Chapter 011 Catalyst

Unbeingdead isn’t beingalive

- E. E. Cummings, POEM(or "the divine right of majorities, that illegitimate offspring of the divine right of kings" Homer Lea)

******

It was one of those days that had gone just over the line of autumn and was well into winter's domain. Gone was the warmth of yesterday, stolen by the night and the lack of sunshine.

No snow had fallen, yet the air was a touch too cold to belong to anything but the first grasp of the barren season. The clouds hung heavy and grey, bearing their foreshadowed load even as they remained steadfast yet, never telling when they might break.

The few leaves that remained on seasonal trees struggled valiantly but they too were stolen by a wind sharp enough to pierce clothes and flesh to nestle in bones. The grass had lost its vibrancy, covered by long fallen leaves.

Not even the pleasing colours of fall remained, just brown bark on naked trees. Even the quills of the evergreens seemed darker as if they too were shielding themselves from the cold.

What few visitors the small park usually saw hurried past with hoods drawn and faces tucked down as the breeze that once provided relief from the heat now stole what little they managed to hoard. In the distance, the great mass of people of Calderine stirred loudly with the coming of a festival, yet that cheer was far from this little curated slice of the wild.

Yet, should these few intermittent travelers look up slightly from the ground, they might notice one of the benches was occupied. A few wondered at its occupant, sprawled out as he was lengthwise with his eyes closed. 

Most who noticed simply waived it off as another Player who’d left God’s Nature without the proper steps to log off. A pair of teenagers shared grins as they hurried by. If this immobile body didn't log back in before nightfall, it was likely their character would die of hypothermia during the night, and the man would be in for a rude surprise when he returned.

Perhaps someone might have taken advantage and robbed the untended character had this not been a public venue, which dissuaded the unskilled, or if he were wearing anything but the new player clothes, which disincentivized the skilled.

Indeed, barring a few small pouches tied to his belt, none of which looked like a coin purse, the only item the player had that he hadn't spawned with was an extra newbie shirt haphazardly thrown over the bench's back. Likely a holdover from a previous death, robbing it would be pointless as it would dissolve in only a few days.

Thus, the figure on the bench only received one look before heads were turned down and visitors shuffled forward. 

This was just another of countless players who left their characters unattended. The Corpse Collectors would be by in the morning to collect them and the Player, if they ever returned, would have to pay a fine. One higher than average due to the location the body had been left at. Couldn't have people leaving their corpses in the parks now, could they?

Only the most eyed eagle would notice the way the player's chest rose and fell.

Or see the minuscule shape on the man's chest.

Curled into a ball and nestled into a divot of the player's shirt, a tiny snake did its best to sleep. It shivered, body vibrating slightly as the chill wind scoured by, blowing leaves along the path and rustling the cloth it had made into an impromptu nest. The small serpent did not move further though, content with its small fortress of cloth.

In such a manner, not reacting to people or nature, the pair lay there for an hour. Then two. Then three.

It was as the day neared its peak, and a measure of warmth trickled in from the covered sun, that a bird alighted on the upper branch of the fir. Long habit led it to a branch which could support its weight yet concealed it from the casual eyes of passersby.

The hawk spent a moment cleaning her feathers, lining the few ruffled by her flight and clawing at the bark to clean her talons of the remnant of her last meal.

She was careful to do so quietly and disturb the branches as little as possible. Being so close to the Blessed races was dangerous for one such as her. Instinctively she felt, as did all other beings with a Self, that she was valuable prey to these beings. Something further reinforced by one plucking a few of her feathers in this very place.

Yet she took the risk to return to these hunting grounds from her nesting area for the simple reason that it was her best chance at evolution. Without evolving, she wouldn't be able to create a nest that would allow her eggs to retain their developing Selves, cursing them and herself to live out their natural born lives as simple birds, helpless in the face of greater predators.

That same instinct that warned her of her value, also told her that other beings with a Self were just as valuable to her growth as she was to them. Never had she the opportunity to kill one of the Blessed races, larger and more powerful as they were, but proximity to them always led other animals to developing their own Selves.

Most were killed by said Blessed, though a lucky few would manage to flee to the wild and seek prosperity there, beyond the grasp of Blessed hunters.

Yet, not all were killed or could flee.

There was the snake.

Tiny, helpless, naive, and oh so predictable. 

For months, she'd hunted the small creature. Trapped in this small piece of the wilds, she'd watch its movements transform from the instinctual struggles of a mindless animal to the conscious actions of a being with thoughts and plans.

Then she'd strike, killing the snake and returning it to the oblivion of Selflessness when it re-spawned in this green cage and the process would begin again. The snake was not worth a lot individually, pathetic as it was, it didn't hold a candle to the energy she'd gained the sole time she'd managed to take a dog unaware and tear out its throat.

Yet it was her most valuable prey.

Its reliability and predictability had ensured much of her burgeoning power was built from every feeding upon the small creature. In terms of effort versus reward, something a predator such as her must always be aware of, none other could compare.

That a human had taken her favorite prey was a setback, but not a large one. She'd killed animals kept by humans before. Cautiously, of course, but frequently enough that snuffing out the serpent while the human was gone would be easy enough.

Only the human never left.

They slept only once every two days, and inside a secure building when they did. The pair disappeared for hours at a time. Something common for the Blessed called 'Players.' But Players usually left their accompanying animals behind, should they have them.

Not this one. Or if he did, he hid the creature from her hunting gaze.

