Reprisal came swiftly with much violence.

  Nick observed the market through the eyes of a spying minion, hidden among the shadows of the rooftops where lanterns never lit.

  A squad of thirty wardens wearing heavy armor and bearing falchions and arcbows marched towards the tower; they had received the distress call or had noted the chaos from their posting in the fortress, either or, it did not matter. The squad had come, sudden enough that the market vendors were unable to move their rickety stalls aside before sabatons came crushing down, ruining the livelihood of these desparate merchants.

  “Idiots,” Nick muttered, nevermind he was paying little attention to his current surroundings and would have been mortified had he mumbled to himself in such a way in a boardroom. He was still practicing adding his minion’s perspectives to his own.

  “Say somethin?” the elf had asked.

  “It was nothing,” Nick had the wherewithal to respond, before focusing once more through the eyes of his minion.

  The squad reached the tower. The invisible vapors had long since dispersed, and the tower’s garrison had somewhat recovered. They had stacked their dead within their morgue, at least a dozen wardens slain by exposure to the fumes.

  Nick only knew this as he could feel the corpses, although he was nowhere near enough to attempt raising them, and even if he were, he suspected that the wardens had countermeasures in place for any overly ambitious lich.

  “Ya? Do you know what is happening then? This trap of yours has been set, but…” Frostlight trailed off, once again voicing his doubts.

  Nick tried tuning the elf out, as the nattering was distracting him and controlling so many minions while heavily relying upon one took all his attention, and then some. His head already ached in a manner that defied his biological brain-matter, as his regeneration would have resolved the issue otherwise.

  “Quiet,” Nick said, letting the elf know that Nick was done with the conversation.

  When the squad reached the tower, several wardens came out, one being an officer. The captain of the squad stepped forward. Heated words were exchanged. The captain’s face reddened in anger. The captain backhanded the officer, then sent one of the officer’s men scurrying back in to the tower. While the corporal nature of the punishment was surprising, the captain’s anger expected, considering how the officer had failed to secure a fortified base and had lost multiple assets.

  Minutes later, the captain’s forces grew to be half again in size, and the officer was sent back into the tower with shame obvious in bearings.

  Nick was wondering if another opportunity was presenting itself, one he had not originally planned for. Would the wardens be so foolish as to leave the tower undefended? Nick imagined that there were plenty of resources within, the reanimateable material just one example of the profits he may find. But before he could alter his plans or find a catspaw to strike with, a metal grate came thundering down, sealing the entrance to the tower.

  “A gate?” Nick said, almost a sputter. The elf responded, but Nick failed to catch it. He was struggling with a sudden bout of vertigo, on top of the strain of everything else. He had not realized such a defence mechanism existed. A portion of his confidence rallied, as there had always been risk. Another portion of him suffered under post-action doubts, and he had to wonder, just how close had he come to being trapped within the tower when he had executed his heist, and just how near had his plans come to ruiniation, just because his intelligence had been lacking?

  His shoulder was moving. A hot breath, stinking of liquor in his face.

  His true eyes blinked open as his focus shifted from the minion to his own body.

  The elf was looming as far as a knee high man could. Nick had been sitting against a wall, leaving the elf more or less at Nick’s head height.

  “What,” Nick said, unamused. His doubts forgotten as he slipped back into a more regular role.

  “Well?” Frostlight asked. “Do we need to wrap him in bindings yet?”

  From further away, Kirk was issuing complaints in a contralto voice not his own. “Do we gotta?” Kirk asked. “Figure we could lean into me fightin’ my way out, y’know?”

  Nick narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar face. “Stick to the plan,” Nick said coldly, standing up and brushing himself off.

  “And yes, they are on their way,” Nick said. “Ready yourself, and the two of us must be off.”

  Kirk groaned. “You’re leaving me to it then? What if they don’t buy it?”

  Frostlight nodded in comiseration. “I would leave my flask, but that would break the story.”

  “The narrative, yes. Regardless, you will not be completely alone,” Nick said.

  He sent a minion carrying rope and cable into the room with Kirk. Two other minions took up a guardian position.

  Meanwhile, a portion of his attention, a fragment really, watched the wardens by the tower.

  The captain had pointed towards the direction Nick had been seen leaving, and a group of five split off, before splitting off again near the street where vendors were frantically stuffing their wares into transportable bundles or hastening to push their carts away. The wardens grabbed several of these merchants, roughly dragging them back to the captain.

  “They will be arriving soon,” Nick said, pulling Frostlight along behind him. “Remember your part and we’ll perform ours.”

  “Yeah,” Kirk said, uncomfortable and grunting as the minions turned him about, wrapping him tightly. “Still though, what if they don’t buy it?”

  Nick scoffed, “Trust me, they will. Just remember the plan.”

