Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc 3 - Chapter 34
🕑 Added 2025-05-04 03:00:03 +0000 UTCFritz had expected the gangs to act soon, but he didn't expect them to move quite so quickly. It had barely been six minutes since Sid had left and the timing left him suspicious, he wondered if it was a spy or simply foreknowledge. He discarded the thought, there were more pressing matters.
"How many?" Fritz asked, quickly taking command.
The child stared up at him with terror, both of him and the coming thugs. Tears fell and legs trembled.
"Don't cry. This is Fritz, he's here to help," Earnest said. "Just tell him what you know. And do it quick."
"There's lots, more than two tens," the child stammered.
"Browncoats?" Fritz asked.
The child nodded.
Fritz strode to a window, one that overlooked the square, and opened its wooden slats. He could have gotten a better view from the roof, but for now this would do. At least thirty, maybe forty men and women, led by nine Browncoats, poured in and began shouting threats and banging on doors. Some carried lanterns and glowstones to illuminate small patches of the gloom.
Those limited lights weren't needed for long. A woman in a Browncoat pointed a Treasure staff at the sky and a shining globe of warm orange slowly soared from the smooth shaft of grey wood. The bright orb hung six yards in the air, shedding a gentle glow that lit up the entire square.
A group broke off from the main mass, three Browncoats and nine thugs, heading straight for the tall tenement where Fritz was currently observing from.
From what Fritz knew of the Nightshark's organisation you had to be at least a Pather to earn a Browncoat. But that alone simply wasn't a precise measurement of their power. There were outliers like Nic and Craig, and there were likely to be more, it was a shame he had no way to truly tell.
It was always difficult to gauge another Climbers level. And although Adam had said one would get a sense of it as they grew in strength, Fritz had no such impressions when he scanned the assaulting mob.
He was less concerned about those without the coats, they had to be either Levelers or Leveless hangers on. Those dredges must have lacked the courage to Climb another Spire or were devoid of true ambition or any talent. As such they were weak and worse they would bully those that didn't have even their meagre strength.
Toby joined Fritz at the window and, upon seeing the overwhelming numbers, scowled. "There's a lot of them. We should run," he whispered.
Fritz looked down on the invaders and quickly considered his options. Something in his chest spat and hissed, affronted by the intrusion into his lended lands and he couldn't comprehend fleeing. He shook his head and Toby exhaled slowly, disagreeing, but not dissenting.
"Bert, you're to go down and distract them," Fritz ordered. "Focus on thinning the mob while Toby and I pick off the Browncoats."
"Are you allowed to do that?" Bert asked, cracking his knuckles. "Kill the Browncoats, I mean. Nic said we shouldn't remember?"
He wasn't worried about murder in the slightest, his tone was one of mere curiosity.
"You can kill 'em," Toby said. "When you invade another's territory, you give up your protection. It's considered bad manners to not let someone off with a cut and a warning after a 'dispute', but manners aren't exactly what the Sunken Ring is known for. And this is clearly different to a normal dispute."
Fritz nodded. He wasn't fond of murder. Who could be? But sometimes, some places, it had to be done. And as he watched in disgust, a woman was hauled out from a building, her shrieks added to the screams and yells echoing through the streets, he knew that this was one of the times.
"Go now," Fritz commanded.
"Wait!" Lady Fare called out, standing swiftly.
She reached for a sack and pulled forth two scarves of red cloth, linen and velvet. The intention was clear, a badge and a message that the Scarlet Storm still protected even when Sid was gone.
"Put these on first," she said. "I'm sorry we only have two, we weren't expecting a third."
"That's okay, when a third appears, you just have to share," Bert professed, snatching the velvet scarf and leaving Toby and Fritz to take the other.
They did, and with a quick cut from mortal edge the cloth was parted leaving them with two halves, which they wrapped loosely around their necks. The linen was stiff and scratchy, but Fritz had worse things to worry about and there were people he needed to help. He swifly took any remedies he had on hand and made sure his Treasures were full before he made his way toward the door and the stairs down.
"Let's go," he said.
Toby nodded darkly, Bert grinned.
Fritz drew Mortal Edge and cloaked himself in dusk.
---
Rough Rod stood in the square, under the glow of the Orb of Light. It was a flashy Ability, one that would draw a lot of attention. Luckily, the boss had paid off the drizzlers and they should expect any trouble from those lazy scum. Not tonight. Or today, he should say, the sun should be rising soon enough.