And when the human and serpent were out in the open, they were often in the presence of beings that ruffled the hawk's feathers.

She would have given up her favored prey if not for the fact that prey with a developed Self were incredibly scarce at the moment. Even more so than usual.

More strong Blessed were around the ever before, flooding the streets and preventing her from taking the tasty morsels they left unattended. The rats and mice that made up a good part of her diet were much rarer than ever and had been for months.

She knew it was related to the evolved rat Nest that was recently destroyed by the Blessed. Knowledge of a problem's cause did not give her the ability to fix it, however.

With few other options, not unless she wished to waste her prime years on lesser fare, she kept her eyes out for an opportunity. A moment of inattention.

After weeks of checking up on the human and small serpent, tailing them from the sky when she found them, and checking the park the snake would return to, she finally had her moment.

But she was cautious.

Oh, so cautious.

One death would be the end of her. She knew that there was a chance she’d regain her sapience if she survived long enough after her resurrection, but she couldn't gamble on that. Not when she was so close to evolution and her nest was so far from the home of the Blessed.

The opportunity was good.

Too good.

She knew that some Blessed would suddenly cease moving sometimes. For hours or days. Often, they'd die, either to another beast, Blessed, or the elements themselves. She'd taken advantage of such moments before. Yet... Some doubt, some instinct in the back of her mind was telling her something was off.

So, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No changes.

The sun had begun its downward turn when she finally judged it safe.

Or safe enough to risk it, at least.

There came a point where, no matter what her instincts were telling her, she had to take the opportunity for what it was.

She'd make this quick. Instantaneous.

Even if there was some enemy or predator nearby, if she was fast enough it wouldn't matter.

With silent beats of her wings, she took off.

Behavior and movements ingrained into her from millions of years of evolution and the habit of a thousand successful hunts. A thousand times she dove from branches to catch unsuspecting prey. Even the tiniest mouse would be caught in her talons before it had the opportunity to so much as squeak.

In the first blink, she dove.

In the second blink, she extended her talons.

In the third blink, they wrapped around the tiny snake, plunging deep into it as it was torn from its resting place.

In the fourth blink, her wings beat in the ascent as she-

"DIE!!!"

A weight landed on her head.

Not a heavy one. Not even enough to damage her in the slightest. But it surprised her.

Her wing beats stuttered for a heartbeat.

The weight fell around her neck. She couldn't see what it was.

The shock wore off.

She began her ascent in the seventh eye blink, her prize in her talons. Whatever had landed on her would fall once she shook it off.

"DIEDIEDIEDIE!!"

Firm hands grabbed her wings. Fragile bones broke as they were crushed against her body.

She screamed.

"HOW DOES IT FEEL?!"

Talons released the snake to tear at the one holding her.

"TO BE BROKEN?"

Fruitless. They'd pulled her from their torso, and she couldn't get a grip on the arms and hands from this angle.

"TO BE HELPLESS?"

She tried to pivot her head to peck at the hand. She couldn't.

"TO KNOW YOU'RE GONNA DIE AND DIE AND DIE AND DIE!!"

Her normally very flexible neck was trapped in a vice-grip.

"YOU'LL COME BACK AND DIE AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!!"

She screamed.

"YOUR WINGS CAN'T SAVE YOU!"

She begged.

"YOUR CLAWS CAN'T SAVE YOU!"

She raged.

"YOU'RE TOO SMALL! TOO WEAK!”

She stared into the impassive eyes of the human holding her down as she choked to death, willing him to understand her even if they didn't speak the same language.

“YOU DON’T DESERVE TO LIVE!"

Only… he did understand her.

"SO PLEASE!"

She knew it instinctively. He understood her.

"Please die."

And he didn't care.

"Please."

He heard her pleas. He knew she had nestlings waiting for her.

"Please."

Knew she was scared and in pain.

"Please."

And he did not care.

"Please."

Unhearing of the tiny serpent's pitiful cries as it strangled her, all she felt was pain and terror in the face of the placid man as she finally, mercifully, died.

******

Neron was quite glad nobody else was likely able to hear the animals in his hands. If a hawk therianthrope had walked by and understood the bird, it would have been awkward.

He'd have been hard-pressed to spin her desperate pleas for life as anything other than what it was as Jorry slowly broke her fragile neck. You can't really give a good explanation to a stranger why you held a creature begging for her life and those of her unhatched eggs down as your pet snake choked her to death without coming across a bit unhinged.

The only way out would have been to lie and say he couldn't hear anything. Not a bad lie, but Neron preferred to avoid outright lies whenever possible. Too often one forgot the details or were confronted with proof that they had lied. A reputation as a liar was a hard thing to kick, as Neron well knew from his childhood, and always made further manipulation more difficult.

Speaking of manipulation.

Jorry’s frantic pleas for the bird to die had ended when the creature went slack, but he remained there, still coiled tightly around the only part of the creature his tiny body could actually hurt.

As if terrified that letting go of the neck would bring the hawk back to life.

A snake therianthrope would have been easier to convince, only hearing the small serpent's breakdown. A simple explanation of the repeated deaths the tiny snake had undergone at the hands of the predator would have been fine.

Though Neron suspected he’d underestimated the sheer number of deaths and their impact on the dramatic little snake.

It was hard to tell how mentally mature Jorry actually was. Sometimes he was like a child, ignorant about the world as he approached it with simplistic determination. At others, he displayed a maturity and world experience that wouldn't be out of place on any centennial.