  “Right…”

  Kirk sounded less than confident.

  A door was kicked in.

  A man was drug out by his hair, kicking and screaming before being tossed to the stone of the cavern floor.

  A boot stamped down upon the man’s back.

  “Where are they?” A warden demanded of the man.

  The wardens had fanned out amongst the town, trending towards the inevitable trap. Nick continued to monitor the wardens’ progress, at least when he could. His coverage was spotty, limited to several minions throughout the region.

  Meanwhile, the poor man stammered. “W-who? I-I don’t–”

  “-worthless,” the warden said, spitting on the man and giving him a kick for his trouble.

  The warden’s paired mate grunted. “Well, c’mon. Let’s try the next one.”

  The first warden gave the local a farewell kick before leaving, heading the the next hovel.

  Considering the scenes that Nick was seeing play out throughout the town, the man had gotten off easy.

  Nick struggled to understand how the wardens’ were so willing to squander their resources. Surely, they recognized that they could find what they were after without hampering their long-term profits? The wardens were behaving irrationally, and this was disturbing. Nick’s plan was based upon rational actors, afterall.

  Eventually, the wardens converged, with runners sent off to grab the rest of their number. The wardens gathered around the very same hideout which Nick’s team had raided the week previous.

  Smartly, a perimeter was set loosely about the structure, to prevent escape.

  The captain sent in a brute of a warden carrying a heavy slab of metal. The brute began with a trudging walk towards the hideout, then a trot, then a sprint. Hundreds of pounds of flesh and metal crashed through the front wall of the hideout.

  Wardens poured in.

  A man’s muted struggles and thumping could be heard from the ceiling above the entrance.

  There was a crash.

  The wardens fanned out.

  One of Nick’s zombies lunged from where it hid, grappling a warden and carrying it down, taloned fingers slashing exposed flesh.

  Metal came piercing down.

  Hot pink actinic flashes sounded.

  Just before Nick lost his connection, he had the minion trigger an explosive.

  The room exploded, visible from Nick’s observer across the road and down several buildings.

  Without any further assets on the ground floor, he was unable to watch the wardens progress through the building, until they reached the top-most floor, where his last surprise was waiting.

  Rather than sending that zombie out immediately, Nick kept it hidden in a hastily concealed corner of the room, a false wall made of tarp and mud.

  The wardens entered the room and sighted the man bound tightly with cords and ropes.

  The wardens wasted not time in speaking.

  There was another man in the room, one carrying a wand, held in a shaky hand towards the tied bundle.

  “W-wait!” the trembling man shouted.

  The wardens fired their arcbows, pink flashes striking the criminal. Before the man could be called dead, Nick sent his final zombie out, crashing through the false wall, in the best act of madness that Nick could emulate. The zombie was never able to trigger any of its devices, by plan. It was quickly put down, cutting off Nick’s sight completely.

  From where Nick and Frostlight hid in a nearby bunker, Frostlight groaned, rubbing his temples.

  “Lost it,” Frostlight complained. “What of you?”

  Nick nodded. “Indeed. Now, we must wait and see.”

  Nick and Frostlight then waited several tense minutes. Nick was growing concerned as the wardens continued streaming into the building, in and out, but never with what he was watching for.

  Tens of minutes passed, and Nick was beginning to consider his back-up plan. Afterall, they still had the artist, and Nick felt confident that between the elf and the artist that some very interesting vectors could be opened. It would be a shame though, as the boy had been a potent asset.

  The current situation would not be terrible, although a net gain overall.

  Nick turned to Frostlight, “You have the detonators clearly marked?”

  “It is not looking like they have our friend?” Frostlight asked grimly.

  “Just a precaution,” Nick said with some visible sadness. “But Kirk would not want this to be in vain, and if we can further reduce his killers? I think he would have wanted that.”

  Frostlight’s brows pinched together; he opened his mouth, scowled, then closed it and pulled his flask from his jacket.

  It was not as though Nick could protest the elf drinking, all things considered. It came as a surprise for Nick, when instead of drinking it personally, the elf poured it out upon the floor.

  The elf had just begun to speak some funerary nonsense when Nick spotted several wardens exiting the building in a formation, with a weary and shell-shocked man walking between them.

  “Hold that thought,” Nick said. “It looks like they have him.”

  “Now?!” Frostlight whisper shouted angrily. “Now you tell me?”

  The wardens did not immediately depart the hide-out.

  They first secured their dead, and they brought the captain to see the sight of the brief battle in person.

  They also tended to the Sacred Artist, to ensure that the man was stable and in good health. During this time, Nick continued to watch through the eyes of a hidden minion, and he belatedly relayed what he saw to the elf.

  After what felt like half a day, the wardens gathered themselves up and began to travel in force, back towards the town’s center.

