Accidental Reaver

Chapter 221 - 220: Calm Negotiation

The black metal mask rested carefully atop the ornate purple table with silver decor. Somehow, Luke expected to be here this morning. He came in as Rune, but once the twin obsidian doors closed, any need for pretense vanished. Ophelia Cyrn manipulated sound and aura to prevent any eavesdropping or scrying.

In the inner sanctum, Lenardis spewed musical notes. They danced in the air like flowing rivers. Ophelia sat in her purple and silver throne. Standing near the table, he temporarily relinquished the black metal mask. Luke kept a hand out, fingers brushing against it. Sound-laden green eyes met gold-flecked icy blue ones.

"Gold to the silver, young Defier." Ophelia started, manipulating her gray twisted wand to flick in tandem with Lendaris' music notes. Sound rippled like tsunami waves in the air nearest to her. She broke eye contact first, preferring to examine her nails. "Is there a need to insist on standing?"

"It's good to see you avoided death by iron sword impalement, City Lord." Luke casually answered, side-stepping the question. "Could we get to the contents of the letter you sent me recently? Also, this pulsing Sound Shard you set in me is rather annoying. I'm here, aren't I? Turn it off."

A small vein popped on the side of one of Ophelia's temples before she smoothed it out again. Her black hair flowed with the sound currents, and she set back her shoulders against the blue cushion on the throne. She tapped the air once, and a wisp of it made the Sound Shard within Luke dormant. "Emboldened by their recent surge in power, the Triad ruling the underworld is all but at an open declaration of war against my governance. 'Rune' is already tied to my influence through the ducal decree. By now, they should be bracing for your return."

"For him? The last public appearance is as a tier 1 hunter. Hardly cause for concern."

Ophelia laughed up to the vaulted ceiling. Sound rebounded on itself, tears in the air opened, needing time to mend itself back to normal. "How you undersell your capability. Do not forget, I am aware of what you became on the Western Front. Let us set aside the last showing of Rune saw fit to defeat a tier 3 noble elite outright."

She glanced at the black mask. The sound ripples shredded apart whenever they sought to affect the item. Pieces of stone gouged out around Luke, he remained self assured, no matter the probing. Sound empowered air rushed against his black hair. The faint Golden Stigmata calmly undulated on the back of his lower neck.

"Is this you calling in the favor I owe?"

"Consider it to fulfill that debt, and part of what else you owe for twice preventing your demise."

"One is completely your fault, you know."

"Should you find it unfair, then become something greater than a piece on the board."

"Working on it."

"Complete it. That aside, pick one of the three factions and cripple them. This will irrevocably shatter their pact, begin infighting, and allow the city government to reestablish complete control."

"Can't you…just go in and slaughter them yourself? You saw my capability. By the same token, I saw yours. Who can stop you if you choose to bash down their metaphorical door and ruin their day? Musai? He has every reason to cooperate instead of opposing you in this situation."

"As it always comes down to when the simplest answer remains the most elusive—politics, youngest Defier. Morgana and Lorcan can never openly admit they support any of the three. But should I move, they can surely invent an excuse to stop me."

"What prevents them from doing the same for Rune? From what little Lorcan let loose, he's not someone to dismiss easily. The Miel matriarch…would she rush in to assist any of the three? I barely understand her."

"Myself. In the triangular relationship I've come to find myself in, we all put the other in check. You, are a rule breaker, a piece that can consume the others, and change fast enough to minimize the risk of being checkmated yourself. Morgana would like nothing more than to see either the Gorrids or Velvet Hand leave the city. It's only when I act that she reluctantly 'appears' with Lorcan. Moon to the Sun." Ophelia brushed off her cuffs and inspected her polished nails. "A pact binds the two in technicality, agreed upon far before I ever reigned over Sylen. The only actor above it is Musai, who is more interested in his swords than righting the rotting foundation under Sylen's rough-shod exterior."

With a snap of her fingers, Lenardis came to rest on Ophelia's lap. She summoned a gray orb with musical notes rumbling within it to her hand. Lenardis composed additional notes, imprinting three such symbols onto the object—dark purple, red, and yellow. Ophelia offered the item to Luke.