A product of his inhumanity, probably, as well as the nature of beasts and Self-development in this world. Something to keep in mind during their remaining time together.

"It is dead," Neron finally said, still holding the hawk aloft over his chest. He'd need to wear his other shirt as this one was torn and covered in blood. The bird had torn skin while grasping the snake doll. "You killed it."

"...I did..."

Whether that was a statement or a question, Neron couldn't quite tell, so pitifully was it whispered. The next words were far clearer, however.

"I did! Ha! That's what you get! You're not so strong now, are you? Your wings and your claws were useless, weren't they? That's what you get for trying to kill a dra- urk!"

Neron watched, nonplused, as Jorry's rant turned into a strangled grunt right as he was building a head of steam.

The tiny serpent's grip around the bird's neck slackened and he fell to the bench below, wriggling and writhing as he continued to release further sounds of pain.

Neron frowned as he watched, unsure what was happening as he tossed the corpse to the side to pick up the spasming snake and inspect it.

As far as he could tell, Jorry was uninjured. At least externally.

If he was injured internally somehow, Neron couldn't help him with his rudimentary Scab spell.

Just as he was debating if it was worth it to bring the snake to a healer, he noticed how Jorry's skin was turning grey and flaky.

Making an educated guess, Neron set the serpent on the ground and watched as he wriggled in pain, more and more skin flaking off with every movement, revealing healthy scales below.

"Gah!" Jorry shouted as the dead skin surrounding him fell away in a crumpled mess.

Only his writhing didn't halt.

In fact, the newly grown scales also started to turn grey and transparent, miniature fractures forming along them as they separated from the serpent's body.

Judging this might be a few minutes, Neron removed his shirt and began casting Scab on the cuts on his chest. They weren't deep, but they did bleed and, even with the pain mitigation, stung. He could ask his sisters for new clothes if needed, but there was no reason not to simply heal and wipe himself before putting on a new shirt.

Only that wasn't quite true. It was surprisingly cold, wasn't it? He hadn't really noticed over the last few hours as he'd been under the effect of the false log-out pill Octavia had provided with the animatronic Jorry. 

Apparently, his plan hadn’t been anything revolutionary, and it was a common trap tactic to falsify log-out stiffness to lure in beasts or thieves. They’d gone above and beyond just the doll he asked for, and it had worked out perfectly.

But now that he’d broken the pill’s spell and he was fully cognizant, he could definitely feel the chill in the air. Even with the sun still out, it was cold enough that taking off his shirt had a noticeable effect.

Was this winter? How curious.

If it was, Neron might want to look into getting some thicker clothes. It was supposed to get colder for three to four months, right? How cold though? He knew that winter had different meanings in different places on earth. Those closer to oceans had to deal with more ice than snow, whereas other places needed to deal with anything from a few days of snow that would instantly melt all the way to blizzards where snow could fall meters thick in a matter of days.

Also, didn't snakes enter a state of brumation during the colder months? Would Jorry as well? He hadn’t yet, but it was something to keep in mind.

Neron would also have to look into the weather patterns and habits of the locals in dealing with winters. Optim would be a good first place to start but he should also ask other humans. A therianthrope likely had differing habits and requirements based on their exact subcategory.

All thoughts to consider in the coming months. This little trap had more than likely ensured Jorry would remain with Neron for the remainder of his time in God’s Nature, though it would remain to be seen if their current operation would continue to be viable now that the tiny serpent had evolved.

From the bench, with his glowing hand pressed against his wound, Neron watched the little snake shed its skin again and again, each time growing a little bigger.

He'd read about how evolution in this world worked, though there was little way in the degree of agreement on its exact mechanics from scholars. While there was a general consensus that a creature needed a Self to evolve, beyond that everything was up in the air.

Some argued that a certain level was required for a monster to undergo evolution, with the exact number hotly debated and varying creature to creature. Others believed certain materials were needed, such as a special diet or environment. Others postulated that, due to the requirements for a Self, that it was a mental change rather than a physical one that was needed.

While a lot of other theories abounded, those were the three leading ones and most researchers on the subject believed it to be a combination of some sort for all three.

Nevertheless, actual proof was almost impossible to gather. Evolutions observed by the Blessed were rare. Those observed by scholars who’d record it even rarer. The very act of evolution seemed to oppose the act of study and systematization. Even if two animals were raised the exact same way, by the exact same people, there was no guarantee they would both form a Self, let alone evolve.

Neron was probably one of only a few dozen people in this city, Player or Native, to have witnessed one.

And it was thankfully nearing its end. He'd promised to watch over Optim's shop this evening while she spent the first night of the festival with her son. If Jorry's evolution had taken hours as some were known to, he'd have had to cancel, which would compromise her ideal of him as a kind and reliable man.

In the few minutes Neron had watched Jorry shed his skin, writhing and grunting in pain the whole time, the growth had been noticeable and obvious. The coloring had largely remained the same, mostly black with green scales along the side, though the black had deepened in tone while the green had paled and spread along his belly.

The largest change was in his size.

Jorry had been small, even for a garter snake. Not even half a meter long and thinner than Neron's thumb, Jorry hadn't been the smallest example of his species known, but it was close.

Now? Now he was at least a full meter long, possibly even a meter and a half and was as thick as Neron's wrist. And was still growing.