  When Nick relayed this, the elf swore.

  “Odin’s flaming eye!” Frostlight said. “That was not part of your plan, Nick. No, it was not.”

  Nick took a moment to calm himself, taking a deep breath and feeling where his pulse should have been. The lack of one helped him keep things in perspective.

  “They may be rejoining their colleagues,” Nick said, cautioning patience. “Or perhaps they’re taking the most central path to return, or any number of other reasons. What remains important is that Kirk is with them. Eventually, they will bring him in.”

  “Unless they discover the ruse,” Frostlight said under his breath.

  “Just… wait.”

  Although, Nick himself was growing concerned as well. All along, the wardens had been deviating from what he thought they would have done, should have done, what any sensible person would choose to have done, given the circumstances. But, that belief had already been shaken.

  And yet, as he watched the wardens continue towards the town’s center where the tower stood, he checked his assumptions. Surely, the wardens would not choose to stay within the tower, not without going through the entire structure with a fine-toothed comb. Doing otherwise would be madness.

  And yet, to the tower the wardens went.

  Of course, Nick thought of keeping this ill news to himself, but that would have been counterproductive. So, Nick told the elf.

  Frostlight sucked a breath through his teeth.

  “Did they enter?” Frostlight asked. “Did they bring him in?”

  In fact, the wardens had entered the tower, although not all of them. Around half of the captain’s force remained outside while the rest went in, including their rescued member.

  “It appears so, although it appears that they might not be planning on staying.”

  After a few minutes, when there was not any change within the tower, Frostlight grew somewhat forlorn.

  Nick thought it was overdramatic. He remained confident in the boy’s abilities to either escape or fool the wardens. But, just in case the wardens needed a helpful shove to get them moving, Nick turned to the elf and asked, “Did you keep the shaped charges?”

  The elf frowned, “Ya, but I do not think these can bring down that tower, and even if they did, that seems harmful to the lad.”

  Nick shrugged, “Even if they just gave the tower a shake, it would be enough to shake the last of their confidence in the place. Enough to get them moving.”

  The elf glanced to a corner within the bunker where junk had been pushed up against the wall in a pile. “Might have some still, but it is not the best of what was made.”

  “And that’s fine,” Nick said. “It just needs to be enough to get the their attention.”

  “One of your unquiet dead will carry it?” Frostlight asked.

  “Of course,” Nick said with a confident smile and a charisma honed by years of practice before a mirror.

  However, before this plan could be more than made, the wardens began moving once more, with several of their number exiting the tower, the artist among their number, along with the loaded cart full of stones and the captain.

  “Put a pin in that,” Nick said, waving Frostlight away from where he had been modifying one of his grenades. “Like we thought, they’re moving back to the fortress.”

  “This is somewhat vexing,” Frostlight muttered.

  Nick ignored it otherwise, instead directing his minions to carry several sacks of gear. If all continued going according to plan, they would not be returning to any of their boltholes.

  In the end, despite the sense of urgency, so much of the plan came down to waiting.

  Nick and Frostlight arrived at a natural carved cleft in the cavern floor, as near to the fortress’s gates as they could get, without triggering those watching from within the walls.

  As before, the immediate surroundings were flattened and lit, with a clearly demarcated boundary of where the prisoners could not tread, at least not without drawing fire from the wardens.

  He still thought the entire installation was ridiculous.

  “Their efficiency is abysmal,” Nick complained from where he leaned against the jagged stone.

  “It is not the point of contention most of us have with them, ya?”

  Nick scoffed, wondering if it was worth arguing about, considering that there was a very real chance that the elf would cut and run once the team escaped to the surface. But as he and the elf remained there, waiting in what was essentially a long and narrow hole in the cavern’s floor, there was little else to do. And, Nick justified, even if the elf did go his own way, if Nick could instill some lesson, then the elf in turn might impart it again to someone else. Nick Delaney rather enjoyed the idea of kicking off a movement.

  “It really should be,” Nick said.

  The elf seemed slightly surprised, eyes widening a fraction in Nick’s direction, before the elf shrugged. “Then you will share these lessons from this home far-away of yours?” Frostlight asked.

  Nick dithered a moment, an intentional power-play in this instance as he was withholding something from the elf. Before the elf changed course, though, Nick answered.

  “You could say that, although it’s called good business practices, and before you argue against it, these wardens of ours are operating a business of sorts. They recruit, they out-source resource acquisition, and presumably they sell that which is acquired. Whether they sell directly, or outsource to some other organization is besides the point.

  “Is this a point you can agree with me on?”

  Frostlight made a strangeled noise and patted down his vest pocket where his flask would ordinarily have been. When his groping hands returned empty, he scowled at some invisible point before nodding. “It is not a point of view most would have, as it implies the lords above are separated from some other sort of lord of coin… so you could say I agree.”

