The Cleansing Corruption

(closed to Shinsou Van Osiris)

The road was nearly silent, muted completely by the ambient noise of steadily beating rain. Storm felt his shoulders sag as the rain pulled down at his leather overcoat, adding heft to his somewhat slight frame. The bright moonlight had been displaced completely by the cloud cover, and he held a palm open before his face as he rode. A bright orb of white and blue spun lazily before his hand, a beacon of light shining before his mighty horse. Attila marched steadily, eyes using the light to seek deepened puddles and potential footfalls. So too did Shinsou ride alongside him.

Rain was cleansing; it would wash the whiskey off his breath and dirt and salt from his skin. It was also penetrating, and he felt his dress shirt begin to tack to his chest like a large white elastic. He’d be wet through lunch in the morning if the sun rose to drive off the clouds; all day tomorrow if the cloud cover remained steadfast. In either event, there would be four or five hours before the sun rose and took battle to the clouds. The night was owned by the incessant rain.

“There’s a freeing luxury to saturation…” He switched hands, his right palm growing tired of suspending the magical lamplight, taking the reigns for the great beast below him instead. “You only get so wet, and then the rain can no longer burden you.” A smile spread across his face as the metaphor rung through to him.

“Money, power, women… none of them ever saturate. We’ll always want MORE. ‘Enough’ becomes only how much the next richest man has, and once your wealth brings you to that point, you’ll always find yourself in the company of even richer and more powerful men.” Feeling old and sagely, the wizard paused from philosophizing. His traveling partner seemed far more altruistic in his goals; had Van Osiris been listening, it’s unlikely he’d even have understood what Storm Veritas was getting at.

Is he a “good man”? Can I trust him? Are those related? Does taking down the Council make me a better man, or a worse one?

The raven-haired soldier filled his periphery, marching with stoicism atop his own stallion. Shinsou was Telgradian, a powerful alien that carried himself with a certain nobility, in spite of the darkness lingering inside him. It wasn’t an altogether foreign concept to Storm. He was also very knowledgeable, strategic, and wise beyond his years.

“Evil… evil saturates.” Storm was uncertain as to whether Shin was listening or not. The wizard’s thoughts needn’t be private, even if he was being quiet. “Once you cross the line, the people will ALWAYS see the darkness first. I can keep you in the white if that’s where you’ll want to live; there’s no turning back once you become the villain.”

Trust me, kid. You’ll never be welcome back into the Ivory Tower once your hands get the wrong color blood on them.

His thoughts fluttered as the two rode, his moral burden weighing on him. The mage had once been a wholly evil thing; a true hedonist that sought only the tangible and discrete targets. Karuka had changed him for the better, Taische more so. They had walked the line of good faithfully, showing compassion and care for him and others. They were also strong, and smart, and powerful.

And now they’re f*cking gone. Apparitions, into the great ether of Althanas. Perhaps this land just swallows the good.

His eyes steeled behind the falling torrents, nostrils full of the refreshing scent of ozone. Althanas was a cruel, unfair place, and required a person of power, judgment, and wisdom to rule it. Shinsou wasn’t all of these things; Storm wasn’t either. Perhaps collectively they would fill the gaps and make the land richer. Perhaps not.

Perhaps they would be a better solution for the people than the corrupt Council of the Brotherhood, who orchestrated chaos to allow for anonymity and profit. The road to Whitevale was dark and clouded, and would be capped on the end with blood and bedlam.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris had rarely travelled by horseback but found the journey from Radasanth to be surprisingly pleasant, even given the task ahead of them. The Telgradian was further surprised by his companion in tandem; Storm Veritas, who was liberally flecking the journey with his intellectual viewpoints and entertaining philosophies. Shinsou had previously seen him as sleek and sinewy; a dangerous and cold man who would do anything for a quick buck. Now, though, he was starting to warm to the electromancer. He had been listening intently to his partner's musings through the miserable weather and had realised the man he had been quarreling with in the streets of Radasanth had many more different dimensions to him than Storm had let on.

It was starting to hit the early hours of the morning. The sun was still tucked behind the earth and only a dull glow of navy blue from behind a thin blanket of clouds gave any clues as to the time. The pair of allies rode down the muddy hill towards a junction where Shinsou shot a sideways glance at Veritas, listening intently to his final words. The man looked more like a politician than anything else, his rain soaked slicked-hair and saturated riding suit held taut against his athletic frame. Osiris agreed that had he not known what Storm was capable of, he would say he looked more suited to debating philosophy in a university somewhere than inciting coup de etats. However, the Telgradian also had a view to share, one that epitomised their very task at hand.

"I’ve always found it ironic that two eternal, absolute concepts such as good and evil can be open to such wide interpretation," Shinsou started, adjusting his overcoat to protect from a sudden chill, "What is good and what is evil? Are they not merely a convenient way for people to categorise everything in the world according to their own beliefs? After all, right and wrong are just viewpoints depending on which side of the fence you are on. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter."

It was just like Shinsou to break everything down into logical, cold truths, but that was the man he was. Nothing was without reason, he figured, as they continued on.The area they were in, about five kilometres from Whitevale, was a fairly rugged track next to farmland. Even with the enormous steed beneath him, the tall Telgradian felt every step beneath jolting him as the hooves churned up mud and clay. A story was coming, one he would share with another person for the first time since setting foot on Althanas. Even as painful as it was to recollect, the delivery of the past was as cool as if it had been about someone else entirely.

"To answer your question about keeping me in the white, consider this; know that there was once a terrible power inside of me that brought ruin to my people. Consider that this power was inflicted upon me against my will, that I was forced to submit to it and use it against my own people," Shinsou met eyes with the electromancer, "to fall was such a quiet thing. It was but a simple matter for the people to collectively label me evil regardless of the circumstances of my subjugation. My life changed because I was categorised as something I knew I was not, because the people couldn’t look past “good” and “evil” to see the truth of what happened. In your words, I was saturated with evil and forced to undergo horrific punishment. They thought me dead. After that, I came here. I chose Althanas."

He watched as Storm took a moment to fill his cherry-wood pipe with a bit of tobacco, lighting the pipe with a snap of his fingers. He screened out the rain using the back of his hand as he inhaled, indulging Osiris's story further. There was a point to all this, Shinsou knew, and Veritas's expression seemed to indicate he was willing to hear the rest out.

"I live by a philosophy; that from the smallest actions, the manipulation of the most subtle critical points, the universe and its workings can be moved. This is why we must be careful in all that we do and of the choices we make," Shinsou gestured to emphasise his point "and what we chose was to set out today to kill a number of corrupt, controlling men. This is amoral by definition but necessary by circumstance. Good and evil; opposing sides of the spectrum brought together by a singular purpose. A beautiful thing."

As they continued to ride, Whitevale appeared on the horizon. It used to be such a small and unassuming place; a rural town that blended into its surroundings. Now, though, the buzz of industry choked the charm from it. Even at this hour, pillars of smoke rose from Brotherhood kilns, their fires and men forging weapons and armour intended for revolution.

"In the end, " Shinsou said, finishing his somewhat elaborate point, "we must always have contrast to be able to have understanding, and not just have adherence to a single idea of right and wrong. Categorization is the remit of history and it is history that will decide what kind of legacy we left long after we're gone, not individual people who themselves have no right to judge. That is what I believe."

A few minutes later, the allies had gotten close enough to travel by foot. Smoothly dismounting their great black mounts, leaving them by a derelict barn that still had reserves of water and hay, Shinsou and Storm strolled to within a kilometre of the town gate.

Eyeing the perimeter, Shinsou spotted a few familiar faces patrolling the border. It was good to see those faces on duty; it would seem highly unlikely to the guards that knew him that he’d be here for anything other than Brotherhood business. There would no doubt in Shinsou's mind that there would have to be a few sacrificial lambs to throw to the wolves later on, but for now there would be no need for a gung-ho assault on the gate.

"The guards there are familiar with me," Shinsou observed to Storm as they crouched behind a fence out of view. "It wouldn't seem odd for me to be here. However, it'd be protocol for them to report my arrival and, of course, when the Brotherhood learn we are here and not murdering half of Radasanth's remaining senators-in-waiting for them it'll get ugly, fast. I think we'll have ten, maybe fifteen minutes before the message gets up the chain of command."

Ever thinking behind his stoic visage, Shinsou began formulating a plan.

“I suspect there won’t be much time for formalities at the gate because of the industry here. They'll be busy with the night's frieght...wait a minute, that's it! We can hide ourselves in one of the freighters. There's a good three hours before the day hits proper, under cover of night it'd be easy to slip in."

Even as he spoke, Osiris suspected it would be better to first seek council from his partner before going with such a plan, given the interesting set of risks they presented. He turned back to Storm.

"Unless you've got something better? I don't mean that facetiously, either. I'm all ears."

Drenched and a bit tired, Storm listened carefully as Shinsou explained his philosophies, ponderings, and looming strategy. That the two had traveled miles in the blackness to sneak into a haywagon and hope for the best did not settle well with the wizard. It sounded… beneath them now, the type of hare-brained scheme Veritas would have undertaken as a novice to Althanas.

Temper yourself. Not too far off the handle. I’ll still need him.

“The Brotherhood is a sophisticated criminal syndicate. They will be experts in smuggling, it being an art form in and of itself. We march in there, trying to squeeze our asses inside of crates or under the carriage by the axes, we’ll be caught.

“Now, the guards who catch us will probably be the same slap-dick idiots that we’ve both handled pretty easily in Althanas. Maybe a little heavier hitting, or a faster-firing weapon, but low-paid and low-class slugs nonetheless. The REAL problem would be spooking the powers-that-be. Once they sound the alarm, those weasels will burrow deep.”

And I’ll have damned near given myself the flu for nothing.

He scrambled to find the right words, cognizant of the cold air across his wet clothes (driving urgency into the matters) and the simple comeback Von Osiris should be thinking – a risky idea was better than none at all. Scanning the periphery of the large city on the horizon, Storm eyed for weaknesses. His keen vision couldn’t pick up enough details from their spot, even as he moved beneath a tree to clear his line of sight and flush the rain from his eyes.

“You know Whitevale better than me, we’ve got a few options.” He kept his gaze fixed down the road at the city, which was largely guarded with a sub-military style wall. “I don’t know the Brotherhood’s headquarters as all, but we need to keep the leadership pinched. Does getting into the city help us if their HQ is a god-damned castle within the city? How many escape routes will they have?”

The questions came in faster than he could communicate, and the magician was leery to bombard his Telgradian accomplice with too many questions.

“Let me simplify… First, we get in there. That wall looks poorly defended, with no guard towers I can see. The wall is only ten, maybe fifteen feet high. Find me an ore-rich rock, and I can press us both up and over that without breaking a sweat.”

Another smile crossed his face. Discretion always proved the better part of valor.

“Or… we just march in the front door on these entitled sons of bitches. I’ve got the mysterious glass eye of doom here, and you have business to attend to. We just march up, demand a meeting, show our hand a little, and ask for ‘answers’.”

It sounded crazy, but Storm had taken in more absurd actions before.

These guys assume they’re safer than they are. Two men, even with gifts, can’t take down the structure. They’ll march us in with blades at our backs and presume we’re about to get our heads separated from our shoulders.

“We let them presume they own control of the whole situation. We’re two disgruntled would-be employees with an axe to grind, unaware of how shit gets done within the Brotherhood. They march us up, walk us in, and leave us at the feet of the executioners.”

The different possibilities bounced around his head as Storm considered the options the Brotherhood would have. They’d probably have bindings; would these people know not to use irons with him? They’d try to muscle the tandem; would they know what they were dealing with?

Screw them. How would they get so f*cking savvy now?!

As the rain beat down about the two of them, shielded lightly by a thin-branched tree, Veritas pulled another deep breath of smoke into his lungs and let the tobacco smoke warm him from the inside. The smooth buzz settled his fast-twitching brain, relaxing the paranoia and crazed hypotheticals which tormented his fevered planning.

From the frame-up, to the absurd package delivery, to the relative ease of escape for Storm and Shinsou, the electromancer and Telgradian had been underestimated every step of the path. If they could forecast being underestimated one more time, Veritas and Von Osiris could bring the world down around them.