Pulling up his link to the net, Neron scrolled through various species of snakes, looking for one that matched what Jorry was becoming. Eventually, he found as close a match as he could and let out a breath of air in exasperation.

Pantheriophis obsoletus. The western rat snake. Otherwise known as the black rat snake. Native to North America, it was one of the largest snakes there and was known to feed on rats, mice, other small vertebrates and, if the snake was large enough, even to be able to fight off and kill potential predators such as owls.

Or hawks.

It was good to know that while Jorry might not fit into as tight spaces as easily anymore, he was still adapted to continuing their little venture. If he’d become a monster, people would be less likely to trust them and he’d need to change his plans, which would be an annoyance. Ratcatching had proven surprisingly profitable and would act as a good network to use to continue to monitor the Bank and its members during his remaining time in the game.

Perhaps it was time to focus less on local establishments and turn their attention toward those frequented by travelers, merchants in particular. While Polo could serve as a good foundation, Neron wouldn't put money on his fellow trainee achieving the success needed to be a reliable source of information on 'El Dorado.'

"Urgh."

Dismissing his plans for the moment, Neron refocused on Jorry. The now larger serpent was laying with his eyes closed in a pile of his shed skin, twitching slightly.

"Congratulations."

"Urgh?

"You evolved."

"AH!"

All discomfort seemed to be forgotten as the not-so-little snake hurried to open his eyes. Not even looking at the mess of shed skin, Jorry looked back at his own body. Contorting himself this way and that, the black rat snake wiggled in place as he attempted to get a look at every single part of his new form.

"-ahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" Jorry laughed, his joy wild and free, as he looked over his new form. "I'm HUGE! Massive! Ginormous!"

"You're not that big," Neron deadpanned. It wouldn't do for the snake to get an overinflated view of himself. Nor to forget who was to thank for his evolution. "I can still carry you around easily."

"Look at me!" Jorry argued, sitting on his lower coils and stretching himself up as high as he could. "I'm a giant!"

He didn't even reach Neron's waist.

Granted, a significant portion of the serpent's body remained on the ground to support his weight, and Jorry did appear to be on the larger size for a Black Rat Snake at around two meters, it did not mean that the snake was as big as he considered himself to be. There were much larger snakes in the world, to say nothing of other animals.

Bigger Jorry might be, but a World Serpent he was not.

To demonstrate this point, Neron reached out and grabbed Jorry beneath his jaw and lifted the serpent as he rose to his feet. While the snake weighed considerably more, it wasn't to the degree Neron had any difficulty lifting him.

Meeting Jorry's eyes on the same level, Neron held his gaze for a moment, both of their tongues flickering out at one another.

They both looked down.

The tip of Jorry's tail dangled half a meter from ground, waving around fruitlessly in the air.

Their eyes met once more and Jorry gave him a sheepish look even though Neron knew it was his own mind anthropomorphizing the creature.

"Be happy with your evolution, but do not let a change in circumstances and status remove your ability to remain objective. Currently, you are nothing more than a slightly larger snake in a very large world. You still have a long way to go. Got it?"

"Got it." Though he said so, there was still a touch of pride in his voice. A challenge. “But you’ll see. This is just the first part of the story. There’s still the rest. I’m going to be a dragon, no matter what. You’ll see.”

Neron didn't particularly care that the serpent's voice was resentful.

What mattered far more was keeping arrogance from planting its seed.

"Good. Now, do you want me to cut this bird for you?"

The way Jorry's eyes lit up told Neron the answer without the evolved creature having to speak.

********

"Please wait here, Mesdemoiselles," the servant bowed formally to the two young women who entered. "Sa Majesté will be available shortly."

Morsef didn't let his face show his annoyance at the sight of the Banquier and the Banshee, nor at the fact that they'd been accompanied by the Valet de Chambre as opposed to the regular valets that had accompanied him and his peers.

Such blatant favoritism set his teeth on edge.

"Thank you, Tantoille." So did Octavia's flaunting of privilege by addressing the man by name. She knew they could all hear her, no matter that she went through the motions of covering her mouth. "How has Karles been these last years?"

"As ever, Mademoiselle." The aid was, of course, too well trained to give anything away. Whatever his opinion of his liege's desired paramour, Tantoille kept his expression neutral. Morsef could respect such competence even if he wished it wasn't in service to another roll on the monarchy dice. "Preoccupied with matters of the realm."

"I hope he has not faced any trouble on my account? I would hate-"

"Hey, Chuckles. Old Timer." The Banshee interrupted his eavesdropping by plopping herself on the couch opposite Morsef, no consideration for form or etiquette as she lounged, arms and legs stretched out casually. "Where're the lovebirds?"

"Oh," Olaq blinked, as if just realizing she was there. "Hello."

And that was it. They returned to staring vacantly into space.

"Claudia," Morsef greeted neutrally. As much as the Banquier's impertinence annoyed him, he genuinely loathed the Banshee. "Gabriel and Michella are with the Dutchess."

"Really?" She asked with disinterest, not even meeting his eyes as she let her head lull backwards, eyes roaming the room. They passed over the waiting staff with boredom. "Cool. Cool. Think they’re boning in a closet somewhere?"

"They're married."

"So? A bit of menage a trois never hurt anyone."

She was doing it on purpose.

He knew she was.

The only reason the translation would be so horribly miss pronounced was because she'd tried to speak in his native tongue. Badly.

She was taunting him. Provoking him.

"... The Dutchess is also married."