"Attune to one of the three symbols. All information gathered by the city government relevant to disrupting a gang is held within any symbol. Red for the Gorrids, Yellow for the Golden Lions. Lastly, dark purple represents the Velvet Hand. You need to execute one or more of their highest echelon of leadership. Anything you should need to find them will be found within a symbol."

Cutting the distance between them, the Reaver accepted the orb after a cursory glance over its structure and three note emblems on the surface. Stepping back to a comfortable gap, he let Sooty put it in her spatial feather, taking the opportunity to spoil the bird with scratches.

"Ophelia." The Reaver put a flare of dark gold into a conjured frosting ice orb he created. "This is the reason for your change in tone, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"And I want your truth. If I continue your game, are you going to chain me to this city? It's a dominion for you, but a mere stop for me."

Ophelia furrowed her face for an instant. Luke saw her skin pores open up, and sound turn to fractals in her green depths. An inescapable elevation in heartbeats spiked—as one enjoyed greater bodily control at the upper tiers—and vanished with a flicker of mana. "We have a deal, evolved. When the debts are paid, should the indicators to your father lead you out this city, I will allow—"

"You lie so easily. I'm quite impressed. Here, rather than we both lie to each other for the entire conversation, and thus making it a pointless endeavor, I'll spell it out for you. Plainly. Simply. Like a peasant of the brain you peg me as." The ice creation misted into the air, golden flecks ate at the elemental sound, waging a losing war, but a nasty one. "I am your 'piece' to return this city to you. Our goals, up until the last point of contention, align."

Streams of dark gold streamed out into the expanding mist. A faint outline of a skull gave an eternal smile to a false queen. The war above became fierce enough to overshadow the one bubbling beneath. The Reaver grasped onto Xera, already floating in the air before him. Then rudely pointed it at Ophelia. "I want the Pyrites dead. For reasons I shall keep to myself, I am all but certain they are responsible for his disappearance. You want me for your purposes? There is one way that works for me, while benefiting you." Whispering Tome settled in the Reaver's other hand—pages imprinting new runes. "I attack the Red Gorrids, the pet group of the Pyrites. Soon after, I knock on the Pyrite's cage of fake gold, and let real greed taste their corruption."

"I do not like your tone, Defier. To dictate terms to me, why do you believe you're in such a position? You are incapable of sinking the Pyrite family to the depths. Even if you succeed against the Gorrids with my sanction."

"Sound bounces from the surface, does it not? Can it really measure the depths?" A deeper layer of gold cut into Luke's blue eyes. "Whether it's impossible or not is unimportant. Nothing else matters to me."

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"Could you not practice patience?" Ophelia's sounds settled to a low hum, separating from the mists swirling around Luke. "It is on a high note that I understand your growth rate, Defier. Like a symphony on the rise, the crescendo will come sooner rather than later."

"Pressure forces the rise." Luke released Xera, allowing her to float harmlessly. He came back over to the mask, brushing it off with splayed fingers. "What you ask of me, temptress of sound, is to kill my reason for coming this far."

Luke snapped back on the mask and commanded the building mists to scatter. The room, once akin to a boiling confrontation between two elements, returned to melody. "I've wasted enough time in Sylen. Well past the intended due date. By the end of this month, either Lorcan Pyrite is dead or I am."

Metaphysical sound chains hissed upon contract with the ice elemental—for it had named an end to its manipulation. Rune opened the ebony doors and walked back into the shifting estate. Ophelia's body became a medley of emotion, sound composed her, and undulated violently.

"See that you uphold the bargain in the allotted span, crazed one. Even you cannot exceed the speed of sound or the consequences of overestimated schemes."

Silent steps answered the woman of sound. Rune's defiant figure was sealed away by the shutting of the doors to her sanctum.

Covering any tracks, Luke stepped into an upscale Western Quadrant tea house. He paid extra for a private table with a cloth and wood sliding table entrance. Floral scents wafted off far too expensive tea. He considered the amenities worth the price, however.

Privacy, quiet, confidentiality, he sat here at this minimally decorated tea table for those things. Wards hummed on the walls' surface, mana lines connected them, and brands amplified their concealing effects. He noted the distinct lack of runic enchanting. Sooty sipped from his green tea at her pleasure.