Shinsou was right to seek council from his partner, but as Storm rattled through a number of diverse and intricate schemes the Telgradian noted that the man had left a small detail out of his equations. Patiently, he waited for the electromancer to finish and then took his opportunity to speak as Veritas took in more of his tobacco refreshment.

“All this is well and good…” Osiris said, fist clenched in palm to ease the chill on his knuckles, “…but remember something. These guys aren’t the low paid, low commitment pond-life we’ve already seen in the far flung reaches of Althanas. We’re not dealing with Soap, who couldn’t give a shit where his next payday comes from as long as it comes."

One of the guards shouted to his companions, and for a moment the Telgradian thought they had been spotted. Nothing further came of it, so as the men returned to silence, Osiris continued.

"The men we are dealing with now are the very pulse of the Brotherhood. They won’t take orders from anyone who isn’t a recognized official, end of story. If we get marched in there under duress and then next minute we’re issuing the orders, they’re going to cotton on quick. We’re dealing with a different animal altogether now; the slightest hint of insurrection will ruin everything.”

Shinsou brushed down his wet coat and allowed silence to fall for a moment whilst Storm absorbed his caution. The Telgradian knew his words cut off two of their plans immediately – direct action in Whitevale would be completely counter-productive to what they hoped to achieve.

“My blade, Stygian, is unique. It can install my influence into anyone who is cut by it for twelve hours. My plan was to get as far as the council chambers, gather the board in one place and kill everyone but the chairman. I’ll cut him with Stygian and force him to appoint us as councillors, which I’ll broadcast to everyone in the Brotherhood using Kaze Sasayakimasu. Then, ten hours later, the previous administration gets involved in a nasty accident and first responders find five corpses. Everyone is dead except us, and the beast…”

Shinsou sliced his hand across his neck.

“…is headless, legitimately making us leaders.”

A smile crept across Osris’s rain soaked face.

“There is no impenetrable castle here. All that shields them from their enemies are a wall of loyal guards and a relatively accessible underground HQ, assuming you know the tunnels. I can’t use Stygian on every guard, but one or two key men would be enough to levy us an escort to the complex entrance without rousing suspicions from anyone else. The tunnels are lightly guarded – only there could we kill and not be noticed. To start, what we’d need to do is to lure those three men at the gate out, away from prying eyes, and cut them with Stygian. It doesn’t matter how – once they are under their control they’ll remember nothing of it. ”

Shinsou brushed away the wet strands of brown hair from his face. Storm looked back at him, following his words carefully, as the clouds above started to break apart to reveal the cold, star flecked night’s sky.

“They’re wearing metal breastplates, if that helps to stir some creative thoughts?”

This seemed the least absurd plan and the path of least resistance. If they could get past the gate, the fall of the Brotherhood would be only a matter of when, not if. No-one, apart from the unusual pairing of Osiris and Veritas, would be any the wiser as the carpet got pulled from right underneath their feet.

It was a moment Shinsou was looking forward to very much.

Shinsou was nothing if not forward thinking, and introduced Storm to some of the complexities with a simple assault. The strategy of the whole thing was intoxicating, even if urgency made its presence felt with each passing second. Saturated, the two waited and spoke as the low light of morning began to wink at the horizon behind them. The luxury of darkness would not avail itself forever, and soon enough they’d find the morning bustle crowding them, pressuring them, and driving notice of the strangers.

The Telgradian had sparked a real epiphany within Veritas, an idea which would certainly grant them access. What better chaperone to the council chambers than a guard, thirsty to receive reward for securing the wayward assassins that were likely prized by the Brotherhood.

Gods, it’s hard being such a f*cking genius. Exhausting, really.

With a smile, Storm motioned as he crouched and approached the front gate, remaining hidden in the dense brush beneath the rain, their steeds far behind them now. Creeping up with a smooth deliberation, he could see the first four guards by the gate, some thirty yards before them. Covered by a large slab of pitch-painted wood, the guards enjoyed a game of dice in the dry sanctuary of a small lean to as the wizard went to work.

A tiny burst of electric energy was all it took to spark a crack in the timber of a thin maple tree to their side, the tree quickly toppled under the weight of the rain-soaked leaves. Four faces raced in their direction, looking for the source of an odd sound on an otherwise boring night.

“Nope, screw it, not going out there again. Your turn, Skip; I checked last time. Take Leo, take a quick peek, and you get next roll. Don’t bitch, either; it was cold as balls when we went out last night.”

Morons.

Storm darted through the woods as the two thick soldiers marched closer, rustling leaves in an effort to get their attention in spite of fatigue and indifference. It worked; they lumbered forward quickly, hands instinctively drawn to the pommel of their swords.

“Easy! Who’s there?! You okay!?” There was an air of confidence in the first guards voice, likely granted by a life of being a very large human. To his left, a far more surreptitious smaller man held a lantern before him, lighting everything before the tandem.

Darting back further, Storm had successfully pulled the duo away from the sight of the gate when they pointed him out. He slowly raised his hands, showing empty palms as he spoke smoothly, with finesse and confidence.

“Congratulations, gentlemen! You’ve found two of Whitevale’s Most Wanted. You’ll be celebrated for this, after you handcuff us, blindfold us, and march us in to the Council chambers. Hell, they’ll probably give you enough cash to put another floor on your houses!”

Confusion was the order of the day, as the first man drew his sword as a point of caution. Effortlessly, Storm clapped his hands in front of his chest, the two breastplates upon the guards smashing together like magnets. Suspended in the air, the men looked in horror as their gauntlets clinked together, hands outstretched. In a blur, the electromancer raced around them, pulling a long stretch of rope across their mouths.

“Shut your F*CKING mouths, or I’ll crush you in your suits, and kill your friends at the gate. Let’s do this easy; no one gets hurt.”

A consideration of what Vaan Osiris had shared about his blade rolled through his head momentarily as he repostulated the final phrasing.

“No one gets hurt, seriously, anyway.” A quick motion to his friend. “OK superstar, let’s see Stygian do some work.”

Shinsou marvelled as Storm Veritas employed his electromagnetism with the type of aplomb only attributable to him. Watching the guardsmen clink and clank in a cacophony of pointless struggle was amusing but also a poignant reminder of just what the sleek electromancer was capable of. A man like Veritas carried his power far better than his weight; a meagre man, he wasn’t much to look at but underneath that harmless looking façade was an unfathomable and dangerous power that deserved and demanded respect. Shinsou was certainly learning that respect, but it appeared the Brotherhood, to their detriment and Osiris's astonishment, hadn’t.

Fools. They make an enemy of Veritas, knowing his power, and don’t change their soldier’s equipment to compensate? Absolutely amateurish.

Osiris waited for his moment and approached the bound and gagged men, Stygian to his side, as morning began to break above the horizon behind them. Time was running short.

Nightfall

After the command followed the application. The Telgradian quickly drew the blade of his mythril sword across the bare flesh behind each soldier’s right ear so that the cut wouldn’t be noticeable; the last thing they needed were two guards covered in blood wandering the grounds of Whitevale. After cleaning their wounds for a minute, and with a few muttered instructions, Shinsou and Storm’s personal chaperone to the council chambers were ready for business.

”Bind and bag us, boys. Take us to the entrance of the tunnel complex near the chapel.”

The guards, now unbound, proceeded with their work. Iron shackles were applied to the wrists of the allies, and all sunk into black as hoods were forced onto them and suffocated their eyes from the dawn light.

“March on. Stop for no-one.”

The instruction was carried out without question and, with that, the first part of the plan was underway.

Half a click behind them, a shadowy wraith moved in and out of the road, crouching as he approached the front gate. The thick foliage served as excellent cover for his vantage point. Creeping forward slightly, the master assassin Kazui could see the guards march with their quarry through the gate some distance ahead. He had tracked Shinsou and Storm from Radasanth; an easy task for an professional of his quality. Any militiaman worth his salt would know to only travel at night under cover of darkness, and with limited human traffic flowing to and from the city at the hour they had left it was a simple matter to identify his targets and track them to Whitevale.

The Council would be pleased. Very pleased.

The assassin glided through the woods, barely disturbing the leaves and twigs as he went. Without a sound he leapt forward quickly, hands drawn to one of the low lying branches of the trees before using his momentum to vault onto the last oak in the treeline before Whitevale. The assassin was confident about his access options; to his left, a scaleable perimeter wall invited him in. It seemed the most effective option, boasting a high vantage point that overlooked the entirety of the town square. His prey had successfully pulled the guards away from the rest of the men at the gate. The guards themselves? Every job afforded a little collateral damage. Their deaths would barely be noticed; celebrated only with an anonymous gold star in the Brotherhood memorial wall.

Kazui moved with panther-like agility up the wall, his sharp grappling claws digging into the masonry. Once atop the structure, he waited. A few moments needed to pass to ensure the guards were out of sight of the main guardhouse and the watchtowers. Time seemed to be suspended as the prisoner march continued to beyond the first building, which he recognized as the barracks.

Come on. Just a little more!

Another thirty seconds passed before the opportune moment arrived; the men reaching the exact point where no-one would witness the grab. With an athletic pounce, Kazui cannoned into the air and raced towards the brainwashed guards. The first looked into the distance, expressionless from the mind control, as a throwing star buried itself into the back of his neck and severed the spinal cord in a fountain of blood. The second was equally as vacant as a serrated knife penetrated between two vertebrae and twisted, severing vital nerves and arteries.

The electromancer and the Telgradian, hooded and shackled, hadn’t a clue what was happening until it was already too late.

The attack on the guards came at a time of ultimate vulnerability for the adventurers, who thought they had set the trap perfectly for the Brotherhood. As he heard the crunch and tumble of felled bodies conjoined with the low groan of death, Storm’s mind raced with fear. Something had gone horribly awry; it seemed inevitable that the next blade would slide across his throat.

”Shit! Shin, abort f*cking mission!”

Out of his line of sight, Shinsou was graceful and almost artistic, spinning and backpedalling as he snapped his head backwards, the sheer speed of his movement sending the blindfold tumbling downward. Handcuffed with metal shackles, the man in black remained poised in the face of disaster.

Veritas dove forward as he used his magic to open his metal shackles, landing hard on the unforgiving gravel. He had used his magic somewhat frivolously, manipulating fields and illuminating the path with a plan to have time to recover. He scrambled to remove his blindfold, tearing it violently away with a singular pull. Pushing his lithe frame up from the scratching surface, his eyes caught the assassin moving smoothly, calmly.

Not like this. Not like this after all this.

The attacking stranger held a long, thin sword which glistened in the moonlight with several drops of thin red liquid which appeared black in the soft yellow light of night. He extended the blade directly towards the electromancer, speaking slowly and with deliberation.

“If I wanted you dead, I would have done it long ago. Don’t waste your time with the metal magics, Veritas. The sword is dark matter; I saw how well it worked for your friend there against you months ago. “

He made a small hop forward, thrusting the blade to the bulge of Storm’s throat. The wave of magic the wizard had tried to generate was for naught; he called the bluff of the swordsman and lost. Whatever the hell “dark matter” was, his magic had no effect on it. His heart raced as he felt his skin bend before the tip of the hard edged sword.

Well, shit.

“Tie your hands with these; double knots and behind your feet. Don’t get cute. They’re cured rubber; stronger than rope and burn twice as badly.” The stranger marched smoothly over to Shinsou, who was smart to stand firm and not resist. A second pair of rubber bindings were placed about his wrists, and the stranger released and discarded the shackles deep into the woods with a violent toss.

“I don’t know what you idiots were thinking. No one ignores the glass eye. It may look optional, but it most certainly is not. Take orders. Do your thing. Get rich. What’s so difficult for you gifted types?” A cocksure laugh echoed out from the assassin who was now behind Storm, securing the ties and moving with an incredible confidence.

“Keep the blindfolds off; I don’t need you bumping into shit. Stay shoulder to shoulder, and don’t try anything. One of you moves, the other goes down fast. I still get half if I deliver you both dead, and I am at day's end a businessman.”