"Isn't her husband gone? Someone needs to console the grieving widow. A bit of fun is exactly what the healer ordered."

"Have you no respect for the sanctity of marriage!?"

"I do. I totally do. Really. Totally. But… You know? Those two? A century together? Gotta be real freaks by now."

The wiggle of the eyebrows was what did it.

It wasn't enough that she was being deliberately disrespectful. Morsef had seen Claudia act with proper decorum when she wanted.

It wasn't enough that she was mocking his language and religion.

It wasn't enough that this brat, who hadn't even reached her first half century, was taunting him over his age.

It was the fact that all that provocation, those words and actions designed to incite and anger him, were nothing more than a joke to her.

Those wiggling eyebrows were just the tipping point.

"CEASE!"

The order barely stopped bloodshed, though whose blood would have been spilled was up for debate.

Claudia didn't move her scythe from behind Morsef's neck, and he did not remove the arrow about to impale her heart.

Both did turn to look at the man who'd stopped them though. At this close distance, looking directly at their enemy mattered little.

The Capitaine of the guard, the one who'd stopped them, had a hand on his sword's hilt but hadn't drawn it.

"Brandishing weapons here is a capital offense. Put them away."

"Hey," Claudia said with an innocent smile. "He's the one who tried to kill me. I was just defending myself."

She did not disperse her scythe.

"You were provoking me on purpose."

Morsef did not release his arrow.

"Was I?" The Banshee asked guilelessly. "I was just making friendly conversation. Just words, you know? Can't hurt anyone."

The nerve on this brat.

Whatever Morsef was going to say, and it certainly wouldn't have been polite, was stopped when Olaq finally noticed the situation.

"Oh. Are you two going to kiss?"

Words could not describe the revulsion Morsef felt at the suggestion, but his face must have said it all. Her own expression went through its own transition from wrinkled distaste but she quickly changed it to one of feigned shock and horror.

"Is that it? Are you using violence as an excuse to get close to me?" She leaned away, her own face tilting to the side as if she couldn't bear to look at him. "How despicable. What would your-"

"We're here on business."

Octavia's interruption of her twin brought the world into focus again and Morsef released his clenched teeth.

He knew what the bitch was about to say.

"-Fine." Claudia did not have an ounce of regret or fear on her face or body language as she dissipated her scythe and straightened herself on the couch. "I'll behave."

Morsef held himself as taught as a bowstring before he slowly let the tension fall from his body until he retook his seat. Only then did he release the skills he was prepared to unleash.

"I apologize on my sister's behalf." Octavia's words didn't match her actions as she took her own seat beside her twin. She was as devoid of regret or humility as her sister. "As she's here as my guard, I shall provide just compensation. How much?"

The way her eyes moved from him to the guard capitaine conveyed that they were the only two she was offering it to. Olaq had resumed staring into space and the rest of the staff, despite being potential victims of the brawl, were beneath her notice.

"Keep your money," Morsef spat, the words coming out more harshly than intended.

The idea that one could simply buy forgiveness disgusted him. There was not enough money in the world to equal the words the Banshee had almost spoken.

"As there was no actual fighting and no damage incurred, it would be wrong to ask for compensation from Sa Majesté’s guests." The capitaine was similarly disinterested in the Banquier's gold, which helped calm Morsef further.

At least there were still some good kids in the world.

"Then ten thousand gold to be split between everyone present. For the scare." The Banquier ignored the capitaine's rejection and threw a promissory note to that amount at him with negligent ease. "And one of my next creations is reserved for the Troupedoors' use."

Morsef grit his teeth, but his silence was telling.

The staff, on the other hand, were anything but displeased.

Despite being some of the most well trained in the kingdom, and paid correspondingly well, they couldn't remain unmoved at that amount. Even broken up between the dozen guards, valets, and other servants, it was certainly more than most made in a year.

That much money could be transformed into better Jobs, training for their current one, or even a full carry if they had the connections. All for a few moments of tension? They'd have accepted a full fight for that amount, even if it killed them.

Death was temporary. Levels were eternal.

Seeing the situation diffused so easily, Morsef revised his earlier thoughts.

He hated Octavia just as much as her twin.

"What's your name, Monsieur," Morsef asked the capitaine to distract himself from the feeling as if he'd just been mocked, beaten and forced to thank his abusers for the privilege.

"Capitaine Charlan Rose of Third Company of the Inner Guard at your service."

"Ever wanted to travel beyond Calderine? Do good out beyond the walls? I have a good eye for people and the Troupedoors' would gladly welcome you into its fold, if you’re interested. You could be leading a team out on the frontier. Multiple, even."

"Mon loyalty est pour le Roi et à son pays." A rote statement, like a tagline to be memorized. Either an act or deep conviction.

"You don't need to deny it outright," Morsef smiled despite the rejection, liking the kid more and more. Either he was just as loyal as he claimed, or he realized saying anything different here and now would be folly. Both were good to have in a subordinate. "Just give it some thought."

"Gross," Claudia wrinkled her nose at the exchange. She would have said more but her sister put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

Morsef wasn't going to miss the opportunity for some payback, however.

"You don't understand the worth of a good man," Morsef sneered. "A loyal man. That's why you needed our help at Urugalkin. Some things can't be gained by money or force."

"Everything has a price," Octavia denied simply, gesturing for a servant to bring a tray of tea forward. She gave the offered choices a sniff before pointing at one of the sets of leaves. The tea was ready in less than a second and the maid handed the Banquier a cup of the steaming liquid. "Even loyalty."