He tried to scratch his chest, the chainmail he wore made him itchy. Others would complain about the weight, but he was strong, having aligned plenty of points in Strength and Might. Absently he toyed with his Treasure ring, a bad habit as it would draw attention to the plain looking circle of dark marble, but the cool touch reassured him, easing his nerve.
Not that it needed much easing, things were going fine, none of his crew had been hurt yet and there had not been a single sign of a true scuffle. Those three pricks who had walked in like they owned the place must have fled once they saw just how many men they had. Or maybe they were hiding with the women and children, crying with them, and cursing their fate.
Rod chuckled. He almost wished he could join in the raiding of the main building, find them cowering in puddles of their own piss. But, no, he was to stay out here and make sure the boys didn't get too rowdy with the ungrateful whores and traitorous thieves and thugs that had gone to Sid Smiles. It was one thing to bruise or beat them, a bit of payback would go down sweet, like syrup cider, but killing them would be going too far, a total waste.
"Hey! Take it easy on the girls!" Rod roared. One of the men, not one from his own crew had torn the linen nightgown from one of those runaway whores, baring her jiggling gifts for all to see.
"Sorry boss, just taking a look," the man said, grinning as the woman covered herself.
Rod could understand that, when he was younger and more hot blooded he would've done the same, maybe more. But now he was older and wiser he knew there needed to be an order to these things, Bosses and Browncoats get the first picks and then the rest could have their fun. They had been starving for it for long enough, ever since the upstart started encroaching on their freedoms.
"Don't hurt them or strip them. You know the rules and your orders. Get them out here and then you can wait your turn," he ordered.
"Alright, Rod," the man replied reluctantly.
Rod was about to set the man straight with a kick, when a voice boomed out over the shrieks and shouts.
"Stop!"
Rod turned his head to see that blonde-haired bastard, Bloody Bert striding from the tall tenement's doorway. The group that was heading that way stopped before him, glancing around for his friends, the arrogant prick and the sour-faced youth.
When they saw no one, Hammer Hodges barked out a question.
"Where are your friends?"
"Don't need 'em," Bert said. "Not for you lot." Then he tilted his head, cracking his neck before raising his fists.
It didn't scare them none. They laughed and Rod himself also chuckled and although he wanted to put the hurt on the fool, he was also content to watch the others beat him.
That Bert may have been a monster in the ring, but this was not that, this was a war and that idiot was on the losing side. No foolish duels or fair fights were to be found here.
They surrounded him, then rushed him as one. Abilities were activated. Blades lit up with various lights, roiling with many magics and bolts of energies flew. Wisping shadow, the rippling of force, the dim glow of summoned of water and ice and the red gleam of blood aligned Powers sped toward the bulky man.
He did better than Rod would have expected, he dodged and ducked the bolts and attacks, then caved in the faces of two Levelers with powerful punches. He moved like a blur, knocking a woman soaring, then swept a Browncoat off their feet with a low kick. Some scattered back from Bert, giving him some space.
But unluckily for the idiot, there was no chance against such numbers, not while they were still a Rookie.
A knife was planted in Bert's back, and that was the beginning of the end, once you were wounded your loss was all but assured. Another thug struck the man, this time it was an axe and it cut down to the bone, the white of which gleamed strangely in the light of the globe above. Then a heavy hammer strike came down from Hodges himself, coated in the black crackling energy of Shattering Blow and slamming into a shoulder.
Bert screamed as his bones broke, into many small pieces no doubt. More attacks and Abilities flew in, and they couldn't all be avoided this time. They struck him and stuck into him and he fell.
Laughter and taunts filled the air now as they encircled him again, smirking and jeering.
"Living up to the name, Bloody Bert. Any last words?" Hodges asked hefting his hammer.
Bert spat blood and grinned up at him, before spraying a gout of sizzling liquid right into Hodges' face. He shrieked like a girl which made them all laugh, though they shouldn't, but the man really was a skulgsucker.
Then things went wrong.
The globe of light above disappeared, devoured by an orb of black, and the square was plunged back into the dark. Rob could see fairly clearly, he had his Bronze Award from the Sunken Spire, but it was still difficult to pick out figures in the rain. There were cries of surprise, but soon there were also yells and thumps as bodies fell to the ground, tripping over each other in the confusion.
"Bring back the light!" Rod called. But there was no answering globe.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and he looked for Kyli or her Treasure staff, but she was missing. Gone from the spot she had been but moments before.
Bert leapt up, not nearly as hurt as he'd been letting on, his shoulder had miraculously healed as he proved by shattering the ribs of some Leveler. Then the madman was laying into those around him, breaking limbs and faces with a flurry of blows.