And so they marched, Storm Veritas and Shinsou Vaan Osiris shoulder to shoulder. Their wrists bound behind them in taut rubber strands, the dark road before them opened and lit only by the soft glow of a moon which had just recently burst through the clouds. Defeated, they were ushered in by the assassin, whose face Storm had etched into memory. Short and square, with a thick jaw and large, scrambling eyes. Sunken cheekbones were marked on the right side by a series of small, inconsequential scars.

You ugly mother*cker. You should have killed me when you had the chance. I WILL find you, I f*cking promise you that.

His fury was masked by a face which showed only defeat and frustration, as he was led into a large, single story with a grey stone façade. Heavily armed pikemen yielded before the group, which was immediately led down a set of stairs and into a small alcove. A small dead end, the empty room was pocked with stone and a single iron gaslight. They were backed in, the tip of the strange black blade ensuring their compliance.

A tall man with short white hair came from the opposite hallway, clapping the capturer on the shoulders with a smile. His hands moved in a large circle, a swift of black enveloping the two in a large, painless blast.

“Well done, Kazui. They aren’t going anywhere. Cut their binds and come for a drink; I’ll inform the council of your handiwork.”

Listening once more to directions, Storm and Shin backed to the freshly formed cell of hard black matter about them. To no surprise of the magician, the material was incredibly strong but decidedly not metal. The rubber bindings were cut quickly, and Storm collapsed with fatigue as he rubbed at his wrists. His eyes found Shinsou, whom was obviously frustrated with the failure of his plan.

“Well, your idea looked pretty damned good on paper; no sense pissing and complaining now. Sons of bitches took my knives, too.” Another smile crawled across his face, as he pulled his hair back taut against his head once more.

“I’d say we have them right where we want them, wouldn’t you?”

There was a horrific irony in the way things had turned out.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris, chief enforcer for the Brotherhood, who a week ago was imposing the council’s will upon whomever they deemed it necessary, now found himself confined to one of their enchanted cages and wondered for a moment if he was the star of his own parody. His brilliant plan to pretend to be captured had gone terribly wrong and had lead to their actual imprisonment. This dark, throbbing prison in some dank corner of Whitevale was shared with Veritas, a man who in that same week had gone from being almost jointly culpable for his death to the Telgradian’s only ally against the organization they challenged.

You just couldn’t make it up...

There was a tinge of dark humor in the role reversals, but also an unspeakable annoyance that both he and Storm were completely unable to prevent their incarceration. Despite these turn of events, the Telgradian wasn’t worried though. The only thing that they had going for them now was that the council’s insatiable thirst for retribution would inevitably lead them here. That, and the fact that whoever had constructed their cage was a total moron who hadn’t done their homework on Osiris’s abilities, focusing too much on stifling Veritas’s powers. As such, the electromancer’s throwaway comment was absolutely accurate.

“We have them bang to rights.” Shinsou replied as he paced the humming circumference of the cell’s magical barrier. “But the question is, why? That idiot was obviously so worried about your magnetic abilities he completely overlooked the fact I can manipulate dark matter and, therefore, this contraption. This cage is no obstacle at all. In fact, compared to Telgradian magic, this lackluster containment field comes over as quite offensive.”

As he mulled over how the council could be so careless without it being intentional, it certainly felt to Shinsou like the Brotherhood was playing them. Hiring an assassin skilled enough to capture them only then to be so amateurish with the method of imprisonment seemed too strange to the Telgradian to not be completely contrived.

“That said, without wanting to state the obvious, I think they are up to something. I am not gullible enough to believe that they would simply ignore or overlook my powers. I was their strong-arm from the start – they know me better than that.”

That thought guided him back to the bars trapping them in this enchanted chicken coop, and it was then the Telgradian noticed something about the dark forces that blocked them. Each smooth shaft swirled with marbled lilac hues but every now and then a fork of white hot electric snapped out from the gloomy cylinders. Whilst Storm gazed quizzically at the Telgradian’s snooping, Shinsou noticed a subtle change in the consistency in the dark matter. He recognized that something was embedded within the magic; some sort of dormant electrical field, perhaps, but whatever it was could not have been anything other than by design and clearly wasn’t intended to be friendly. Other than that, the Telgradian didn’t know what the field would do if struck or manipulated.

“One way to find out I guess…”

The simple act of placing an index finger against the bar was enough to invoke a massive, violent reaction from the dark magic, one that threw Osiris back with such force that the spellblade crashed onto the floor and rolled helplessly to Storm’s feet. The Telgradian winced at the searing pain in his right arm, rubbing it furiously to douse the ache, but the mind-wrecking throbbing continued unabated.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

A minute or so passed. The quiet was flecked only with the occasional curse word as the fierce pain ravaged Shinsou’s right side. Storm had little to say; occasionally looking up with a concerned expression at his counterpart, but keeping relative silence. Veritas, being an experienced electromancer, knew the pain would be much like a toothache; present, pulsing through his nerves, and strong for a time but nonetheless finite. There was no need for small talk or false concern for an injury he knew the Telgradian could handle. Besides, his focus was on the empty corridor ahead of them. That was where the Brotherhood would come for them, and, as if the thought had provoked the wheels of time to turn, a metal door slammed open at the furthest reaches of the tunnel to indicate a presence.

“Get ready,” Shinsou warned as he stood up, clutching his elbow. “It may be dangerous to flesh, but I don’t think this cage will stand up to a full power Enpera Kurohitsugi. At the opportune moment, we’ll hit them.”

It was time to prepare. As he gritted his teeth through the pain of the effort, the Telgradian channelled his energy and could soon feel the power of his magic reverberating through his body. The beginnings of a portal through which he could summon his dark lances started to come together as the air immediately behind him changed into a disc of a swirling marbled purple. It was designed to be small enough to be concealed behind Storm and Shinsou’s forms, but the contorting, twisting rift would only need two seconds to expand into a significant tear which would unleash hell on command.

Currently, Osiris couldn’t see farther then the shadowy maw of the corridor’s entrance. The rest of the scenery was smothered in night’s blanket beyond his eyes. But he knew that they were there. The Council’s steps ricocheted off the concrete, a melancholic clicking of three pairs of shoes echoing down the hall as the pair waited for their captors. It was clear the news of Shinsou and Storm’s capture had reached them already, the tale of their apparent but wholly unsurprising insurrection burning in their ears, and now they would try and inflict the retribution on their prisoners they had planned for all this time.

Three of them. I suppose even the Brotherhood wouldn’t be stupid enough to send all five of the council to us. We’ll kill who we can, and get the hell out of here.

At the heart of the darkness ahead, the silhouettes of three faces could be seen. Shinsou stared at the supposed figures of the Brotherhood breathlessly before shifting uncomfortably in the cell. The three men paced forward into the room and spread to the true ends of Shinsou’s field of vision, each one dressed in fine, silken clothes and each brandishing a single leather gauntlet with a gemstone embedded within.

Hex magic crystals… The Telgradian noted, …and not a shred of metal between them. Less amateurish, more dangerous.

The middle face, in his guise as the leader of the group, leaned forward slightly to reveal a scarred, stubble drawn face, framed by a slicked back crop of platinum hair. His features were creased and worn, but his blue eyes were sharp and focused and the man held an annoyed expression as he gazed back into the cage at Shinsou and Storm.

“We, and you…” The Councillor growled, “…are going to have a problem.”

The concept of power awaiting the end of the journey had become a sprouted seed in Storm Veritas, so to be captured along with Shinsou so quickly was deflating. The entirety of the situation was frustrating; some magical cage encapsulating the two of them, no real discernible weakness making itself apparent.

The question that continued to ring in his ear concerned not the brotherhood, but the tracker assassin who had been so patient, so skilled, so opportunistic.

So lucky, as the electromancer had convinced himself.

How could we be so goddamned stupid?! That sonofabitch comes up behind us the whole time and we didn’t see him? Didn’t hear him? How did he know we’d put ourselves in such a vulnerable position? Gods, it’s like he read my f*cking mind.

He stood silently as he thought, rubbing his chin as his eyes glared off beyond the bars into the distant hallway. The prospect of telepathy seemed plausible, given all of the other idiosyncratic powers which seemed to crop up about Althanas. With a sneer, Storm hoped the assassin had stolen the thought of how genuine Storm’s plan to kill him had been.

Aside him in the cage, Shinsou had tried and failed to break their encampment; he then mentioned something about an “Emperor” to which Veritas had given little consideration. It was one of his fifty thousand spells, or so it seemed. The shorter man was nothing if not clever; his lethality also did not escape the experienced wizard.

What type of bullshit is he up to now? We’re sitting ducks here, probably under surveillance.

Soon, a trio of wealthy looking types entered the room, smiling with a confidence born from knowledge beyond what their two caged beasts could hope for. As Shinsou had gathered magic behind him, Storm moved closer, a counterintuitive move that allowed him to physically block any line of sight to the great power of the Telgradian’s magic. A taunt came from the leader, who looked down a slender, aquiline nose and spoke with a sharp, nasally voice.

”We, and you.. are going to have a problem.”

Storm felt his blood race at this, his heartbeat quickening. He was incredibly powerful, furious, and felt a great fear as battle stood moments away. They had the benefit of surprise, however the Council seemed far too powerful. Power pumped down his veins to his fingertips as he barked back in anger.

“YOU DON’T KNOW THE F*CKING HALF OF IT!”

On cue, Shinsou unleashed a fury upon the cage, mighty black funnels opening and blasting the cage in a great wave of projectiles at an impossible velocity. Storm was braced for the explosion, a crashless booming sound which shook the entire group, sending pieces of the cage exploding outward like icicles knocked effortlessly away from the roof on a warm winter’s day. There was no fire, but the great black light was blinding to nearly all of them.

Naturally, it was not so blinding to the wizard so famous for making his bones with lightning. Squinting, he stepped forward over the edge of the fractured cage, setting his sights on a council member to his left, knocked down and disoriented from the explosion.

Lucky shit… it will be too quick for you.

Storm’s lips curled back in a sneer as he extended his right hand before him, his now white eyes piercing from behind nearly-sealed eyelids. From his palm, a twisting explosion of crackling white fury, spiraling upon the felled elder with an unquestionable speed and violence. He held the blast for just moments, however the sweet smell of ozone was fast replaced with the horrific, piercing bite of charred flesh.

Turning quickly to the remaining jailors, Storm was on high alert. The spectacular effect of Shinsou’s attack had worn off, and two very powerful men were rising towards the wizards.

The two councillors advanced in formation over the flat stones of the holding room, interspersed with the still smouldering corpse of their colleague. Despite the man’s gruesome demise at Storm’s hands, they didn’t seem at all dissuaded from their task. Even as the smell of burnt flesh hung densely in the air, with no ventilation in the low grey ceiling to help the pungent odour out of the building, they split and began to man-mark Shinsou and Storm like beaters flushing out game.

Nothing’s ever easy, is it? Come on you sons-of-bitches, let’s see what you’ve got… Shinsou thought, circling over the charred body.

The leader of the group, the one with the scars and the stubble with the platinum hair, wasted no time at all. The fineries and the aged frame the man possessed was a superb disguise for his sheer power. Two quick steps and a sudden drum of a punch into the unprepared Shinsou’s gut knocked the wind and spittle out of the Telgradian, sending him crashing to the floor in a pained heap and muddling his senses. The sheer force of the blow rattled him, and in the first few seconds Shinsou lost all positional sense. He didn’t know where Storm was. He didn’t even know where his enemies were as chaos erupted around him.

The councillor snarled, a few feet away from his downed adversary, and brought his leather gauntlet to bear. A crystal inside the glove shone a marine blue hue before unleashing three long, protruding quartz needles. Each looked as sharp and long as an assassin’s blade.

Shit! Get out of-

There was no cover and no time to organize; the makeshift claw of magic was thrust straight at the prostrate Telgradian’s face. A kick of adrenaline rushed back through Osiris’s body, coursing all over his skin as he inhaled heavily and wrenched his body to the left to avoid the gemstone talons skewering his face. Suddenly, as he kicked off from his heel and rolled to the back of the room whilst the scraping of claws against stone echoed through the room, Shinsou felt something take over him. He had not felt this way since he had felt his hands turn white, his knuckles protrude up like horrid sores as he attempted to hold on to his towering sword, back in his childhood as he tried to fend off the Jal Shey.