"And sometimes that price is not getting killed," Claudia grinned, snagging a cup for herself and took the pot from the servant to pour her own. "Or getting killed quickly. I've seen it go either way. You want any, Chuckles?"

"Teephodil for me and Michella. Gabriel will want the ourobilon blend."

Claudia pouted at Olaq's words, setting down the pot as the maid busied herself brewing the requested drinks in separate kettles.

"How much for your privacy enchantment bypass?" Octavia asked. Again.

"Can't afford it." Olaq answered. Again.

"Yet." Octavia argued. Again.

Morsef was saved from listening to the next three replies by the guild master of Tengel and his wife entering the waiting room from a side door.

Though it was only for a moment, Morsef's sight was good enough to note the Duchess remaining behind. Judging by the redness of her eyes and damage to her makeup, she'd been crying. Morsef shared a look with Michella and she gave him a grim look.

Gabriel, as grim, walked right up to where they had gathered and wasted no time.

"What did you do to Sauvin?"

Morsef sighed while Gabriella looked at her husband with a mixture of fondness, exasperation, and humor.

"I'm sorry?" Octavia asked in confusion, setting down her tea to look up at the older man.

"What did you do to Sauvin?"

"I heard you. I just do not understand why you are asking me that? Or what you mean by it?"

"You’re the reason he disappeared,” Gabriel accused. “Duke Sauvin Helloise is your most vocal opponent within the Calderinian Courte. His disappearance only benefits you."

"No. It does not." Octavia's eyes narrowed, cold chips of icy blue that faced down the passionate brown. "In fact, it is the opposite."

"How so," Michella asked, placing her hand on her husband's shoulder to calm him down. She gently guided them to a loveseat set across from the couch the twins occupied.

"It is no secret that we've disagreed in the past," Octavia shrugged simply. "Yet I still retain the favor of the king. More than that, would Sauvin Helloise, famous for his philanthropy and dedication to his people, really reject my plans? Plans that would not only make him wealthy through the taxes of merchants on the way to and from my city, but would also lead to the development of his Duchy and the betterment of his people?"

"He would if he believed it to be in their best interest in the long run," Gabriel answered but his frown had lessened.

"But why would it?" Octavia picked up her tea again, raising a brow. "No, he might have hated it, but he would have worked with the Bank. We simply do too much good to ignore."

"You line your own pockets. Any good you do is purely incidental."

"Yet the world would be far worse off without us," Octavia argued back dispassionately.

"Even if he would have agreed to work with you, Sauvin would have argued for higher tax rates and greater restrictions," Gabriel pointed out, getting a sharp nod of agreement out of Morsef.

"Yet the cost of getting rid of a Duke on his fifth Job for any length of time would exceed the cost of even the most egregious contract. I do not incur such costs without a greater profit to be had." Morsef allowed himself the petty feeling of vengeance at seeing the scowl on the Banquier's face. The brat might act cool under pressure, but her immaturity shone through with enough pressure. "Instead of accusing me, you should be asking yourself why you thought to."

Morsef scoffed.

Loudly.

Eyes turned his way and he explained for Gabriel's sake, though Michella's scowl showed she already understood.

"You're claiming the Duchess is framing you?"

"Either her or someone near her," Octavia nodded. "The Duke disappeared months before I or my sister neared Calderine, yet after we had claimed Urugalkin and negotiated with Leidon's representative Councilwoman. At that point, the Calderinian Courte would have known of our approach and our goals. It is well known I hold the ear of the king and his favor, thus anyone looking to see the Bank's negotiation fail would need extraordinary reasons. Reasons such as the disappearance of one of the three Dukes at 'our' hands... Or maybe it has nothing to do with me. Maybe they just wanted him out of the way and I'm an easy scapegoat."

BANG!!!

"Cut the bullshit!"

Morsef didn't jump at the sound of Gabriel slamming his hands on the table. None of the players did. They were too experienced for that and the master of Tengel was a bit of a hot head.

The guards, on the other hand, drew closer as the tea maid let out a cry of surprise and fell down. Only Capitaine Rose's raised hand stopped them from drawing their own weapons.

None of the players paid any attention to them, too locked up in their own issues.

"Colettine would never do that!" Gabriel argued passionately, working himself up. "She just lost her husband! Their son lost his father! They're grieving. Distraught! I won't stand for you accusing them of something so heinous."

"You're not standing," Claudia pointed out, nibbling on a cracker as she watched the exchange with amusement. "You're sitting down."

Michella shot the woman a glare but Gabriel's rage was focused on Octavia alone.

"Perhaps it wasn't them." The Banquier wasn't intimidated and replied with her usual insouciance. "Perhaps it was someone else entirely. Maybe it was Duke Helloise himself, using his own disappearance as an excuse for talks to break down."

Despite Gabriel looking ready to draw his shield at the accusation, the young woman continued on.

"It could also be another Duke, unhappy that an already powerful Peer would gain more with our trade route. Or it could have been a Rogue looking for its next evolution by targeting a powerful Blessed. Or someone wishing to gain a powerful assassin Job. There are too many possibilities to count. So do not accuse me of something I did not do because you've been convinced by a few tears."

There was a beat of tense silence.

Morsef held his own breath, ready to back up Gabriel and Michella if it did come to blows. Olaq could join either side, or none at all, and the guards wouldn't sit still either.