  Nick had to frown at the fact he had failed to consider that these people had never achieved a separation between church and state and commerce. It was all considered a single morass to begin with. He shook it off, as he was really just ensuring a common starting point, anyways.

  “Indeed. Now, why would we, the labor, want the operating margin to improve?”

  On seeing the elf’s slightly confused expression, Nick explained the term, “That is to say, why would we want the wardens to earn more while spending less on keeping the business going.”

  “That is what was the start of all this,” Frostlight said. During the conversation, he had used a device similar to a periscope to watch the fortress gate for any sign of Kirk’s success. “We cannot be certain to have such a long time to discuss such things, ya?”

  “It is taking longer than anticipated,” Nick said with a frown. “But some delays are expected. They likely will debrief the man and get settled in before Kirk can move.”

  Frostlight shrugged, settling back down to his haunches while they waited. Nick took this as a sign to continue.

  “First, if the wardens spent less on maintaining their operations, then it would be easier to escape, but that is not the point I want to make here. If the wardens improved their efficiency, then they could reduce recruitment, which in this case means false imprisonments or even just ones. Less prisoners means–”

  “-more executions–”

  “-well, that’s not where I was going to go with that, but I suppose it remains a possibility. However, even with less recruitment, improving their margins would mean increasing our yield from the dungeon below. This could mean better gear, better support, or even better healthcare. An incentivised workforce gives better yields, and nothing incentivises like shared profits.”

  The elf regarded Nick dryly. “The wardens would not be so willing to share, I think.”

  Nick grinned smugly, “They will when they see their slice of the pie getting bigger.”

  The elf tilted his head, looking confused. Nick waved it off.

  “Besides, their wastefulness results in a lot of the misery we see in town. Or can you honestly say that having a place three-quarters filled with wastes of space is necessary? Incising would improve it all, no?”

  The elf cringed, but never said why.

  The conversation continued for some time, until finally, from within the fortress, there came a great ‘whoomph’ of an explosion, shaking the cavern and sending rocks falling loose.

  “Finally,” the elf said, breathing a sigh of relieve.

  The gates to the fortress fell outwards, opening like a maw. From within, sounds of alarm rang out, including an actual klaxon bell. Several smaller explosions began detonating from further within the fortress. A flare was thrown from one of the windows above, shining a magnesium blue as it fell.

  “And that is our signal,” Nick said, limbering himself and his minions. He hopped up and over the lip of their hole before crouching down and reaching a hand to the elf to give help in climbing up and out. As the elf clasped Nick’s hand, Nick grinned. “I told you it would work.”

  Frostlight smacked his lips and passed a finger over several of his holstered wands.

  The shouts from within the fortress were not abating, but they remained full of chaos and competing orders for status checks. It was another result of a poorly run organization, Nick thought.

  “It is not finished yet,” Frostlight said.

  The two of them with Nick’s minions then hastened into the fortress.

  ***

  With him Nick brought five minions, all he had remaining and also the best of his labor pool. They bore metal-banded bone armor, artificed enhanced cutlasses and shields, and each had embedded within them a sizable self-destruct method, should the asset need to be used in a sacrificial play. They also bore the enhancements that their bodies wielded in life, if at a fraction of the original potency.

  It was these minions Nick had held in reserve, and it was these minions which would enable his freedom.

  Two of them he used as a forward guard, the other three he kept close by.

  Together, with Frostlight, Nick entered the fortress which separated them from the surface.

  Once within the fortress, Nick marvelled at the lack of a guard, and wondered just how effective Kirk had been. There were several splotches of blood along the walls, along with more notable pieces. He felt the fragments of a hand nearby, some of the wrist, but not much else.

  “Think the lad did all this?” Frostlight asked, averting his eyes when they happened upon the hand.

  “Perhaps,” Nick answered. “Though I’m sure your devices deserve some of the credit.”

  Frostlight bit his lip and nodded.

  They continued on their way, passing along what was likely ordinarily a well fortified hall, but which now remained open and ungaurded. They passed beneath several unattended murderholes, and more than a few arrow holes along the wall.

  “But now I am unsure,” Nick said. They were moving quickly, but not quite a jog. The minions were ill-suited to running, as burdened as they were, and Nick wanted to avoid over-leveraging his party and leaving himself exposed.

  “Ya?” Frostlight asked, prompting Nick to continue, likely hoping for Nick to explain away the elf’s culpability in the slayings. Nick saw no benefit to allowing the elf to wallow, at least not when they had better things to be doing.

  “WIth how easily we’re passing through this level, and by the fact we haven’t run into Kirk yet, there has to be some glaring issue we aren’t seeing. Perhaps improper staffing, or organizational sloth. Corruption, maybe.”