It was the killing urge that surged through Shinsou’s system now. Such wild, volatile emotions had never been taught or entertained by the people who had educated the Telgradian, as they were frowned upon as sinful and archaic. Yet as the claw marks etched into the floor where he had been a moment ago fixed in Shinsou’s mind, along with memories of the Brotherhoods threats on his and Storm’s life and freedom, he understood the meaning of this ugly sensation. At this moment, he wanted to get bloody. It was a real, undeniable abhorrence towards another and its sting kept his heart pounding.

Just to his left, the other councillor swung back and forth wildly at Storm, as if blindfolded, unable to hit the agile electromancer. A flash of Veritas's lightning attack registered in the corner of Shinsou’s vision, one that pulsed out into the night from every which way, but Osiris was too focused on his own opponent to see what had happened. The leader turned to face him once more, scouring the wall with another feral swipe as the livid Telgradian ducked the telegraphed attack and lashed out with a powerful sweep, knocking the aged assailant to the ground. An ash-like eruption of dark matter filled the vicinity as Osiris mounted his captor and tore at the air behind him, clutching the councillor’s pallid neck as he did.

“Time to die, you son-of-a-bitch!” Shinsou panted, seething through gritted teeth at the man trapped under his weight, “And don’t worry, because you won’t be alone; I’ll be sending your fucking committee along as your escort to hell presently!”

The anxious eyes of the Telgradian narrowed into a creased grin, his flustered red face coated in a thin film of sweat even in the damning cold of the room. He was enjoying this. Sitting up, he reached out and dragged a dark lance out of the void-like tear he had created, glaring at the cringing face staring back at him. Shaking with an uncontrollable rage, he tightened his grip around the shaft and motioned the point to his enemy’s throat, ready to satisfy his lust for death.

“Ugh!”

Suddenly, the other councillor cannoned into the mounted Shinsou, a result of another powerful, if not clumsy blast against him by a floored Storm Veritas from the opposite end of the room. The second adversary had been reduced to a smoking, shambling corpse by the electromancer but now the dead weight pinned Osiris down and allowed the platinum haired oppressor time to recover. Barking his cloudy breath with sheer effort, Shinsou’s now gritted teeth occasionally emitted a spray of saliva as he struggled to free himself from underneath the dead man in time and grab his discarded dark matter lance. His bright eyes flared and his whole body shook with effort as Shinsou finally wriggled free, meeting the sole remaining councillor halfway to his feet with the black Telgradian magic in hand.

Like a pouncing guard-dog the Telgradian barrelled into the remaining leader, knocking him to the ground in a flurry of blood and sweat. Writhing around on the ground, the two struggled constantly as the councillor pulled his clawed gauntlet free from their tangle of limbs and forced it down towards Shinsou’s gut. He tried stabbing and slashing like a man felling a fatted beast at the neck, endlessly willing the needles to punch into the Telgradian’s belly. It felt as if he struck seemingly not even just to end the ordeal, but simply to satisfy his cruel lust for the death of the Brotherhood’s traitor. Grasping the councillor’s clawed hand, Shinsou desperately threw back his assailant’s arm and rolled him onto his front, locking the arm back as he did so.

Got you. Say goodnight!

As he forced the man down, thrashing with every bit of strength as he was held, Osiris couldn’t help but feel vindicated. The resistance became less and less until the man simply had to submit, groaning through pursed lips in frustration at his weakness in having underestimated his captive.

“You’re done here, you little shitstain. You and the whole council are DONE!” Shinsou screamed as he fashioned another dark lance with a crackle from beneath his free palm.

Again and again that lance smashed into the back of the leader’s skull, shattering the aged man’s cranium to a pulp in the corner of the stone room. Through the cries and the struggling, the choking and the coughing of blood, Shinsou dashed his crackling lance harder still upon his man. Soaked in blood and caught in a fever of rage, each blow became more protracted until Osiris finally lifted the limp body and drove it down face first onto the cell floor. The Telgradian fell, lacking the strength even to kneel, next to the two silent carcasses. Something dark had taken over him in those minutes of fury. The memories of subjugation from his past that had haunted him for so long blended sickeningly with the realization that the Brotherhood had all this time been imposing their will on everyone, on Storm and on him. He had never been their enforcer; they had been his master.

No-one under their control had been free, until now. Until this moment.

“Fuck you. Fuck all of you.” He whispered, gazing up at the ceiling through eyes flecked with spatters of blood. “Never again will I be anyone’s slave.”

How did these sorry sons of bitches ever get the drop on us?

After Storm summarily dispatched the first of three cleric-types, he watched as the other two approached as both he and Shinsou waited. The councilors were confident, swaggering, and squared off like a child lining his foot to crush a wounded beetle. The rank, foul stench of burning hair and meat didn’t seem to turn their stomachs, and the display of power he just unleashed didn’t scare them off as he expected it would.

Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, he prepared for magic. Beneath his leather gloves sat the scales of Moonwing, a might dragon now reduced to gauntlet form, ready to block some fearsome magic.

It was a magic that didn’t arrive immediately. The snarling, thin Brotherhood representative lashed out with claws, his speed impressive – for a human.

How do these motherf*ckers NOT know who they’re dealing with?

Flails of magic swished and hummed through the air as the opponents fists extended in clawlike apparitions. They were akin to black magic rapiers, but seemed to pop and hum with each swing. With each miss, the eyes of the Brotherhood champion grew wider and more desperate, an exasperation and obvious surprise that these blows were not landing. Storm reared to fire a blast of white anger at the jailor when he was finally struck.

The leg sweep caught him; it was clever and creative. Spinning about his right leg, a left foot was fired from the Brotherhood councilor, sending the wizard tumbling backwards, landing with an awful thump against the unforgiving stone. Merciless, the tall opponent leapt at the downed electromancer, a deathblow of black misery ready to strike from a balled right fist.

Oh, f*ck off already.

With speed and venom, the experienced Veritas lashed out with a mighty blast, clapping his wrists together from his back and sending a twisting burst of blue and white firing out brutally. It hit the assailant, sending him screaming across the room in a charred, blackening huff, crashing into the other two duelers.

“Head’s up Shin!”

Vaan Osiris didn’t hear him, but soon enough eradicated his own opponent, smashing the skull of the other robed villain into a pasty mess of grey, red, and awful. Several extra strikes followed to the clearly downed carcass, Storm’s exasperated companion brutally bludgeoning the dead bag of meat.

Save some of that fury for the others, little fella.

Anger issues unaddressed, the duo marched from their chamber, the low ceilinged would-be prison a simple set of abandoned hallways set at firm right angles. Reaching the center corridor, frequent torchlights clearly illuminated the two main paths. To their right, a large amphitheater was empty; a large table full of empty seats and unfinished food left about five settings. An eerie quiet fell as their footsteps clacked on the stone; only a few fruit flies hovered above a spread of banana and mango perched on the center table.

“Ain’t shit down here. Five seats, I think we know of three. Where are the others?”

A flash of rage bubbled in his chest, wondering if the assailant who had trapped them accounted for one of the seats. His eyes continued to pop about the room and hallway behind them, which appeared to be completely devoid of any furniture, save the bloody pulp Shinsou had sculpted and the two steaming briquettes Storm had freshly roasted. Further still, a door led to the streetside.

“I suppose we can head out. Hit the street, and influence some townies to give us a lead on these pricks. This was still too easy; the mercenary who grabbed us sure as shit knew what we were capable of. Obviously, those roasted rubes back in the hallway had no idea, or didn’t care enough to bother covering their asses. It doesn’t add up.”

As they marched back past the hallway where their impromptu prison had been erected, Storm peered in to once more admire his handiwork.

The hell?

There was nothing. No blood, no smoke, no smell, no bodies.

“The hell is this?”

Storm Veritas looked less than pleased at the contents of the room, or lack thereof, but Shinsou had gone way past that and straight to livid. Yes, they were there to do a job, and, yes, there had to be an element of professionalism about the operation, but the Telgradian had more of an axe to grind with the council than his partner and had considered his hard earned kill to be the ultimate retribution. Now, though, the Brotherhood’s council seemed to have taken even that away from him; their apparent trophies erased from existence along with any evidence of their struggle. Even in death they still taunted him.

Taking a step back, Osiris tapped his knuckles on the wall next to him. It wasn’t so much a punch but more of an irritated rapping on the cracked plaster. Once again, they had more questions than answers and, once again, they were being toyed with.

“Now what?” Osiris seethed quietly through clenched teeth, “Did they resurrect, or are Whitevale’s cleaners just really good at their jobs? Actually, you know what? I hope he resurrected, to be honest with you, because then I’d get the satisfaction of sucking his eyes out through his nose. I’ll rip out his lungs, sun dry them and wear them as a little waistcoat.”

The aggression was wasted, and Osiris knew it, but it felt good to vent.

Calm down. You’ve still got work to do, just move on. We’ll get to the bottom of this in the knowledge they’ll pay their dues in time.

“Let’s get out of here, right after I get my weapons back. No Stygian – no plan.”

Shinsou turned and noted a corridor that ran adjacent to the barren prison. A quick exploration revealed an unguarded room that held his possessions, and, with a feeling of relief, Osiris collected the entirety of his confiscated equipment. Traversing the passageway back, a further left turn looked as if it led to back to Whitevale outside. He tapped Storm on his shoulder and indicated the doorway to the exit in question; the electromancer, presumably sick of the barracks as well, was only too happy to oblige, powerfully striding forward as Shinsou followed.

Whitevale had once been a fairly non-descript town by Coronian standards, but since the arrival of the Brotherhood had become something more akin to something that reminded the Telgradian of a Raiaeran town before the era of the Forgotten One. Its elegantly designed wood and stone buildings, wide paved thoroughfares, and abundance of Castigar related accentuation struck Shinsou as particularly outlandish and less subtle than he remembered. Unlike other faction-occupied settlements in the country, there was no mighty citadel in the settlement in which the Brotherhood took shelter. Instead, a smattering of odd government-style buildings on the surface marked their control of this strange city-state. Shinsou knew that Whitevale’s instestines, the underground complex, was where they would find the most success but they needed to know exactly where to get in.

The pair had managed to hold out for a few dreadful hours against their captors, but as a result had been far removed from events outside. A swift advance into the streets, where the cold night air had transitioned into the warmth of dawn, revealed to Shinsou and Storm an eerie silence that had engulfed the rest of the city. Its denizens had been forced to move, apparently at short notice. Those citizens who had been living in Whitevale – and of these there were many – had been evacuated. Here and there the Telgradian could see strewn luggage in the road and unlatched open doors banging to and fro in the breeze.

Everyone got out in a hell of a hurry, so it looks like our arrival here didn’t go un-noticed. Unlucky for us.

Now, the Telgradian and his partner-in-crime faced the same problems as before, only on a far grander scale. Before, at least they had the element of surprise. That part of the plan had been well and truly blown to hell. There was no one here to lead them anywhere, either. It had been further screwed up by the exertion of the scuffle a few minutes ago. Worse still, they couldn’t be sure that the councillors they thought they had killed were even dead, though by all rights no amount of magic outside of that the Ai’Bron used could have possibly resurrected the misshapen eggshell-like mess that Shinsou had left in the cell.

Adopting an uncharacteristically grim expression upon his youthful features, Shinsou turned to his ally.

“The way I see it, we only have two options. Sweep the town for the entrance to the complex ourselves, which could take hours, or find a group of guards on the perimeter and try Stygian again. We’re making a lot of assumptions about who may or may not still be here; it could be the council are gone. But, they could also be bunkered up underground. Hang on…How far down beneath the earth could your electromagnetism go, and how much could you lift?”

An idea crossed Shinsou's mind. It was a long shot, but if it worked...

Why seek out the council if we can bring them to us? The bunker, the corridors themselves...they're all lined with steel.

The outraged epithet of the Telgradian showed a type of emotion that Storm rarely saw from Shinsou. It was clear that he saw the same thing that the aging wizard saw; the escape of the Brotherhood may have been a missed opportunity, even as the tandem’s own health felt like anything but a guarantee. For a duo which appeared fated for certain death only a few hours ago, there was far from an appreciation for their current predicament.

Still, something felt very wrong here.