Those in the immediate room wouldn't be a problem, but they'd draw in the old monsters that littered the Courte and city.

"Please."

The tension was broken by an unexpected voice, appearing from thin air in the midst of the brewing fight.

"I just wish to know if my husband is alright."

There was a dignity in the woman that knelt and took Octavia's hand in hers.

It was a quiet thing. A subtle thing. A hidden grace befitting a woman with the ability to appear before the strongest players without them noticing yet willing to lower herself to plead for one she loved.

"If you know anything, anything at all, I can pay. I can make a deal if that's what you want. Just please." No traces of tears remained, and she'd regained her bearing as a Duchess yet there was a fragility that remained that made one yearn to help her. "Please do not make my boy grow up without his father."

Ice blue eyes looked at the kneeling woman with all the warmth of a tundra.

"If I knew anything I would take such a lucrative deal. I simply do not, Duchess Helloise."

Morsef turned away from the sight of the young woman, barely out of her teenage years, holding the hand of a woman who appeared to be in her third century at least but was in truth less than a decade or two older.

If Colettine Helloise, a prodigy with decades more experience than even the best assassin Player, couldn't discover any traces of a culprit then there was a good possibility Octavia really was innocent.

As much as Morsef hated to admit it.

Players simply did not yet have the capability to successfully act against a man on his fifth Job in the center of his fortified and enchanted mansion without getting caught. To get through all that and do something permanent was something only the strongest this world could accomplish.

It was impossible for a Player.

They were narrowing the gap, slowly but surely, yet the strongest Natives still dwarfed them, and everyone knew it. Otherwise, the heads of the largest player guilds wouldn't be out here in a waiting room while a preliminary agreement was being hashed out by the Calderinian Courte.

They were helpless before the truly strong.

And sympathy from the weak was worthless.

"If your offer remains open, I shall direct my staff to take up the quest you posted," Octavia continued, though it was clear she didn't hold much hope for results.

"I can check to see if he died." Morsef found himself genuinely surprised at Claudia's offer. Like her sister, she was blase about the whole thing, but the fact she was offering at all was the first example the Troupedoors guild leader had that she experienced empathy. "I'll need to be where he disappeared to hear his Echo. It's a long shot, but I could try."

"That will not be necessary," Duchess Helloise declared, rising to her feet in a fluid motion. If there was a touch more grief in her eyes, nobody spoke of it. "The best mediums and necromancers have already searched. My husband still lives. He is merely missing."

"Or he died somewhere else," Claudia pointed out indelicately, causing Colettine to stiffen but she didn't argue.

Michella didn't either, just sending a hateful glare at the young woman, but her husband had no such restraint.

"Do you have no tact!?"

"I was simply stating a possibility," Claudia shrugged with a smile. "An Echo only lingers where it died. Anybody with the ability to kill permanently would know to do the deed far enough away or hidden well enough that nobody would find it until it dissipates. That's why I said it’s a long shot."

"That still doesn't give you the right to-"

"Gabriel." The Duchess gently placed a hand on the man's shoulder. He shut his mouth but sent her an apologetic look which she returned with a kind smile. That same smile faded as she looked down at the lounging girl. "I am very aware of the rules of the dead and dying. That's why I said I hired the best mediums and necromancers. They have means of, if not finding a lost Esprit before it rejoins the world, then at least knowing if they've begun their Tristesse."

If Claudia noticed the dig, unsubtle as it was, at her competence then she didn't let it affect her smile.

"Right. My apologies, Duchess. I should have known someone with your... reputation would know the mechanics of this grim subject. Your family must have taught you well."

The room stiffened.

It was no secret what the Hardinee were known for and their daughter's marriage to Sauvin Helloise had been a major scandal. So much that, even when Players arrived decades later they'd heard of it. To this day there were whispers about what a young Colettine had done to attract the attention of the Duke.

"You bi-"

"They're done."

Olaq's interruption was all that saved the room from descending into open conflict as Claudia once more hinted that the Duchess herself was the most likely culprit.

Gabriel's shield was already out, as were Michella's short swords. Morsef had thrown himself over the back of the couch to make distance while the guards stepped forward and the servants pressed themselves against the wall.

Claudia's scythe had made its reappearance, and her abomination bounced on her shoulder, its cute energy matching the wild smile on its master's face at the prospect of bloodshed and death.

Only Octavia and the Duchess hadn't moved, both remaining in place despite the onset of hostilities.

"Claudia," the Banquier stated, setting her empty cup down and rising to her feet. "Put that away. Do not make things hard for Karles."

"Hey," The Banshee grinned toward the Capitaine, dissipating the weapon into pale smoke. "I'd like to report a crime. They're the ones who drew weapons in the palace. I haven't. Shouldn't you be doing something, Capitaine Goody-two-shoes?"

"Of course, Mademoiselle," Captain Rose gave a charming smile. "We take all reports on crimes very seriously. Unfortunately, I was rendered temporarily blind by your beauty and didn't see any drawn weapons. Would you mind pointing the culprits out to me?"

"Hah!" Morsef barked out a laugh, his bow already stowed as were Michella's weapons. Proving he wasn't as thick as he wanted others to think, Gabriel's shield had been the first to be returned to his back. "You sure I can't tempt you to the Troupedoors? Forget squad leader, I'd give you a whole expedition for that stunt."

"I am afraid I have no idea what you mean, Monsieur." The Guard Captain's smile was just as charming. "I am simply fulfilling my duty to Sa Majesté."

