Oh, it was Lord Montague’s bodyguard. What a shock-
A meaty fist rammed into my stomach, driving the breath out of my lungs and me off the wagon.
Shuddering, I fell to the ground, gasping for air as the enhanced human dropped down to the ground next to me. It shook as both feet hit the ground, and I could see his face impassively look down at me as a foot lifted. The bottoms of his boots were steel.
I sucked a breath in and rolled to the side as the boot came down. It rammed into the stones, the street surface splintering. Little bits pelted me, but I just continued rolling and then scrambled to my feet.
He swung another fist my way, and I backpedaled as it passed right in front of my nose. My chest and stomach still hurt where he’d punched, a cough trying to force its way up my throat. I couldn’t grapple. He had height, reach, and definitely muscle. And good form as he kept coming, jabs that could break my neck keeping me moving away from the wagon.
I still had the revolver, but every time I tried to raise it, a punch threatened to tear it from my hands.
The drake raised his arm up to gesture, only for a gunshot to echo as someone opened fire from within the wagon. He roared far louder than human-sized lungs should allow as it punched a hole into his wrist.
“We need him alive!” I yelled, then ducked as another jab came for my jaw.
Fuck this. My tail grabbed a knife from within my coat, slicing at his fist as the next jab came. My other hand grabbed a vial as he yelled in pain, fingers loosening as the cut tendons came into play.
Human tendons for too large hands. Shoddy work like I’d spotted all the way back at Hell’s Own. His other hand was coming for me and I met it with my own, the vial of acid between them.
Flesh bubbled and hissed and we both screamed, but I kept my focus. Knife to the knee, angling through the oversized flesh to where even enlarged bones struggled to keep weight up. An injured arm came up to try to choke me and I intercepted with my jaw. My teeth bit down, slicing into thick flesh.
Another scream as I pulled the hammer back on my revolver and stuck it under his chin. A single trigger pull later and his struggles ceased as he slumped down.
The Drake was busy with the fool who had shot him with a bullet capable of hurting him. She floated in mid-air, trying to draw breath and failing, brown hair floating as if underwater.
I ignored them, making for the wagon. No one else moved inside, and I quickly searched its interior.
Demond Karsin lay near the bottom, deeply asleep. Probably sedation. A quick check with my hand for Biosculpting turned up nothing, and a poke with a small life-essence-infused wand caused no response. It was him.
Excellent. I grabbed him and pulled him out of his cocoon as he whimpered slightly. I checked his vitals quickly, and confirming they were good, went back out.
Back outside, the Drake looked contemptuously at the two dead guards as well as the still-quivering coachman.
“Do you want this one dead?” he asked mildly, and the coachman fainted.
“No, her finding out isn’t an issue,” I said. “The preparations are complete. We just need to do the most important part now.”
“That being?” the Drake asked with a raised brow.
I grinned, grabbing the reins of the wagon. “Tea party.”
Author's Note: We've reached the real endgame now
Comments
Neil Stevens
Of course! I plan on at least three more stories, although I can’t promise that they’ll all be as long as this arc was. There will probably be a two week hiatus between this arc and the next though.
Tjolbin
Tftc Do you plan on continuing writing this after this arc? My relatives either despite me for what I am or want to exploit me for what I am. despise* Repeating "what i am" feels redundant, either what/who sentence or "my relatives either despise me or want to exploit me for what I am."