  While they spoke, most of Nick’s attention was sweeping the halls ahead with his forward scouts. They had passed several sealed doors, heading to chambers unknown. Nick worried they held wardens waiting to ambush them. Without the time to investigate each and every side-passage and locked doorway, Nick could do nothing but keep a tight guard about himself and the elf.

  Despite misgivings, their travel remained unimpeded and uneventful.

  That was until his forward guard found the very end of the hallway, where it unexpectedly ended with an unadorned stone wall. While there were doorways to either side several yards back from this point, Nick had been expecting a stairwell. Granted, their intel was limited from what they could get from the wardens, admittedly not much, but still… Nick found this vexing.

  “This is a problem,” Nick said, soon reaching the hallway end. “There should have been a way up. And while I”m sure there’s a stairway nearby, the fact that our layouts are erroneous will be problematic.”

  “And this,” Frostlight griped, “This is why I suggested Charming more than the artist. But nien, not for you, it is all about your plan, ya?”

  Nick furrowed his brows, unsure of where the hostility was coming from, but brushing it off as the stress of the operation. In this case, Nick could relate, and he decided to emphasize with the elf.

  “Yes, that would have been beneficial,” Nick said. At this point, he sent out his minions fan out to find the path forwards and upwards. “Perhaps I was too forceful, and for that I apologize. At the time though, from what we knew then… no, I won’t justify the choice. You’re absolutely right. Battles are won through intelligence, which my mistake cost us.”

  Nick disliked these sorts of admissions, but it was a small price to pay to keep the team cohesive for just a bit longer.

  In response, the elf clicked his tongue in irritation, but nothing further was said on it, and the elf did seem to drop the issue, which Nick counted as a success.

  “Where is the lad?” Frostlight asked instead, changing the subject. The elf was trailing his fingers along the seams between the stones, perhaps seeking a hidden mechanism.

  Meanwhile, Nick had found a double-wide doorway, although the doors were both heavy and barred. He suspected that this was the path forward and he had begun to retrieve the shaped charges suitable for breaching. He was ignoring the other locked doorways, figuring that as they were lesser in size that they were meant less for travel and more for storage or temporary garrisoning.

  Of course, as Nick performed these tasks through his minions, he decided he needed to share a bit more context with the elf, sharing and building rapport during a stressful moment. He remembered reading something like that in an article about managing high performance teams.

  “It is always the difficulty of leaders to make measured decisions, weighing the unknowns and the perceived benefits such actions would gain. As it were, there were several advanced professions devoted to this art–”

  Nick’s explanation was interrupted by a loud series of bangs coming from further back along the hallway.

  Nick stopped placing the charges and formed up his minions between himself and the noise.

  The noises were coming from one of the side doorways that they had passed. It was likely the wardens finally making a showing. Nick and Frostlight shared a look before they pressed themselves to a wall to minimize their profile, letting the zombies place themselves between Nick and the doorway from where the noises arose.

  There then came a pained shout, a drawn out gasping sound, then a moment of silence.

  “Do you think that was the lad?” Frostlight asked.

  Nick shot the elf a glare, as any source of noise could draw the attention of any remaining wardens, assuming that they were who had made the racket.

  As though to prove Nick’s point, the elf’s statement was almost immediately followed by an explosive bang. Smoke billowed out from the poorly sealed threshold and dust clouded all vision.

  Nick was unsure if he should charge a minion in to scout the mess, or if he should simply wait. An uncharacteristic indecisiveness plagued him. While he hemmed and hawed, there came a creaking groaning sound, metal scraping stone, growing in volume. A shadow darted downward in the obscured hallway, followed by a jarring crash of a great and heavy weight striking stone. The entire hallway shook, the dusty smoky air was pushed further out, accosting Nick’s position.

  The elf coughed.

  Nick wanted to swear, but he refrained, afraid of drawing even more attention to his position.

  He remained ready to strike out or duck and hide, depending on the situation. He assured himself that his minions would serve as a barrier against any foul surprises that might come from the mess before them.

  It was then that the smoke cleared and showed a semi-familiar form, one poking around from the corner where the door had been but was now hanging askew against the floor and far wall. It was the ‘Sacred Artist,’ or rather, Kirk. The lad must have felt that the guise might be of some further use in the escape, or that it would take too long to drop the guise for something else with more utility.

  “Could you not have unlocked that from your side?” Frostlight asked, irritated at the waste of his explosive devices.

  Kirk winced sheepishly, “Lost the keys,” Kirk said.

  “Is that the way forward?” Nick asked, caring more for the plan to escape and less for Frostlight’s hurt feelings.

  “Yep,” Kirk said. He saw the double-wide doorway that Nick had been setting explosives along. “Don’t know what’s down that way, but the next level is accessible from here.”