Rod didn't bother himself with Bert, he couldn't, there was something else going on around him.
It was bad.
His Trait: Battle Instinct warned him things were going poorly. Very poorly. His crew were dying to something in the dark. He searched the gloom for the source of the trouble, and noticed that those with glowstones and lanterns fell first, only for their light to be covered over or put out.
Further and further, they fell into darkness. Rod prayed for dawn to come quicker. The skulg were burbling so that meant the light of day was soon to peak over the horizon and through the clouds. But it wasn't coming nearly fast enough.
Another scream, this one to his left, but the sound was cut off swiftly. It had been Tilly Terse's voice, and he saw her, clutching at an opened throat that spilled blood all over her breastplate, the one she had bought from a drizzler.
Rod hadn't much aligned to Perception, not many did, it was something of a waste when it could be used for Strength or Might or Speed. But in the gloom he found himself in now, he started to wish he had. Things were too chaotic too clouded, the men shouting, running and stumbling around blindly. It only worsened as mist sprung up behind him, cutting off his view of his way out.
He tried not to panic and stepped slowly away from the fog, glancing this way and that for the threat hiding in the dark. Battle Instinct screamed and Rod swung his sword, knocking away a bone blade aimed straight for his eye. To his surprise there was a man standing right in front of him. It was the arrogant prick from before. He'd been there for some moments and Rod just hadn't realised.
Now he could see him, he wouldn't let that pompous face out of his sight, not until the bastard was dead. For a moment they stared at each other, the man had wrapped a red rag around his neck and glared with darkly glittering eyes of green encircled by glowing purple. Meeting that gaze chilled Rod, but he couldn't say why. He had faced many more deadly men, with far more fearsome reputations and this one appeared more handsome than hard.
The dagger darted forward again, quick as an eel's bite, and for the second time, Rod blocked it. It was less a parry than a strike of his own that was filled with as much Might as he could pour into it, aiming to beat aside the blade and cut into the man behind it. While Might wasn't Momentum, more likely to shatter a sword than it was to deflect it, Rod had plenty of Strength to make up that difference.
The sword and dagger sparked against one another, lighting the gloom for less than a heartbeat. The boy couldn't handle the Might of the blow and nearly lost his arm as Rod cleaved through his guard. Infuriatingly, his foe snaked around the strike and then the second wild slash seeking after his head.
"Oi! Help me with this prick!" Rod yelled to the closest Levelers. One had a lantern and shined it his way lighting up the proud prick, then they rushed the man's back, much to his relief. Rod knocked away another strike in the meantime.
He had thought, hoped, that the man would run when he saw he was being surrounded, but no such thing happened. The bastard simply struck again with that bone dagger, eyes cold and unafraid. This time the edge stuck chainmail, scuffing it, and thankfully not splitting its rings.
Rod hesitated for a moment, waiting for his crew to arrive and start swinging their blades and bludgeons. Once they did, he Activated Flurry, preparing to slash up a storm while overlaying a Split on each and every attack. It would be tiring, but he could spare the Stamina and he still had Second Wind. Battle Instinct told him that the fool was cornered and couldn't avoid all the attacks coming from all angles. Especially once he activated his ring.
With a thought, he tapped into the power of the Treasure, the stone around his foes feet stretched out like a tentacle and wrapped around a leg, gripping it tightly and holding it in place. Now that his enemy was trapped his Trait yelled that this was the perfect moment to strike.
He did, hacking and slashing with all his strength.
But Battle Instinct was wrong.
Disbelief filled him as the Grasping Stone fell away like water and the man danced through their blows. He dodged without looking, stepping this way and that between each strike, ducking effortlessly as if it were all a performance he'd practised many times. Even attacks that came from behind, that he had no way to notice, slipped right past him.
It was uncanny, like he had eyes in the back of his head. His movements were smooth and sinuous. That dagger leapt out in swift straight strikes, sinking into the soft unarmoured skin of the Levelers, unerringly finding throats, hearts and lungs.
Blood sprayed as thickly as the rain.
While gracefully sidestepping a hasty chop and slashing a Leveler's neck, the man had turned his back on him. Rod swung with all his might, again, and his blade met nothing but air and water. The last of his crew fell with a gurgle and a thump.
He searched for more allies, and called out for more help, but found the gangs were either fleeing, hiding or dying on the wet stone. In the distance the last light went out.
Fatigue settled around his shoulders and his limbs felt leaden. Rod panted, sweated and fear clutched his heart as the proud man turned his glare on him. Rod didn't run though, he could see that his foe was also tired, his chest was heaving though he hid it well.