"Worth a shot," Claudia grinned, also rising to her feet. "Thanks guys. That killed my boredom. Same time next week?" The glares she received made her cackle.

"Sa Majesté and the Calderinian Courte will see you now," the Valet de Chambre Tantoille announced, opening the doors that led to the council hall.

Olaq was already moving, and Octavia wasn't far behind. Gabriel and Michella gave the Duchess looks of reassurance as they flanked her, which she returned with a thankful smile. Morsef and Claudia took up the rear, though they stayed well apart.

It was because of this position, combined with his hundred- and eighty-degree vision, that Morsef caught the Banshee's face as she froze mid step.

Gone was the look of smug amusement and in its place was a ghastly mask of hatred and rage. Her eyes were fierce, and her mouth contorted in a silent snarl so fearsome and sudden that Morsef flinched away in preparation for danger from the predator within their midst. Even the abomination on her shoulder recoiled from its master in fear.

Everyone stopped.

Not because they noticed Claudia's sudden halt or expression but because it was mirrored by her twin.

Unlike the Banshee, the Banquier's face was as still and as placid as death, yet her eyes burned bright blue, and her body was held in a stillness that spoke of tension and the promise of violence. For an instant she looked like a cold, beautiful statue, as uncaring as stone and as remote as a mountain.

Human beings should not be able to go so still.

"What happened," Gabriel asked, putting himself between the Banquier and the Duchess while Michella placed herself facing the Banshee.

Neither of the twins spoke. They simply stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, exchanging words silently.

Violating all protocol and a half dozen laws, Claudia whirled around, let out a ghastly shriek and disappeared in a blur of phantasmal smoke that howled its way through people, furniture, and walls as it flew out of the palace.

As if nothing had happened, Octavia too turned around and resumed her march toward the council chamber.

"Let us not keep Karles waiting." Her voice was as calm and steady as ever, but the sound of her steps echoed far louder than before.

Morsef shared a look with the other guild leaders, wondering what that had been about, before Olaq shrugged carelessly and resumed his own march toward their meeting.

Morsef wasn't so blase but decided that anything that could create such a disturbance in those two monsters could only be a good thing for everyone else in the world.

******

Thump.

"...up..."

Thump.

"Ah! Ner..."

Thump.

"Die!"

Thump-thump.

"Die! Die! Die!"

Thump-thump.

"You can't kill me!"

Thump-thump.

"Rats will never kill a dragon!"

Wha-

Thump-thump-thump.

"The human blinked. Second squad hurry up."

Neron's entire body stung. It ached.

Thump-thump-thump.

"First squad, keep piling those books to make a wall. Do not let it escape. Not those! What if they get damaged! Get other ones!"

Yet it was his head that was the worst off. Pain reduction did nothing for the headache that robbed Neron of conscious thought. It was blinding and rationality fled from that pain like rats from a burning building.

Thump-thump-thump.

"Fifth, reinforce third and fourth squad. We need that snake dead."

Dead? Wha-

Thump-thump.

"No!"

Neron's eyes finally cleared enough that he could get a good look at the situation through blurry eyes. The evening light filtered through the collapsed bookshelf did not help but he was able to make ouf the vague outline of what was happening.

A large wall of darkness above him. Splinters of wood covering the floor. Rectangular block at irregular intervals. Movement in the shadows.

It was a writhing mass of bodies.

Dozens of small masses of fur and claws and beady eyes.

Too many to count.

They piled upon Jorry as the snake thrashed, trying to get its coils around a rat, squeezing for all his worth. Five more tore gashes through the snake's scales. Each small enough to be but scratches on the newly evolved rat snake. They joined the tens of others, Jorry's new body was a mess of blood, scale and torn flesh.

The serpent's eyes met Neron's in the dim light under the bookshelf.

Thump-thump.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this."

The snake's voice was raw. In pain. In fear.

Neron tried to say something. Anything. What, he didn't know. He just wanted to, needed to, speak yet not a word escaped as he gurgled.

All his serpentine tongue could do was flail in the pool of his own blood.

Thump-thump.

"I'm bigger! I'm better!"

Jorry returned to his fight, lashing out and battering five mice aside with his tail.

Neron tried to warn the snake but only more gurgling escaped as a half dozen rodents dropped from the leaning bookshelf onto the snake, knocking his coils to the ground. More immediately piled on.

Thump-thump.

"I won't die again! I won't! This isn’t how my story ends!"

It was getting darker. Partly due to blood-loss and partly because the rats were pushing books to block off sides of the leaning shelf.

It only took a few more moments before all Neron had were the shadows of countless rodents scurrying over his body, bringing more of the stinging pain.

Thump.

"I'll crush you all! This isn't how a dragon dies!"

Jorry's voice was frantic. Pained. Raspy. Filled with denial, rage, and fear.

He was nothing but a flailing shadow in the dark now.

Thump.

"A dragon! I'm gonna be a-"

The shadow of a dragon collapsed, its last words but a whisper under the shuffling of countless vermin.

Neron was no better.

Thump.

One wrong fall, a bit of pressure on the wrong part at the right angle, was all it took for the fragile human body to become useless. The human body was robust, efficient, and oh so frail. Even one as large as Neron’s.

Neron could have recovered. Been healed. Lived.

Thu-

He didn't.

Pinned under a bookshelf in the dark, as rats and mice ate away at his throat, tongue and eyes, Neron Kaiser died.

******