  “Excellent,” Nick said, brushing everything off as though nothing untoward had occurred. He moved his minions to lead the way into the newly opened hallway before joining himself. As he went, Nick asked for a status report. “Were you able to seal the garrison? I see that the distractions were at least somewhat successful.”

  Frostlight swept past them, urging them to get a move on.

  Before Kirk started moving himself, he answered. “Yep, sealed at least one of ‘em. Left a few more of those distractions too, but not sure how long it’ll all hold, y’know?”

  “Why are you dawdling?!” Frostlight demanded. “This is not time to wait!”

  They fell in behind Kirk, all minions kept close as Nick was unsure of the way. He politely ignored the gaping maw in Kirk’s stomach, where the lad had used the space to smuggle in some of the ‘surprises’ he had mentioned.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Kirk had been correct. He had left plenty of surprises for the wardens to find, and that those surprises were quickly becoming exhausted. Only minutes had passed since they had met up before another explosion rocked the fortress from somewhere beneath them. Kirk had led the party to the first set of stairs, ones that felt like more of a backway and less of a main pathway. These stairs only took them fifty yards before depositing them within another maze of stone walls, these carved through stone earth.

  Another minute passed, then another. Somewhere in the distance there was a flurry of activity, growing louder. Kirk paused, held up a finger as though to wait, and then another explosion went off, echoing down the passageways and shaking the fortress. Afterwards, Kirk nodded to himself and resumed the pace.

  “Was it wise to stop and showboat?” Nick asked, hoping to instill some wisdom in the boy.

  Kirk snorted and shook his head, while the elf made a sour face. “Now he cares about standing around?”

  Nick furrowed his brows, unsure of what the elf was referring to.

  Some time later, another explosion went off. The party had yet to find the next set of stairs, Kirk’s sense of direction seeming to fail him. When the echoes stopped, Kirk said, “And that’s the last of ‘em. Hope you guys brought some mines.”

  “Of course we did,” Frostlight said. “Is this where we should lay them?”

  “No,” Nick said, cutting in and regaining control. “As we aren’t sure where we are, we cannot be sure that this is a path that our pursuers will take. We should wait until we pass a high traffic thoroughfare or juncture.”

  “Yep,” Kirk said. “But we should probably find the way up… don’t know if you guys got any ideas?”

  Nick blinked at the frank admission and then stepped up. “I have a few ideas. I noticed some signage several turns ago. And while it seemed vague, it at least implies that it was a primary path, which implies further signage or other sources of intelligence.”

  Nick explained, rather proud of how he was keeping cool in the face of adversity.

  “Then why didn’t you say anything?!” Frostlight demanded.

  “With the elf, there,” Kirk added.

  Both of them frowned at Nick, suddenly leaving Nick feeling somewhat defensive. He knew it was not wise to deny such arguments directly, so instead he diverted the blame. “I had thought Kirk was leading us somewhere.”

  The elf seemed to buy that while Kirk muttered under his breath.

  They backtracked then, heading towards where they had heard cries of alarm from earlier, and Nick was somewhat worried. “Prepare yourselves,” Nick advised. “We are far more likely to encounter hostiles.”

  Fortunately, the reached the hallway without confrontation.

  Nick pointed out the sign that he had seen to the others. It pointed down a separate hall and read ‘CAFETERIA B.’

  They kept to the main path, heading away from the stairs back down, and avoiding the various turn-offs. As they went, they began laying mines. Or rather, Nick passed the mines to Kirk who then installed them in devious locations, where most would not look nor see if they did.

  After the fourth mine, Frostlight began grumbling.

  “Or just waste another, why don’t you,” the elf groused, complaining that it was his hard work that was spent so quickly.

  “What do you mean?” Nick asked, although he had a feeling that the complaint arose from a disagreement in resource management.

  “Those don’t just grow from nothing, ya? I will not have time to make any others and we will likely need them on the surface.”

  At that point, one of the earlier mines went off. The sudden pressure wave caused the elf to stumble forward.

  “Perhaps less talking, more moving?” Nick said, hastening his pace.

  Another explosion later, and they had finally found the signs pointing towards the stairs. Kirk wanted to set another mine, but there was little time to linger and the wardens were likely growing wise to the trick. Nick denied handing over any others and instead began jogging, following the signs, going just slow enough for the elf and the minions to keep pace.

  The sounds of pursuit reached them, voices and footsteps and clanking of gear before Nick found the actual stairwell itself. This time, the stairs were a bit more modern, an upward spiral following a large shaft of empty space. The steps were rusted in places, and some of the struts holding it all together appeared strained, with parts of the stairway slightly less than perfectly perpendicular to the wall.

  “Finally,” Nick breathed. This time, he himself set the mine, this time just under the first step.