A chance! His foe was exhausted, likely more than he himself was.
After relief flooded him, he grinned and used his Second Wind.
It failed and his glee fell away.
He tried again, but the Ability didn't respond, like it had to refresh. The man smirked at him. It enraged him.
Then Rod went blind, an impenetrable blackness surrounded him. Battle Instinct screamed at him to flee and so he did.
He spun and ran.
He tripped, slamming on the stone and losing his sword.
Dread gripped him and his gut roiled, he got to his feet and stumbled again, over a corpse. Rod crashed to the ground, his chain ringing dully against the stone.
Battle Instinct had reached a fever pitch, it begged him to get away.
His whole being agreed.
Panicking, scrambling, crawling, Rod felt tears dripping down his face.
Someone was pleading, "No, no, no."
A cold line slid over his throat, then that line warmed.
It was hot. Hot with blood.
The pleading had gone silent.
His hands were numb and his limbs stopped working.
The world was black. Night was coming. Dusk had come.
---
Dawn arrived. Dim light filtered over the now quiet battlefield.
Fritz pried a Treasure ring off the unnamed Browncoat's hand, then scanned the gloom around him. What was left of the gangs had fled, and those who stayed only did so because they were dead.
Once Fritz had called out a reassurance that it was safe, the terrorised women and children had been led away by Mrs. Washer and Lady Fare. Taken somewhere they didn't have to see the carnage. He almost wished he could join them, for all his talk of necessity and justice, he didn't have the stomach for killing.
Still, Fritz held himself stoically and suppressed the waves of nausea as he searched the corpses. He wasn't alone in that, there were men, some of the toughs that came out in defence of the territory, and they threw the bodies in a pile and stacked the loot in a loose jumble.
The Scarlet Shades, as Fritz, Bert and Toby had been come to be called, would pick over that later and take what they wanted.
He thought it was a little early for their small group to have such a name, but looking over all the bodies he knew it was fitting and it would spread. It had been a massacre, at least one-third of the mob were dead along with five of the nine Browncoats. And their own losses? None. Unless you counted the many cuts and bruises they suffered.
Fritz ached, though the nature of his graceful fighting style made it look smooth and effortless it was all but. And even with his Danger Sense, Umbral Phase and Awareness keeping him safe, he still took injury from the occasional surprising or shrouded attack from some thugs that could somehow see him. These wounds were mostly shallow, but with all the hidden Treasures and odd assortments of Abilities it was impossible to come out unscathed. Not at his current level.
Toby limped over to him, wincing and nursing a broken arm. "Jane's gonna kill me," he grumbled.
"Kill Fritz, more like," Bert retorted. His own skin was splotched with black and blue, but he bore the pain without a flinch and grinned a red grin.
"True as the rain," Fritz groaned. "Though, no offence to your lady, Toby. But I'm more afraid of what the Nightshark might do."
The black fang on his chest grew cold as ice for a moment and Fritz stilled. He worried for a heartbeat that he had activated it and had sealed his own death with his foolishly loose tongue.
Then the sensation passed and he sighed.
"Five Browncoats," Toby muttered darkly. "We're in trouble."
"Five Browncoats!" Bert boasted. "Serves them right."
"Trouble? You said it was fine to kill them," Fritz said pointedly.
"Yeah, but five... that's a lot," Toby said, grim as the grave.
"A lot of idiots," Bert said.
"We'll just have to wait and see," Fritz said. "Make our apologies somehow."
"Maybe she'd want their Treasures? Or their gold?" Toby hedged.
"But I want those too," Bert complained. Fritz agreed with the sentiment, pocketing the ring he still had grasped in his hand.
Toby shrugged.
"Ah, excuse me, sirs," a man interrupted.
He was of average height, broad-shouldered and middle aged. His black hair was thinning at the top of his head and his limbs were thick while his chest was stocky. He may have been a fisherman or a labourer judging by his calloused hands.
"Yes?" Bert said.
The man glanced around nervously, a strange sight for someone who was the picture of a rugged workman. Fritz realised he feared them, but the ripples roiling around him told a deeper story. It was terror with motes of awe mingled within.
"I just wanted to thank you," he said. "You saved my wife and daughter. And me, come to think of it."
Fritz nodded, though he did distinctly remember the man joining the battle, wielding a mallet. He was one of the few who did.
"You saved yourself. I saw you fight," Fritz said. "Brave of you to wade into that mess. What's your name?"
"Harold. Harry to friends," the man replied.
"Well, Harry, what's your Level?"
"Leveless, sir," he said morosely.