Why is the town empty? And how powerful does this kid think I am?

Shinsou had mentioned the possibility that the Brotherhood was bunkered underground, and quickly asked how deep beneath the earth the electromagnetic capabilities could reach. Truth be told, Storm wasn’t sure, but he found that complications arose when he tried to pull through the earth, which tended to be ripe with rocks and slabs of odd things that inevitably contained iron. Lifting anything of heft was chaos; precision in the blind was completely impossible.

Unless chaos is a blessing in disguise.

His face was licked pleasantly by the cold air of the late evening, however even in the dark environment of the small town things felt too quiet. The wind whispered with suspicious volume given the population of Whitevale. Some people worked nights, or early mornings; where the hell were they all?

They’re all hiding.

“I’m not sure how deep I can pull, to answer your question. Even I have my limits. Feels like just about everyone is missing – so I think you’re right with the bunker theory. Way too quick for the town to evacuate; my bet is the whole Brotherhood-infested town is under our feet. I can’t lift a bunker, but I can raise hell.”

Eyes darted about the town, as the bunker was not particularly hidden. A large iron bunkhead was affixed flat to the earth in the center of a large clearing which represented the town market. Based on the orientation of the door, it was clear that the stairs would lead down westward. By his measure, thirty feet west of the door would be perfect.

“Here we are.” Walking towards the area which he estimated would hold the bunker, Storm smiled with a sadistic, knowing grin as he extended a hand foreward, his magnetic field taking root as a large panel or rock was located quickly. He wasn’t sure what it was, but based on the strength of the field which buzzed his fingertips like the rattle of a wagon over cobblestones. It was either very large, or not very deep.

The sleep deprived wizard grew deadly serious as his eyes fixed into a squint; his feet pressed firm into the earth as he turned his palms upward. The fields danced around the slab-or-rock-or-whatever, and he felt his energy pulse wildly as his fingertips flexed into claws, pulling that which was not present. It was moving, whatever it was, and it was heavy.

Shit, it’s too much. Can’t f*cking lift it.

The feet of Veritas were actually pushed more firmly into the earth as his magnetic resonance pulled his body down; his very bones ached as he felt like a great weight was pulling him into the earth’s very core. The ground began to tremble, dust and dirt popping and hopping around off the earth like small bugs stretching to escape the spider’s web. Just as his energy felt completely spent and his body nearly collapsed, a wonderful pulse of release and squealing sound exploded before him.

”Creeeaaaa—creaaa-shhing!”

Like pulling free a stubborn scab or painful splinter, a wonderful relief washed over the adventurer’s body as a four-foot section of pipe tore free from the bowels of the city, a section of metal slab and chunk of cement still affixed to it. The cylinder sprung from the earth and landed beside him, crashing down with a thunk and a small splash.

Water pipe. You beautiful son of a bitch.

“Hope you’re ready for hell to come through that bulkhead. I don’t know where the other exit is, but we flooded the chamber; they’re going to pour out of every hole like rats of a sinking ship.”

The sound of screams below him echoed a confirmation of his suspicion. They had been bunkered, and Storm had just ruined all of their plans.

The night that sheltered Shinsou and Storm started to give way to dawn, but the faint light did little to alleviate the haunting atmosphere that now washed over the clearing. As the screams of Whitevale’s denizens rumbled underneath the empty streets, the two men looked at one another. Shinsou felt that their silent exchanges served only to gauge one another’s reaction; a test to see if either man had qualms about what they were doing, to see if either one had the mettle to see this accidentally achieved but conveniently brutal outcome through to the end and take advantage of the moment. If either one of them were expecting the other to baulk, they would have been disappointed; both men stood firm and ready and in full knowledge of what they had done.

Together, we will break the council like brittle kindling. There is little I won’t do to meet that end. Like I said to him before; there can be no understanding without context, and what we bring to Whitevale today is the conviction that context needs.

A sudden, rapid drumming of footsteps gave cause for them both to break their silent vigil.

“Here we go,” Shinsou started, his hand hovering over the hilt of his blade, “sift the rats for their leaders. It wouldn’t be beyond the council to use their people as hostages or shields to make their escape.”

The softer, faster paces of the fleeing citizens mingled with the inner sanctum guardsmen’s heavy advances and before long a stream of saturated, panicked men and women burst forth from the bulkhead’s doorway and declared their entrance into the abandoned quarter of Whitevale. Their heavy and sluggish movements told the Telgradian that they were sore and suffering, even the guards, and thus would look to flee rather than fight them. Even those who still had the Brotherhood’s doctrine embedded deeply into their minds and fire in their bellies would offer little resistance to the significantly healthier pair.

“Stay here,” Shinsou suggested to his deadly partner as the crowd massed at the passage, “I’ll look for them in the crowd while you cover the exit. They’ll be wearing gloves like the others; ones that they can’t take off without three incantations. If you see anyone heading for the hills wearing one; roast them. No mercy. The bastards won’t afford us any.”

Without waiting for Storm, Shinsou waded into the river of fleeing men, women and children in short order. The nimble Telgradian slipped between the gaps in the crowd expertly as if he were navigating into a small and busy thoroughfare in Radasanth; his determined expression held fast and golden eyes darting from face to face. It was here that his boyish charm was finally usurped by his vast experience. Unlike Veritas, Osiris’s quarry, the two remaining councillors, he would know by sight. If he hadn’t been told what to look for, Storm would likely have skipped over them without ever noticing. As Shinsou dove further into the solid mass of bodies, the cool scent of the morning’s air was replaced instead with the immutable, foul stench of urine and stagnant water. The ruptured pipe had obviously been for sanitation and now hundreds of people milled about, apparently, in their own filth. It gave the Telgradian an odd sense of satisfaction that somewhere here, the councillors were drenched in their own piss.

…and, very soon, their own blood.

The image was a forgivable indulgence, he reasoned, with all things considered. Death demanded payment. The corpses of the ruling council lying before the people they betrayed would serve as an edifice of respect for all those that had perished in the Brotherhood’s name to this day.

Shinsou’s stony expression fell upon one face in the crowd as a man in front of him looked up and darted left out of the Telgradian’s sight. It didn’t matter; if the figure was of any consequence, Storm would fry him. The man that Shinsou was focused on was middle aged with soaking strands of nut brown hair bobbing about his face as he tried to trudge in time with his peers. He was robed in a soggy cape and was doing his best to keep his hands and face hidden from sight, but the man returned his patriarchal glare before widening it to a horrified stare, finally realizing through the haze of the chaos who it was who descended upon him.

Councillor Gan! Oh yes, you’re long overdue for your appointment with the reaper…

Slowly but surely Shinsou got closer and the pair seemed to stride towards each other in perfect unison; footfall matched, arms striding in time, chests puffed out. Gan’s fear progressed into a seething anger, culminating with the drawing of a curved blade from underneath his cape. Lanes of frightened people seemed to snake around them, like magnets repelling each other, but the dark mud of Whitevale’s flooding road slowed the wayward refugees down to the point where most of them gave up, seemingly now more interested in becoming spectators to an imminent skirmish between the Councillor and his white coated aggressor. Roughly thirty feet in diameter, the ring of people encircled a courtyard retaining the scent of piss but none of the decadence of the Whitevale of the night before and watched as the Telgradian flung himself into action.

With all of his agility and remaining stamina at the forefront of his attack, Osiris sprung from his left foot, Stygian drawn to his right and spun on his toes to bring the deadly blade screaming in an arc towards Gan’s unprotected midriff. The hard crash of metal upon metal brought a momentary silence from the crowd as the Councillor expertly guided his sabre upwards to parry the blow, but his head lolled back and his arms splayed loosely outwards from the recoil of the guard. Seeing the opening, the Telgradian kicked out and removed Gan’s legs from underneath him in a split second, sending the Brotherhood chief crashing into the dirt with a grunt. Cape and sabre became tangled amongst sprawled limbs, and before Gan had a chance to recover Osiris kicked out harshly at the hilt of the offending weapon. He watched with satisfaction as it spiralled out of reach, settling itself in a puddle of excrement from the overflow of the leaking pipe.

“How does it feel, kneeling in your own shit?” Shinsou asked venomously as Stygian’s point hovered steadily against Gan’s pulsing jugular. “In front of the people you enslaved?”

Something changed within his prey at that moment in time. Gan’s expression lit up as he clapped loudly and ironically, his heavy, chubby digits colliding with considerable force.

“Quite the victory, eh?” The councillor’s thick Lornian accent sounded heavy and awkward amongst the relatively light Coronian dialect of his peers. He looked up at Shinsou with accusatory green eyes, and then gestured to the gathered crowd. “Oh, how you are so suited to our ranks. Tell me, Shinsou, what was the plan? Kill the council so you could lead the Brotherhood into a glorious era of peace and freedom, away from the tyranny of the council? You, of all people, a murderer of millions?! Surely you don’t mean to tell me that you and your friend become the heroes of this little game after all of the things you’ve done?”

Shinsou tried not to reel from the swell of truth that hit him from the ground, but dropped his gaze momentarily. Gan was right about one thing. Regardless of the outcome here, the Telgradian was drawn and compelled to agree that he had done some terrible things. This absolutely made him a hypocrite. But, what of it, Osiris reasoned? Beneath the pressure of the councillor’s heavy words there was a single, immutable truth that buried all of his doubts.

If he was corrupted…

“Then this is a cleansing corruption; one that will corrode the iron grip of the council on the Brotherhood.” Shinsou murmured at first, before shouting it again at the gathered massed, blade still drawn to Gan’s throat. “Did you hear me, Whitevale? If I am corrupt, let that corrosion be the force that breaks down the control of the people who oppress you! I don’t fear them and neither should you!”

The speech seemed to give force and energy to the crowd, but it wasn’t all positive. Storm watched on from beyond the circle as some people cheered and shouted, whilst others heckled and jeered. It wasn’t the reaction Shinsou had hoped for; clearly there were still loyalists in the town who answered to only one master, that of the Brotherhood council. Worse, there was still one councillor left, one who Shinsou hadn’t yet encountered.

Something had to be done.

Despite Shinsou’s apparently incompetent understanding of Whitevale’s broad political spectrum, the Telgradian knew of only one universal way to show the people that the regime change would be absolute. It was the only way to potentially mute an uprising and years of insurgency, though the act itself would create distrust and discomfort amongst the minority of those still in support of the Brotherhood council. A decision had to be made there and then. In the space of a breath, Osiris drew Stygian’s blade across the throat of the helpless councillor, who mustered only garbled choking as crimson and bile gushed from the gash in torrents. Moments later, the corpse crumpled in a gory tangle of limbs face first into the Whitevale dirt.

Some people cheered voraciously and stamped their feet in approval. Some stood in abject horror of the brutality that had taken place in front of their crying children, too afraid to speak or voice their disdain, even if they had suffered under the council. The minority representing the Brotherhood’s old regime looked for a moment as if they might break out into a scuffle with the opposing citizens but soon realised that numbers were not on their side and looked away dejectedly. There would be another day for retribution. They stood in the cold morning air, surrounding the bloodied body of Councillor Gan.

In the centre of the circle, surrounded by the Whitevale masses, stood Shinsou Vaan Osiris. Stygian’s blade was stained with fresh blood. The stench of murder surrounded him, filled his nostrils and flared his senses. In isolation, he had not enjoyed the execution, not one bit, but the unmistakeable feeling of vengeance overpowered him that night. Osiris had done what he had needed to do to cement their position, for now. Still, one thing concerned him. As Storm joined him in the centre, the crowd parting to let him through, Shinsou turned and faced his partner with fire in his eyes and in his belly.

“We failed. There was one that got away, a man by the name of Ducos. Professor Ducos, to be exact. He’s the most dangerous of all of them. He studied the eternal tap and on a few occasions I heard he managed to find a way to harness an artificial power that bears a resemblance to that used by the forgotten ones that blighted Raiaera.”

Shinsou looked to the sky, as if seeking divine guidance from Am'aleh. As he sheathed his sword, he looked back to the shambles of Gan’s corpse. She wouldn't have approved, but that was the least of his worries.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that he can’t be allowed to live. The power he possesses could cause us all sorts of problems..."