  Another explosion went off.

  Nick leads the other two, bounding up the stairs two to three at a time. The elf is starting to fall behind with Kirk keeping with the elf. Nick knew he should take the stairs slowly, with more caution, but as soon as he reached the stairwell, he practically felt it calling. Somewhere in the floors above, it was waiting.

  While they took the stairs, Kirk was modifying himself continually. Nick was able to keep watch through the lagging minions, and Nick wondered just what Kirk’s plan was, since he was taking on rather animalistic traits. If Nick had Kirk’s power, Nick would have been infiltrating his way to freedom. That Kirk chose this very unsubtle form seemed foolish to Nick, at least from Kirk’s perspective.

  The transformation might have been why Kirk was travelling slowly alongside the elf. Modifying one’s own skeletal system would typically be more of a stationary activity. Bounding up the stairs while changing one’s legs and gait and overall balance, all things considered, Nick was impressed by Kirk’s ability to move and function at all while changing flesh. Kirk only stumbled twice while his body subtly reshaped itself, compacting upon itself, limbs becoming gaunt, fingers long and spiked. His face began warping as well with cracks and snaps, a disturbing muzzle beginning to jut forward, while his eyes took a bestial look.

  As they climbed floor after floor of stairs, the drawing connection between Nick and it had continued to grow, to the point that he felt a noticeable throbbing hole within his chest, one which he usually tried to ignore. It was painful in that it was always painful, but now his attention was forcibly drawn towards that pain.

  He needed to go faster.

  At that time, another explosion rocked them, this own shoving wind up at them. Taking the risk of glancing down the center of the stairwell, Nick saw the flash of flame and the cloud of smoke. A pained scream echoed up, along with a barked reprimand.

  “Blackest ice,” Frostlight swore, also realizing that the wardens were at the proverbial gate. As he was the slowest member of the team, it made sense that he would be concerned. “Nick, do you think your restless dead can stop them?”

  Nick grimaced. That would be a poor use of his resources, especially as he had only brought five of them and it would take significant effort to raise minions of a similar caliber.

  “I’m not ready to sacrifice any just yet,” Nick said. “Why don’t you toss a present down there?”

  “Just how many devices do you think I have prepared?!” Frostlight demanded.

  The smoke was clearing and boots had just hit the first metal step, reverberating up through the stairwell.

  It was dire enough that Nick relented. “Fine,” Nick agreed. “Just one though, and you need to give it cover. Even armored, I doubt it will last long unsupported”

  Frostlight quickly agreed, sending furitive glances down the stairwell. The wardens saw him and a pink actinic flash lit the stairwell and scorched a mark into the underside of the stairs above where Frostlight stood.

  Nick had already chosen a minion to sacrifice, one of the weaker ones. He sent it down the stairwell, hugging the wall. Frostlight picked through his gear until he found a suitable grenade. He primed it and tossed it down the center.

  “Watch out!” a warden shouted from down below.

  A whoosh sounded, and a plume of smoke rose up, followed by a cloud of irritants and heat.

  “Gods!” Kirk swore, picking up the pace as some of the irritants reached them. With Kirk’s body modifications, his senses were likely especially sensitive. “Why that one?!”

  “Best–” Frostlight coughed, covering his face with a cloth “-cover! Zombies aren’t–”

  “-Shut it and just move!” Kirk said.

  Nick had not stopped ascending during any point of this, and he was now more than a flight ahead of the rest.

  His delaying minion reached the wardens, surprising them in the cloud of blinding irritants. The minion was unable to see through the cloud either, but it was strong enough and had a blade sharp enough that wild swings worked well enough on at least one of the wardens. By what the minion was hearing, at least one of them went down with calls for aid, before something jabbed into its guts. It would last a bit longer, Nick decided.

  Besides, the pull was now strong enough and pulling even with him that he knew he was almost there.

  The minion suffered another blow, this to the head. It jarred the connection and almost slew the minion. A lucky strike, Nick figured. He decided to activate the zombie’s internal device before he lost complete control. The zombie stabbed a sharpened digit in between a missing rib and hit the switch. Seconds later, another plume of heat sent additional material up the stairwell.

  “Must you?!” Kirk swore.

  It was then that Nick arrived at the floor that was emanating the call. Of course, he would never have relied on some unknowable gut feeling, but this gut feeling was rather notable. However, in this case, he was not forced to rely upon it, as there was other corroborating evidence that he had arrived at the right floor: besides the door, there was some promising signage.

  VAULT/ADMINISTRATIVE RECORDS

  Nick realized he had frozen up when the other two reached him. They seemed confused at seeing Nick just standing there, but they were not about to stop running, not when there were still wardens down at the bottom of the stairwell, fighting through that snarl of a mess.