"You're very brave then," Fritz amended.
Harry smiled sheepishly as it seemed the praise mattered greatly to him. He rubbed his balding pate with a hand like a dinner plate. "I was just doing what I had to."
Aren't we all, Fritz thought, though he didn't voice it.
"You seem a fine man, what's your role in this..."
"Refuge, that's what we call it, sir," Harry provided.
"Refuge," Fritz repeated, not knowing if he liked the name, but finding it fitting.
"Yes, I sort out the men," he said. "There aren't many here, the place being what it is. But those who won't make trouble are welcome in the Refuge."
Fritz nodded.
"Fritz, I'm going home. Need to get this sorted," Toby hissed, the pain of his broken arm finally getting the better of him. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Thanks for the help, Toby," Fritz called to the man's back.
Toby trudged away.
Fritz's legs wanted to wobble, but it would look weak and he still needed to show strength in case he was still being watched by his foes. A stormhawk cried, catching his attention, then it swooped before landing on the Browncoat corpse in front of him and started pecking at the dead flesh.
"Oi! Shoo!" Harry yelled waving his arms at the bird.
"Don't," Fritz said seriously. "Leave the stormhawk alone."
"You hold with that superstition, sir?" Harry asked. "That harming a stormhawk breeds bad luck, liken to that of the albatross?"
"It's no superstition," Fritz replied. "It's a real curse."
The man nodded, heeding his words. "What do you want us to do with all that?" He asked motioning towards the pile of loot.
"Pack it in a secure room of the tall tenement," Fritz said.
"Headquarters, that's where the Council meets," Harry said. "Sure thing, sir."
Fritz nearly rolled his eyes, Sid really had been employing a lot from 'The Observations'. He should have known she would, but it still surprised him. Though more surprising was how the other's just went along with it, seemingly relishing in the terminology and roles they were assigned.
"Guard it. We don't want people picking through it before we know what we have and can distribute it appropriately," Fritz added.
"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I'll have a trusted man by the door at all times."
"Are you on this Council? I didn't see you there," Fritz asked.
"I am, but I was busy. I was going to have my wife fill me in later," Harry said. "You met her."
"Mrs Washer?" Bert asked.
"No, Madeline. The Madam," he corrected, beaming with pride.
"Oh." It stuck Fritz as an odd pairing, but he could hardly complain about that. Love was a strange thing.
Soon, once the bodies had been covered with a heavy sheet that might have been an old sail, Lady Fare called to Fritz and Bert from a window. She beckoned to them and they made their way into the Headquarters, trailed by Harry.
She met them in the stairway and she was tired, he could see it in the slight sagging of her shoulders and the light lagging of her feet. But her painted face, the bounce in her step and bountiful bosom, and her exuberant expression hid any worry and fright.
"My goodness! Look at the two of you. Are you alright?" She asked breathlessly, glancing between the two.
"Perfectly fine, Lady Fare," Bert proclaimed, subtly posing.
She pouted. "Are you sure? If you were injured I would tend to you," she offered suggestively.
"I'm gravely wounded," Bert stated seriously. "I require much tending."
Fritz smiled, though he was annoyed, they had other far more important things to do rather that flirt.
"Best get you abed then," she said. "We can use mine for now."
"Didn't you need them for something?" Harry asked, frustration leaking into his tone.
"I do, many things." She winked, which caused the man to shake his head in exasperation and Bert to grin. "But you're right. Fritz, you're needed in the Council room."
Fritz nodded.
"I'll make my way there," he said.
"I'll join you, sir," Harry said.
"Just call me Fritz."
Comments
GregSandpaper
Somehow this reminded me of the old “bring me my brown pants” joke.
GregSandpaper
Good point. Vaa’gur had perception and awareness and still seems to have been fooled by Bert’s story about their climb, later expressing outrage and calling them liars when he saw Bert using a Golden Seed. Therima and Sertine also seem to have been fooled. Perhaps level sensing is more of a relative thing? A level two and level ten both seems greatly weaker than you when you’re a level 50 or 66, so it’s hard to differentiate unless you’re really focused?
Venno
Great action chapter. I love getting some losers perspective when they’re getting decimated, really shows you how strong our team are. I look forward to the fallout too
yohan gu
on Fritz note that he couldn’t tell his foes’ levels, it’s important it stays that way at least for some time, or that power assessment is linked to awareness, so that a plot hole is not created regarding nic falling for their lie after the first climb
yohan gu
Looks like the Nightshark will need to replenish her browncoats. If only she had someone to guide her underlings through the sunken spire !