The Telgradian tailed off as he heard a hissing behind him. Turning to face the sound, he frowned as the bloodied corpse of Councillor Gan shattered into a million tiny fragments of light and dissolved into the morning air. Even the blood on Stygian's blade crumbled into firefly trails and dissipated into the night.

"A construct? Is that what happened to the other three we killed before?"

It was frustrating, but Osiris at least had an answer for the mystery of the disappearing bodies. Someone was jerking them around and his money was on...

"Ducos. This is his doing..."

Madness begets madness. Entropy is a f*cking tidal wave.

His plan had worked effectively enough; people screamed from the tunnels around the town, seeking refuge in masses, moving as a general swarm. They channeled away from Storm and Shinsou like a school of salmon avoiding rocks in the stream; a loud, muddled white noise accompanying the panic. Silently, the tired mage kept his eyes active, waiting for some overtly brave boy or plotting hero to try something foolish.

There were no such heroes in Whitevale; collectively the masses clearly knew not whether they had just been emancipated or sentenced. Some hid in houses, others sought the shadows, but none went so far as to not see what was about to happen.

Whatever the hell that might actually be.

When the venomous Osiris slaughtered a leader in the town square, Storm Veritas focused rather on the reaction of the people. Sadly, he knew what it looked like to watch a man die; more could be learned from what the people around him did. Children were pulled behind fathers’ cloaks and into mothers’ bosoms, eyes shielded to hide the horrors. Other eyes simply moved away, wishing not to see which they knew. Gasps, groans, and a few piercing cries soured the putrid air to welcome the truly foul dawn. More notably, very few moved away at speed, and none at all came to stop Shinsou.

Ceremonial execution complete, the body wafted into light as a few knelt. Confused, the electromancer didn’t know what to make of the whole ordeal. This wasn’t a resurrection or miracle per se, but he certainly didn’t know of any magic to make such sorcery tangible. Were these councilmen real people, or apparitions? Their blood and screams smelled and sounded real enough to him.

“Ducos? Ducos who? I’m not sure how long we screw around with someone that can…”

His words trailed into ether as the wizard spotted a pair of large, deep set, darting eyes beneath a short hood. He knew those eyes.

You mother*cker…

Walking forward through the path of sludge and what was the disintegrated corpse, Storm was transfixed on the little covered man who had begun to attempt to flee in the crowd. The squish-splat of his stolen shoes through the mud and awful was totally ignored as Veritas burst into a dash, with impossibly long, gazelle-like strides closing the gap on the little man.

“Kazui! Don’t take these people down with you, you chickenshit!”

One tall blacksmith stepped in the path of Storm to slow him; the fool’s errand could normally have led to his swift death. Too focused on the little hooded assassin now twenty feet in front of him, the electromancer dealt with the shaved-headed tough as though he were an upturned table in a bar fight. With a quick hop, the lithe killer leapt above the man, kicking down hard on his collarbone to vault him higher still. An effortless somersault allowed him to contort himself into a greater state of balance as he landed five feet from the waiting Kazui, who had found himself cornered amongst a throng of villagers who also had nowhere left to run. The masses formed a human bottleneck, a wall of humanity not over six feet in either direction of the two. Only the downed, injured man who pushed himself away stood behind Storm; only Storm stood between Kazui and escape.

Pulling his hood back from his scarred face, the squat little professional discarded the terrycloth covering as he defensively crouched, each fist brandishing a knuckle-duster with shining stone studs and a five-inch length of sharp black which the adventurer correctly assumed to be obsidian.

No metal. He may be a f*cking scumbag, but he’s no fool.

Without moving forward, Kazui spoke in a relaxed, even tone, no fear or panic in his voice.

“You know how easily I could have killed you and him; had you couple of queens dead to rights! Let me go; even the score.”

A deep inhale followed as Storm considered the proposition of the mercenary. The diminutive bastard was right; should the assassin have so wished, he could easily have slain both of them without a second consideration. Then again, this same little man had delivered them to the Brotherhood, with an expectation they would then be killed.

"You're not wearing metal. You followed us both. You know who I am. You should have killed me when you had the chance."

Even amongst the chaotic rabble of Whitevale, Storm’s keen eye had somehow managed to pick Kazui out of the crowd and now the mercenary that had tailed them from Radasanth was about to pay his dues in full; very painfully indeed. As the electromancer pounced on his prey, almost salivating at the mouth at the prospect of leveling the score, Shinsou pushed his way through the now scattered but condensed crowd; the intention to simply watch his partner find the most creative of endings for the little bastard who had tried to serve them on a plate to the Brotherhood. There was no point keeping him alive now; Kazui would tell them nothing of any value.

I hope it’s a painful goodbye. If there’s anyone who can whip up the furies as fiercely as Storm can, I’ve yet to meet them.

His fantasising was interrupted by the pushing and the movement of the swell of people behind him who were keen to follow the action. Some of them called for mercy, some of them screamed for Kazui’s head and the rest stood in shocked silence as Storm’s damning indictment of his captor’s deliberate and decisive actions seethed through the night. A thirty-foot gap between the street and a set of large perimeter metal railings opened up as a current of people massed behind the Telgradian; afraid to step forth in case they should attract the ire of either of them.

The clean shaven assassin met eyes with his aggressor Veritas as the electromancer delivered his verbal death sentence. There were only two ways out; either through Storm, or into the cold darkness of oblivion.

The choice was easy.

Lurching forwards, the assassin spat into Vertias’s eye and brought the obsidian blade upwards towards the electromancer’s face. Shinsou watched on impressed as Storm acted quickly, more than anyone could have been prepared for, and used his recoil to instinctively roll backwards to avoid the swipe. The gathered crowd offered a collective roar as Kazui twisted back onto his knees and pulled a razor garrotte from his tunic, the thin wire barely visible in the poor light.

Shit. One touch from that and Storm’s going to lose a lot more than just his pride…

Shinsou shuffled forward with one hand on Enpera’s hilt, ready to end the fight if it looked beyond his partner, but it was then that he noticed what Veritas was doing as the load creaking of metal shrieked across Whitevale. From his position in the road, Storm was using his magnetism to manipulate the spiked security railings now less than twenty feet away. As Kazui kept his clutch tight on the garrote, he broke into a sprint and attempted to swerve the cold, seething electromancer to get behind him. Extending an arm, Storm ripped the railings from their concrete base and commanded them forward.

There was a scream as one of the many interlinked spikes drove through the flesh of Kazui’s foot, smashing sickeningly through his metatarsal and pinning him to the ground, causing thick torrents of blood to pour down the front of his boot. Futilely wresting at metal bar, he roared as the rest of the iron railings contorted around him, trapping him in a closely knit cage.

That’s poetic, Shinsou admitted, as he recalled the similarities of how the Brotherhood had set up Storm for a fall; a murder where the politician had been unceremoniously skewered in a cage. Bravo, Storm.

It was far too late for Kazui now. Pacing from his right foot, the electromancer tightened the clutch of the railings, causing them to crumple like paper inwards, but slowly; just long enough for the assassin to feel the abject horror of his impending death and for Storm to enjoy the satisfaction of one of his most poetic little creations. After a few seconds, Veritas snarled and tightened his fist, mercilessly driving the black painted rails into Kazui’s body, crushing his ribs first before the man’s skull shattered with a sickening crunch. Blood, gore and bursting flesh poured forth from the iron prison and spattered upon the ground, marking the end of the assassin’s relatively short life.

The crowd were silenced as the remnants of the Brotherhood’s control over Whitevale bled into the open street. Defiantly, Veritas walked towards Shinsou, wiping the sleeve of his finery across his face to finally clear away the last of Kazui’s bodily fluids.

“I don’t know about you, but that felt good and it was no less than the little bastard deserved. There’s one more thing we need to do, though.” Shinsou remarked , Enpera slung to his side as they trudged towards the epicenter of the council’s former stronghold. “I want to search the council chamber. They have something in there we need to confiscate from them…"

Compartmentalization had proven itself again the best friend of any true villain. It wasn’t as though Kazui was an exceptionally evil, wretched, or terrible man; the lethal magician sought him originally with a streak of vengeance driving him, but allowed logic to dictate action above and beyond either the hedonistic desire to feel powerful, or the moralist who wished to show empathy for a man just doing his job.

An assassin, not so different from me in many ways. Still, with the city in tumult, a show of mercy is a death sentence for all three of us. These people need power to command them, and will never kneel for the weak and soft. Kazui is the perfect sacrificial lamb. This is the business you chose…

He couldn’t deny the rush he derived from crushing the man within the self-fashioned cage. The gasp of men and women, the appalled wails of humans terrified by their own limitations in the presence of a walking half-deity. Most people fear what they do not understand; here in the low light of pre-dawn, the citizens were united in their abject terror regarding the two men they witnessed kill in cold blood.

As the body fell in a tangled heap, blood poured indiscriminately as natives scrambled. Some ran understandably away from the horrifying wielder of lightning; other brave townies raced to show mercy and cover the body with bedsheets. There was no right or wrong in the mind of the killer; there were just shades of gray amongst a city of people found in a bad situation.

Shinsou spoke to him with a coldness he had not experienced; clearly he had taken a liking to the carnage that he had not previously shown. It was understandable; Storm’s first embrace of the darkness brought an odd satisfaction to him as well.

“Back into the tunnel, then. I doubt we have to worry about these people chasing us with pitchforks and torches at this point.” The low, scratchy voice of the tired adventurer was directed solely at Vaan Osiris, however his eyes caught the wild flow of humanity about him, giving the two wielders of magic a wide berth.

New Alphas had been established in the pack; wherever the rest of the Brotherhood had flown to rendered moot in the ashes of Whitevale’s fall. A hand fell upon the dark mage’s shoulder as Storm pivoted, standing tall and speaking in a loud, strong, booming voice to the town.

“I want to be done killing here. No more examples need to be set today, or ever again in Whitevale. Go to your homes; mourn your dead. The Council’s reign of terror is over!”

There was a tepid mixture of applause and silence as the substance of his words washed over the town. There reaction was a mixture of shock, fear, and indecision, as the Council was likely no villain to the town it unknowingly held captive. The mild response was fine by the wizard; this was no impromptu rally. His desire was simply to keep any would-be heroes from chasing down a legacy and trying something stupid.

The chambers were still abandoned, and the handful of townspeople who took shelter in the fracas covered their faces and sprinted out as the tandem marched into the stone-lined chamber. The floor had been covered for some fifteen feet with a thin layer of sludge which poured in through the door, but beyond that the chambers remained the cleanest, quietest area in the city. If anyone else dared run into the Council rooms, they’d certainly be cowering in corners, praying to their gods that the hellfire that rained down upon their city didn’t see them hiding or smell the urine on their pants.

“Straight ahead, right? This place was under constant watch not so long ago; before we went and f*cked everything up it was probably the safest place in Whitevale. Let’s get in and out quickly.”

Tired, covered in mud, blood, soot and sewage, Storm Veritas was in no mood for pleasantries or a half-assed scavenger hunt. From the sunken shoulders of his friend, he expected Shinsou to be similarly motivated to seek shower, suds, and sleep.

Finally feeling the weight of tiredness bear on him, Shinsou rubbed a sore eye with his knuckle and rubbed at his forehead furiously to stave off the approaching fatigue, at least for a few more moments. He, like Storm, had been up for god-knows how long and had given everything he could to their task, both physically and mentally. But, with the end of the beginning in sight, Shinsou was determined to finish this one last errand before they headed for more comfortable lodgings and the promise of a solid day’s sleep.

The sodden, churned surface of a mud path carved a puddle-ridden courtyard in two. It was littered with soggy leaves and as their footsteps crunched over crumbs of loose gravel one by one, the distinctive mixed smells of mud and rainwater filled the Telgradian's nostrils. The cool odor acted like smelling salts; perking up Osris’s senses and giving him a second wind.

After a few more paces, Shinsou stopped to cast his gaze to the looming form of the Brotherhood’s now abandoned headquarters.