Blowing icy mist circles, the Reaver knew his time as Rune was coming to a close. It was simple, really. The threads closed in, and if he ended up leaving Sylen as Luke or Rune, even the fooled eventually would put it together. Perhaps outside the Edgelands, he'd find use for Rune again, perhaps not. Resolving that, he ruminated over how best to use him.

Go for broke. Be unabashed, push comes to shove, I'll handle the fallout as I always have.

Preparations to be made. Plans to ruin and ignore. People to piss off. And ancient noble families to spurn or declare war on. All in a day's work. Back rubbing into a simplistic wooden chair, the Reaver tapped his face in thought.

Logic battled with reality. Reality battled with legacy. The legacy battled with Luke while supporting the Reaver.

Which was in control anymore? He didn't know. If it wrought the end goal, it seemed the best route would be to embrace it. Impatience struck a chord within. Logic asked for permission to delay for the umpteenth time. Call him the jester, because the illogical pulled at his sense of right and wrong more by the day. A quote from a famous philosopher jammed itself into Luke's mind; he uttered it out of habit.

"You are scared of dying, but is the kind of life you lead any different to being dead?"

Was he even happy anymore? All that glitters is not gold. The Tide's aftermath shoved it front and center—Luke played by rules that were fast becoming suggestions. The painstaking process of leveling mattered less to his class than any other in existence. If not for their requirement to reach the next tier and the attached two skill points per level, he'd even consider them useless.

Take time to build a faction or join someone else's team? Greed itself stole loyalty, not once, but twice now. Luke sipped the green tea, bitter as always, as he preferred it to be. The steam froze upon contact with his skin—being an ice elemental came with drawbacks. Information? Why not steal it? He'd previously been too caught up in attributes to see that they only enabled the baseline. Battles purely for experience, and to a lesser extent, loot, came dangerously close to being a gross misuse of time.

"So what do I want?"

He hatefully glared at the reports gathered, a combination of the Defier's information division and the City Lord's red music emblem on the orb she gave. The inner workings of the Red Gorrids were laid bare like a naked French woman on an over-studied century-old painting. The group's foundation was in the underground arena hidden under the Southern Quadrant. Five Barons served their Red Overlord, Demir. Out of those five Barons, not all were suited to combat. Two were tier 3: the archer, and an old enemy Luke encountered at a literal crossroads outside Sylen, a monic assassin. The remaining three, more support-focused, were a dark merchant, often covered by coins, an enchantress veiled by light, and an alchemist shrouded in green mist.

The Reaver negatively reminisced about that night. What did he say back then? Etot el seerae? Luke squinted; its translation was transcribed in the report. "See the blood."

Alone, none of them stood a chance. Their leader, Demir, promised to be a nasty confrontation, should it come down to it. A fallen monk, who displayed real skill with Blood Elementalization, enough to take into account. Going in without preparations? Suicide for any normal man. He reviewed some skills while mentally concocting a general direction to handle the Red Gorrid issue. He prioritized anything that upgraded a tier. Other skills like Infusion upgraded as well, but only in rank.

[Essence Lance, Tier 2]

Reaver creates a focused lance of essence. Multiple effects dependent on use. Upon impact, the lance pierces through 60% of the target's armor and resistances, damage scales to intellect and essence control. Inflicts a 50% slow on affected target, reducing movement and attack speed for 15 seconds. Targets slowed have a 5% chance of having a stat stolen per second. Four ice shards rotate around the lance, each detonates to either accelerate the lance or alter its direction, based on user's will. A ring connects the shards, resisting any suppressive effects and boosting its penetrative ability. Cost 30 Essence. Cooldown: 24 seconds.

[Essence Bond, Tier 2]

Increases stats of target ally by 20% of your stats, for 30 seconds. Effects increased by 20% if target ally has Infusion applied. Reduces stats of target enemy by 18% and makes target 120% more vulnerable to stat steal for 30 seconds. Cost: 20 Essence. Cooldown: 30 seconds.