Just ahead, an iron wrought gate stood at least three times the height of him and on either side there was a wall that encircled the inner sanctum of the chambers. The gate was topped with jagged iron spikes that jutted out dangerously, preventing any unwanted guests from vaulting the walls. The keep was made of some sort of washed limestone and finely carved statues adorned the edges of the fort around its wooden front doors. Assorted coats of arms were some of the more prominent statuary, breathtaking in their beauty and refinement but worn through age. They all represented the ancestry of the council; each a bloodline loyal to the Castigars.

“Have you ever heard the story of Arius Mephisto?” The Telgradian suddenly turned to Storm, who wearily shook his head. The man held a polite expression of disinterest; one that Shinsou could sympathize with given the late hour of the day and the fact the electromancer was flagging as much as he was. “Perhaps another time, when our heads are fresher, I’ll tell you about him. But just to give some credence as to our errand here, he was the original Castigar leader, long ago. We’re here for his armor.”

As he approached the main entrance, The Telgradian pressed his hand against the heavy oak door on the right, and after a bit of a struggle it slowly opened on its oiled hinges.

The abandoned halls of the building were as silent as a crypt, and almost as dark and eerie. Shinsou knew that the place was well guarded during its use and kept away from the public. According to what he knew, it was used only to house the small and now-defunct Brotherhood of the Castigar council and was so scarcely attended by anyone from outside that many rumors circulated about what they kept here. As the heavily reinforced doors slammed behind him, his golden eyes fixated on nothing as Storm looked on.

“The council believed the armor Arius wore gave him the ability to subjugate his followers. No-one quite knows how – after all, the piece we are looking for has been sealed away in the chamber for millennia, away from those who might study it. Ducos – the one who got away from us – told me once that he was using it to channel influence over the people of Whitevale. I have no idea how.”

It was then that Storm realized why their efforts went mostly un-applauded by their lukewarm audience an hour ago. He still didn’t particularly care for their affection, but suddenly things were starting to make a little sense.

“Yeah, I think he was telling the truth too,” Shinsou noticed the change of expression on his partner’s face. “That’s why they weren’t particularly receptive to us. Or, for that matter, to any outsiders since the Brotherhood took over here. Come on – we’re not far away. I’ve been here before.”

Shinsou took a moment to get his bearings.

Far over his head, vaults and arches sailed up and converged in a classical array of marble carved embellishments in the center of the hall. A row of marble columns rose to a second floor scarlet-carpeted staircase and created an avenue that extended to the end of the hall in which the Telgradian stood. At the end of this avenue two white statues of Arius Mephisto, shrouded in dark robes, flanked a pair of double doors. The floor of the hall consisted of an arrangement of black and white stone slabs that led to a center circle underneath the point of a crystal chandelier. Here, the emblem of the Castigars was sketched out over the circumference of the room; a clenched fist surrounded by a black circle.

Shinsou, with Storm in tow, walked a straight path between the columns in silence towards what he knew to be the now-unguarded mausoleum where Mephisto was entombed. The lay-out of this section of the building was similar to Raiaeran architecture; high, narrow windows of plain leaded glass that alternated with the pillars, dark with the lack of any background light. Under these were pedestals that contained small statues and trinkets. Rows of lighted candles flickered in their iron holders positioned either side of these figurines, the smell of their smouldering wicks wafting through the hallway.

The candles flickered at the edges of Shinsou’s vision as they entered a new section from the west wing they had just left. More candles danced in the cool draught that blew through the open hallway; harbingers leading them to their goal. The glowing tips of their flames illuminated the corridor and gave light to the iron door ahead. As the breeze made them sputter and smoulder, the corner of Shinsou’s lips turned up.

“Arius’s tomb,” Shinsou explained, “Was relocated from the outlands to Whitevale in the early parts of the century. What we are looking at now is his mausoleum. Let’s go.”

The Telgradian had sensed the presence of the armour the moment that the twisting tendrils of the candle’s flames had given them line of sight. Osiris felt something a little different from it than the living things he was used to probing with his ability to sense life. Threats, as they usually were when they came, registered as a throbbing pulse within the pit of his stomach. From the intensity and timing of the pulses, Shinsou Vaan Osiris was able to gauge a living being. Here, though, the pulses were passing, drawing away from him even as he drew his breath. It heightened his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and scents from the corridor wafted into his nose, the heaviest of which was the bitter combination of musk and incense.

Shinsou settled Enpera firmly against the side of his coat as they marched forward and opened the iron door at the end of the corridor.

The walls in the tomb were hung with freshly pressed tapestries in honor of the deceased. More banners dangled from the vaulted rafters, and the room smelled of blended herbs that circulated from hanging incense pots. There were stone pews that dominated the middle of the hall, forming a pathway to what appeared to be a stone coffin.

Shinsou, a wan smile fixed on his face, approached the sarcophagus and rubbed a hand over the engraved plate to remove the dust. The words were too worn to read, but he knew that part of what they said was A summer spent, a winter earned and Here lies Arius Mephisto, the Executor ISOS.

Poetic to the last. Osiris mused as he removed the heavy lid, pushing all of his weight upwards on the edge until the stone crashed to the floor with an almighty crassshhhhh.

The hall hung heavy with anticipation.

“Holy fucking shit.”

The Telgradian’s sudden exclamation startled Veritas, who rushed over to his side.

Inside the white silk-lined coffin was a Mythril cuirass, topped with an overlapping gorget. The armor, polished to a mirror shine, was Mephisto’s, clearly developed in antiquity for the Castigar leader by the most skilled of armorers available to the militant icon. The craft work on the breastplate was obviously exemplary. But it wasn’t the quality of the piece, nor the symbolic or even physical attributes, that had shocked Osiris. Lifting the piece out carefully in both hands, Shinsou held the plate to the light, inspecting it closely.

“It’s active.”

Osiris marveled as the armor began to shine brightly, a cozened indigo electrical current swirling around interior the interior of the metal. Watching the strange energy snap and fizz in a cacophony of paranormal activity was captivating but also a stern reminder to the Telgradian that this artifact was likely driving events above; events he believed lead to the brainwashing of Whitevale. Time was short. It had to be destroyed if the new Brotherhood stood a chance of retaining the loyalty of the people.

“This is the last hurdle. Put this out of commission and we’re home free.”

Time was short. Osiris approached the pedestal as the light from the crystal began to resonate. It had to be destroyed. Enpera waited by his side. The Telgradian quickly and violently drew a dark matter spell from within his grasp and slashed it across the smooth face of the glistening plate but the magic blade simply scraped over its surface without making so much as a scratch. Osiris proceeded with another heavy assault. The razor sharp weapon was applied to the armor with such force that a tremendous clang rang out all around, but once again the attack proved fruitless as the blade simply bounced off the Mythril.

“Magic resistance, eh? Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.”

Shinsou, now visibly annoyed, snapped his sword arm backwards and brought Enpera crashing down one more time upon the glistening artifact face, this time with moderate success as a fissure snaked up the curved breastplate that up until now had remained defiant in the face of the Telgradian.

At first the energy released from the armor was no more than a shimmer of purple mist that smelt of burned cobalt and diffused into the room. It drifted further from its midair epicentre and became slightly out of focus, like a poorly taken photograph, before suddenly ripping a giant void open from nothing with a pulsating crackle. The rift expanded further, its membrane humming as it pushed out, before imploding with a deafening shkkkkkkthuuukkkk!

Silence took over once again.

“The armor’s done, Shinsou. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Only a moment later did Shinsou truly react, hearing the voice of his companion reverberate through the room. His shoulders drooped for a moment and he cocked his head to one side, his brain struggling to make sense of everything that had transpired that night. After all, their journey that morning had been one micro-scale goal after another – getting into Whitevale, escaping, flushing out the councilors, killing Kazui and now destroying the armor. Now that they had to think about a much more macro-scale, Shinsou released they were knee deep in it, now.

Technically, they’d won. Hadn’t they? The Brotherhood as it was ceased to exist. However, Ducos was on the loose, a potential thorn in their side from now on. The professor, Shinsou knew, wouldn’t rest until he was back in control. Then there was the issue of Whitevale’s future, and keeping a leash on the loyal Brotherhood forces was a whole other problem entirely.

All of them were problems the pair had to face, but all of them were also issues for another day.

Fate would either deal them a winning hand, or they’d go down in flames.

Morning slipped into midday, and as the bedlam ended with a slow, distressed chatter, the town of Whitevale became somewhat clear within a few hours. Completely spent, the conquerors fled not to a hearty (and well deserved) breakfast, but rather a simple set of beds in the local tavern. With the luxury of electrically fused locks and metal-shorn barricades upon their doors and windows, both Storm Veritas and Shinsou Vaan Osiris were not heard from for a full day before the waking sun delivered a ravenous, refreshed duo. Storm did not wait for his associate to begin his operations; there was work to do.

“Yes, correct, transference. 3,000 gold from ‘Wired Woodwork’ to ‘Whitevale Woodwork’; I am the designee upon both accounts and would demand a notarized anonymous transfer.” Storm spoke to the clerk in the town bank over a two-inch thick sandwich; a sesame bun (boiled in proper Radasanthian fashion, of course), split parted wide with egg and imported, seasoned bacon.

The little man across the table looked incredulously at the tall, thin, clean-shaven wizard, aghast at a man he had witnessed firsthand butcher a stranger in the open air only days before. There were none to stand against him now, but a certain itch gave the pudgy clerk a dragging sense of moral obligation to raise hurdles in the path of the electromancer. Conversely, a second feeling, a spectacularly powerful sensation, pressed the balding budgeteer to avoid angering a man of such capability.

“Sir, I DO want to help you, but there are certain arrangements which must be made before we could consider allocating a transfer of such sight unseen. As you can imagine, the security of our clients is of the utmost importance, and I would never endanger your assets without following proper protocols for transference outward.”

Protocol… sounds like a codename for bullshit to me. Little man has tiny brass ones dangling, I have to give him that. Won’t let me launder the cash in without raising a stink, even though I’m sure he’s at least –heard- by now of what we pulled off.

A deep breath, Storm finished inhaling his sandwich, savoring the salty meat and savory egg flavors and snapping up the last pleasant aroma of melted Coronian Cheddar from the air. He smiled and paused, making a concerted effort not to lash out with anger. The wizard had already scared half the town into their homes; some showing of grace and humanity would be needed to oversee a land where citizens operated in a state of something less than abject terror.

“Let’s clear the air, shall we?” Storm sat across from the thick red cyper wood. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands free of grease and crumbs before gently laying them in plain sight upon the table. “We both know that I’ve made life a hell of a lot more stressful around here over the last day or so. You’re nervous, probably a little scared, and unsure of what you’re supposed to do with me. We also both know the police aren’t coming, since the Brotherhood drove them out months ago, and the Council isn’t coming back any time soon.”

Another deep breath, and Veritas waited patiently for the clerk to twitch in his chair, trying to straighten the cuffs on his sleeve before attempting to answer the wizard. Before he could issue a word, Storm continued.

“Relax, my friend. Relax! It’s over. The fighting, the killing, the chaos… It’s over! My contemporary and I have had a longstanding issue with the Council, but now wish simply to live in Whitevale and conduct business in peace. We are powerful, and can protect you, and ask nothing in exchange aside from your commitment to welcome us into this community. Based on how I understand the laws as constructed by the Brotherhood, the only rules I’ve broken relate to destruction of property, which I will of course happily recompense.”

Squirming, the little man began to settle a bit. There was something about the even charm, smooth voice, and calm demeanor of the conqueror which grabbed him and settled him.

“Sir, I simply…” the little man waited to be interrupted, surprised to be given the opportunity to speak. He had been caught red-handed trying to harass one of the most powerful wizards on Althanas, and was met with grace and patience. He was given no alternative but to cooperate. “I simply want to make sure we’re all handling you fairly. You gave me, and my family a hell of a scare.” A nervous smile crept across his face as his doughy fingers produced large wax pad, which he suspended above his tabletop candle. Moments later, the request was notarized.

“For your troubles.” Storm handed a pinch of warm golden coins to the small man, pressing them firmly into the sweating palm of the trembling banker. A weary, resigned smile was now wide about the face of the banker, and money would soon flow freely through Whitevale.

“You can breathe, folks! We’re all going to be just fine. Let me just leave this here and thank you all for your hospitality…”

Produced with such impossible slight of hand as to feel like magic, a heavy bundle of gold jingled softly atop the heavy marble counter in the center of Whitevale bank. No one dared sprint to grab it, and he would be out of the building long before they dared to open it, elation filling the room, fast growing eager to celebrate the massive windfall which would be spread happily amongst the many fortunate workers within the bank.

Striding away from the large stone structure, Storm welcomed the after-breakfast smoke which he promptly popped to life, a pinch of tobacco fired imminently within the cherrywood bowl of his trusty pipe. His grin was ear to ear as he approached the town center, and began using his otherworldly skills to repair the pipe he had ruptured to cause such a literal shitstorm in the first place. The buzz of his smoke dulled the lingering aroma, and soon enough the pipe found itself fixed, as townspeople gathered to help him replace the earth and began re-laying the sod upon the stained earth. He flipped coins here freely as well, the warm sun rising and drying the dew from the existing grasses as a community began to fuse again.

The hypnosis of the Brotherhood hadn't lasted long; none in his periphery appeared to come at him with anything but smiles and kind words. The pivot of the people was proving remarkable, as though they were awakening from a long slumber. To the adventurer, it was all far more simple.

Bunch of half-witted rubes around here, trading their loyalty for two coins a head. Gold solves damned near everything.

Thread Title: The Cleansing Corruption
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Storm Veritas & Shinsou Vaan Osiris

Gentlemen, let me start by thanking you for yet another excellent story. I much enjoyed your first, and as such, I had high expectations for its sequel. You did not disappoint. Note that, due to the high quality of this thread, much of my commentary is a bit nit-picky. I hope you can both benefit from at least some of it.

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Plot: 24/30

• Story- 9/10

I enjoyed the structure that you chose for Cleansing Corruption. You opened with a scene that introduced both men and their philosophies, thus providing some insight as to who they are as people. You had grand attacks broken up by more muted scheming scenes, which is something I think many authors overlook. Though I'll elaborate on this in my pacing commentary, the rising and falling action made for a very easy read. Rarely was I bored, or bogged down by too much action, or too little. I was also impressed by the simple skill with which you told a story together. Unlike A Game of Shadows, in which you mostly wrote your own unique storylines, your characters were together for the vast majority of the thread. You moved the story along almost seamlessly, speaking to both your writing and your collaboration abilities.

There was one particular element of the story, however, that threw me off. The decision to search for Arius' armor felt a bit rushed, and I found myself scrambling to keep up with that sudden change in the mission. A bit more buildup here would have been really beneficial. And while I think that you did a nice job of making Shin shelve the story until another time, as a reader, I was really disappointed. I know nothing of Arius, and a bit more information would have helped with the buildup (and satisfied my curiosity).

But the highest compliment that I can pay for this (or any story, really) is that you kept me guessing. I imagine I was just as dumbstruck as Shin and Storm when the bodies disappeared at the end of post eleven. Sharing in that confusion is such a neat experience, and few authors have succeeded in throwing me for a loop. The appearance of the assassin did something similar, though to a lesser degree. And Storm's decision to flood the bunker was not one that I could have predicted. I was incredibly impressed by your story telling.

• Setting- 8/10

In A Game of Shadows, setting was absolutely one of your strongest areas. Here, while it was still fantastic, I felt it did not serve as much purpose. You both did an excellent job of describing the darkness, and the rain, and that feeling of being totally and utterly drenched. I could feel it as I read along, a testament to your skill in this area. I also really enjoyed the way that you described the eeriness of the empty town, after everyone had retreated the bunker. But while your setting was immersive, I did not think you really used it to your advantage. How could you have used the surroundings to tell more about your characters? You defined the setting, and your characters acted within it. What more could you have done to give your setting more meaning?

• Pacing- 7/10

I have to start by commending you both. Pacing was something that I harped on when I judged A Game of Shadows. Then, you did not appear to have a clear start, middle, end, or climax; I was never sure if I was to be rushing or taking a breather. You have come absolute leaps and bounds since then, so thank you for paying close attention to this. It made for a more pleasant reading experience overall.

However, there were a few spots where pacing felt a bit off. First, the matter of fight scenes. When it comes to combat, I stick by the rule that less is more. A few well-written sentences of action can be far more effective than an entire paragraph, keeping the reader along for the ride the entire time. Too much, and you leave your audience bogged down by what may be unnecessary facts. As a writer, I had to have this drilled into my head, but as a reader, I absolutely see how the raw excitement of a fast-paced scene can be dulled by too much detail. I felt that a few of your fights, specifically in the jail directly after their capture, were too descriptive. I would encourage you to keep this in mind for your next thread. While you want to help your reader picture things, you should also give them the freedom to fill in a few blanks themselves.

Finally, I felt that acquiring the armor was a bit rushed, when compared to the rest of the thread. Considering the sheer power of the artifact, and what enormous role it played in your thread, I feel it could have used a bit more attention. Part of this could have come from more information, as I noted in the story category. Beyond that, you might have dedicated more than a few short paragraphs to locating and destroying it.

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Character: 23/30

• Communication- 8/10

When it came to communication, I had very few concerns. Both of you write your characters well, and the way that they communicate generally makes sense. I would still like to see more quirks, catch phrases, or unique speech patterns to give your dialogue some additional flare, but what you did have, for the most part, was solid. I did have an easier time telling your characters apart in this thread.

I do have two small pieces of advice. First, I would encourage you to make sure that the tones you set through dialogue stay consistent. There were a couple of instances where the mood seemed to shift far too quickly from one line to another. For example, post five saw a very jarring shift from mocking "congratulations, gentlemen" to commanding "shut your f*cking mouth." You wrote that one cautiously drew his weapon, but that did not seem enough to warrant a complete shift in tone. Or was the first meant to be sarcastic? A bit more explanation here would have been excellent.

Second, I would encourage you both to check your characters for overly-dramatic dialogue. While this is a fantasy story, and I usually live by the "go big or go home" motto, a few lines in this thread just felt outrageous. Shin, you are an incredible writer and a fantastic friend, but I spit out my drink when I read "wait a minute, that's it!" in post two. It felt like something out of an old Scooby Doo episode. I'm not sure it would be natural for someone to express their sudden realizations that way.

• Action-7/10

For the most part, your action was really fantastic. Both of your characters exhibited those quirks that I had hoped to see in their dialogue. For example, I loved the way Shin ran his hand across his neck to signal headlessness in post four. Another writer might have left that out entirely, as it was explained again using dialogue. But that little action just brought the scene to life. You both also did a fantastic job of outlining your characters' weaknesses and limits. Limits are incorporated into character profiles for a reason, but more importantly, good writers know how to weave them into a more believable tale. Acknowledging that Storm used his powers to frivolously in post seven, for example, was very well done. Considering his limits before flooding the bunker was also smart; a less skilled writer might have just had him lift the thing anyway. Shin, you mentioned not being able to use Stygian on every guard in post four, but did not elaborate. I was curious if this was a limitation on the blade itself, or if it was simply irrational to use the effects on everyone.

Your action score is a bit lower than you might like, however, due to the concerns that I raised in the commentary on pacing. There were a few cases when both of your action felt a bit drawn out, and I had to force myself not to just skip ahead. You are both far better writers than that. Try asking a friend to read over your more action-heavy scenes with brevity in mind.

• Persona- 8/10

Persona was certainly a strength for you both. I was able to get a good feel for who your characters were, especially with the help of the first couple posts, in which they reflect on their philosophies. The reflections on their pasts, and the people who they left behind, were well done as well. As for consistency, which is equally as important, I would say you both did a nice job. There were a few parts that I really enjoyed, such as Storm fantasizing about mind reading, and hoping that the assassin had picked up on his plan to kill him in post nine.

However, as I mentioned with communication, I would caution you to watch the tones of your internal monologues. These do wonders to carry the persona of your characters, but if they contradict the rest of the story, they can cause confusion. For example, in post eleven, Storm thinks "save some of that fury for the others, little fella." This thought comes across as more lighthearted, but you directly follow by stating that the men's anger issues were unaddressed. They were both so angry that it was worth noting, but his thoughts were joking? As I mentioned above, perhaps you had intended for that thought to be more mocking, or cynical. But without more elaboration, it can be difficult to judge.

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Prose: 22/30

• Mechanics- 7/10

Though you are both excellent writers, and clearly care about mechanics, I found more errors in this thread than I would have expected. There were a few run-on sentences, word repetition, and some missed punctuation. "As" was used instead of "at" in post three. "Load" was used instead of "loud" in post sixteen. Even with a thorough read-through, these small elements might be missed. I always recommend actually reading your posts out loud. I find my eyes can often fix mistakes for me, but when I have to actually speak them, they stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe that routine will work for you as well!

• Clarity- 7/10

To be honest with you both, there were quite a few instances where I had to go back and re-read. They did not necessarily change the meaning of the story, which is why you still earned a solid seven in this category. However, as someone who was giving the thread a critical read-over, I think I wrote "contradiction?" half a dozen times in my notes. In many cases, I eventually figured out what you meant - the part was simply written in a way that caused some confusion. For example, in post one, you wrote "the road was nearly silent, muted completely..." How could something be nearly silent, and muted completely? In post eight, you wrote that Storm occasionally looked at Shin "with a concerned expression," but then later, that "there was no need for small talk or false concern." Was the original concern false? Or was he doing it when there was no need? Of course, there is no way to account for everything that a reader might find confusing, but keeping an eye out for instances like this might help on your next thread!

I was also left with some confusion regarding the townspeople of Whitevale. Your characters seemed to go back and forth, sometimes considering them ruthless Brotherhood supporters, and other times, merely poor, helpless, brainwashed souls. This frustrated me, but as your character themselves could not seem to agree on what they were, I considered it an artistic choice. However, I still do not know quite how the armor was affecting them. If the armor was still active when Shin and Storm found it, should they not have all been under its spell the entire time? So would the masses not have all acted together, if they were all touched? Perhaps this is why that section felt a bit rushed to me, but I would have loved more elaboration here.

• Technique- 8/10

As was the case with my previous judgment, I really liked what techniques you did use. I was very excited by the foreshadowing at the end of the first post. There were also some very nice metaphors, something you both have a knack for. You're also both very skilled at using that internal monologue to your advantage. But, as always, I think you could stand to work in even a bit more. When I find something I especially like, I circle it multiple times in my notes. There were not as many instances of that as I would have expected, but I know that you are both more than capable of giving me a bit more next time.

As a final note, one thing that you both might consider is how you refer to your characters. You both use Storm, Shinsou, and Shin, which is great. But when it comes to last names only, Shin uses "Osiris." Storm, you use "Osiris," "Van Osiris" (post one), "Von Osiris" (post three), "Vaan Osiris" (post five). These are probably just simple typos, but even then, there is inconsistency here, and that detracts from the story being told. I would encourage you both to agree on one when you write together in the future. On that matter, I would also encourage you to think about the effect that names have on the tone of your story. This is entirely personal preference, but I like to use last names only when the situation calls for it. For example, if Rayleigh is in a tough situation, being chewed out by a superior, being especially formal, etc., I might use "Aston." When the tone is more relaxed, she is simply "Rayleigh." Again, this is not a stead-fast rule, by any means, but it might be worth thinking about!

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Wildcard: 9/10
Another fantastic thread by S&S! Of any writers on this site, I think that you two do the best collaborations. You write each other's characters exceptionally well, and "share in the glory," so to speak. Too often, I see one partner working to outshine the other. The fact that you were both willing to let the other take center stage during important parts, such as the scheming scenes, says a lot about you.

The ONLY reason I took away one point, and this is perhaps the most nit-picky of all, is because I was disappointed by how you both described your horses. Storm, you give your "mighty horse" a quick mention. Shin, you're not much better with your "great black mounts." And I nearly cried when you talked about Shin's "enormous steed beneath him." I would challenge you both to find more diverse ways to describe your horses, especially when you have gone so far as to give them a name! You are both so much more creative than that!

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Final Score: 78/100

Storm Veritas receives:

• 2600 EXP!
• 160 GP!

Shinsou Vaan Osiris receives:

• 1900 EXP!
• 150 GP!

Congratulations!

All rewards have been added.

Please note that this thread has also been nominated for a Judge's Choice Award.

This thread has received a Judge's Choice!