The Essence Bond gap is gone with this. The ability is the same, but its duration is long enough to never run out if I refresh it on cooldown. Can't count how many times its let up at the wrong moment. Luke grinned, one less issue to consider. Essence Lance gained a ring. Could be a move to keep back if tier suppression or Domain suppression becomes too much in the heat of the moment. Luke moved on to the rest, taking a sip of tea again. Xera orbited him in a circle playing 'sword tag'—whatever that was—with Whispering Tome.

[Essence Fissure, Tier 2]

Creates a fissure of raw essence at a targeted area on the ground or sky, causing all enemies within the area to be knocked up above the fissure for 6 seconds. Dealing no damage and interrupts targets within the area. Caster may now target themselves with the Fissure, affecting them if desired. The Fissure becomes more attuned with Reaver's abilities. Cost: 30 Essence. Cooldown: 40 seconds.

[Siphon, Tier 2]

Place a draining mark on target enemy. Steals a low amount of stamina, health, resistances, and energy resource from target every second. Stackable, refreshes duration if target experiences direct damage of 2% or more to their health. Considered an Essence debuff. Current stack limit of five. Duration 8 seconds. Cost: 20 Essence. Cooldown: 30 seconds.

Luke casually grasped Xera to stop her from bullying Whispering Tome. Wayfinder swung side to side, laughing to himself. Essence Fissure changed again, its duration aside, the vague 'becomes more attuned with Reaver's abilities' clearly required testing. Siphon lived up to the reputation of a growth type ability. The jump in tier granted more stacks, less direct damage requirement to refresh or gain another stack, and worked on resistances and health, unlike before. Muttering 'play nice', Luke let the troublemaker sword-wand go. Sooty joined in on their fun.

[Withering Echo, Tier 1 - Passive]

When over 20 Essence is spent within a three second period, a Withering Pulse releases, lowering attack power by a moderate amount for six seconds on affected enemies. Has an internal cooldown of six seconds.

[Roll of the Reaver, Tier 2 - Passive]

With each successful stat steal, invoke the Roll of the Reaver. Stat-steals are converted to rolls between 3-13, determining the number of points stolen. The higher the roll, the more stats are permanently added to your own. Vastly increased probability of a high roll for HP. 100% extra value added to HP rolls, slightly increases odds of theft for rarer attributes.

Withering Echo should be effectively permanent, and Roll will keep up with the inflated health point gains I'll need. Above all else, I'm looking forward to the easier time taking away special attributes from others. Done processing the changes, Luke made a call with the sigil stone. The image of an elf woman with an owl above and a bear head below lit up the communication object.

"Luke? Is that you? Did something come up?"

"Plenty. Let's go to the Tower as a pair. I've got something that needs doing soon, likely around the original time you set aside. So, do you think you can humor me and find a target that can take a beating for practice?"

"I won't even ask. Timber's been fed up with all the running around lately. By the woods, listening to all the reconstruction efforts, and the constant invitations have been grating my nerves. I'll show you around the Tower, and don't worry, after your results in the Tide, I know taking it slow is going to be a waste of both our talents."

"What's the closest time that works for you?"

"An hour, and yourself?"

"An hour it is, meet you then."

"Beasts at your back."

Luke cut the sigil connection, about to pocket it. Yet, a connection he'd forgotten about—and never should've—lit up with a report at that moment. Janeus. This situation as good as any, Luke spoke to Janeus for a short burst, informing him it was time for him and Calista to play their role. The Reaver would handle the preparations; all either of them needed to do was stay available tomorrow night.

"You'll speak to Calista for me. The less contact with her I have in person, the better."

"Lord Luke, to your instructions, I will handle it. Where would you have us meet?"

"The Red Widow depot at the tip of the Eastern Quadrant. Again, tomorrow night. Be there, Janeus, with Calista in tow. Cover your traces."

"Greed consumes, Sin. We are chained to your will. The rebellious Second comes the moment you command it. Grasp the chain you forged in our souls."

"If that's what it comes to. I will."

Tossing the Sigil Stone into the Inventory, Luke called for a waiter and ordered more tea. Fate came to sink him into humanity's dark depths tomorrow. His soul was already there.