  Splitting the party was something that Nick had wanted to avoid, but he had known that this was a possibility. It did not feel just right leaving the other two without words. Within his inner thoughts, he hoped that the other two would decide to accompany him on this, but if he were in their shoes, he knew that he would have left him behind.

  So, when they were just starting to pass him by, Nick said, “Hold. This is where I need to head. Will you…” Nick trailed off when he saw the looks on both of their faces. “No, of course you wouldn’t. But I must, so this is where we part ways.”

  Another flash of pink light from down below, but it was unclear at what was being shot at. The wardens would not be able to see through the dust, and they had yet to climb further than where the zombie had been, at least so far as Nick could determine from the sounds of it.

  Nick was not the only one having second thoughts at splitting the party. But rather than accompany him, it was going the other way.

  “There is not any time for this,” Frostlight said, “They will stop you. The vault will be locked, ya? Better to escape now, I think.”

  The wardens had begun climbing the steps again, their steps reverberating the stairwell once more.

  “You’re sure it’s in there?” Kirk asked impatiently. “And not some sort of trick? I wouldn’t go labeling where my valuables are stored.”

  That was definitely something Nick had not thought about. Corporate signs should be accurate, at least from what Nick had assumed. But then he really thought about it, what it would require for an organization to make the decision of putting up false signage for just such the occasion that someone wished to rob them.

  They were a security based organization, at least partially. They likely lacked the humility to foresee any inmates reaching this level. And considering the levels of fortifications Nick had passed, he supposed that such organizational confidence was somewhat warranted.

  “Were it not for what I’m feeling, this–” Nick grasped at an intangible near his chest “-thing, then maybe. But no, it’s there. I need to get it. Are you willing to accompany me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The other two only had to consider this for a fraction of a second at best before Frostlight answered for the both of them.

  “Nien,” Frostlight said. “This is not something we can do. We must keep moving. We–I cannot stop here–not when so close to escaping this pit and finding my kin. I am sorry, but no, no–we must continue to climb, with or without you.”

  Nick grimaced, but the sentiment had not been beyond expectation. A rational actor made rational decisions, and in this case Frostlight was making the rational decision. Nick was able to take some comfort from that fact, that his world model was holding true. All the same, he considered different tactics to convince the other two otherwise. He glanced at Kirk, the first ally who Nick had cultivated.

  Kirk as well shook his head, his answer obvious and clear.

  The boots were stomping closer, and the clanking of armor and gear could now be heard in much more detail. The wardens were four flights below. The time for dawdling was over.

  “The elf’s right,” Kirk said, seeming both pained and anxious. He crouched just slightly, coiling as a spring. Nick recognized the posture from battling alongside the lad. Kirk kept speaking, “We can’t stick around.”

  What Kirk asked next surprised Nick.

  “This gonna be a fight?” Kirk asked, implying that Nick would be so frivolous as to attack an ally in the middle of a battle while he was the underdog.

  “No,” Nick answered, some anger in his tone, the stress of the situation slipping through. “A fight would serve none of us…” It was then Nick latched on to a final play. A basic and banal guilt trip, “No, if we will separate, then at least you two will escape while I buy time.”

  “Or, or hear me out,” Kirk said. “You could come with us and leave it behind.”

  If only Nick could. But no, he was tied to the phylactery like a dog leashed to a post. Even if Nick could escape, the phylactery could always be used to torment him or locate him again. This was something all of them had known. The fact that Kirk had idly suggested that was good, though, as it meant that the lad was seeking to comfort himself against the harsh fact.

  “Not just yet,” Nick answered, before adding a promissory open ending. “We may meet again up top though.”

  “... Yeah,” Kirk finished lamely.

  Frostlight then thrust a satchel into Nick’s hands.

  “Take this,” Frostlight said, handing off the devices, largely explosives of one nature or another, which Frostlight had been holding in reserve. “With these, maybe we will see eachother sooner instead of later.”

  Nick was not so gauche as to smile, but he did demonstrate his appreciation. He was thankful that his rapport was healthy enough that Frostlight fell for the guilt-trip. Still, though, it left Nick feeling a little confused and warm and he was not a fan of it.

  By this point, the wardens were only two flights below. The trio glanced between themselves–they all knew what one of them had to do, but none of them wanted to be the one to spend one of their resources. At least that was how Nick saw it. Eventually, as the wardens began taking potshots at them, from the flight below, Nick sent two of his minions to crouch along the back of the stairs, just in case the wardens made it that far before one of them acted.

  It was Frostlight that broke first.

  On a bandolier across his chest, he kept his most potent creations. It was one of these devices which he drew forth, pulling it to his lips and giving it a kiss. “Crush them, my little Mary,” Frostlight whispered under his breath. It was then that Frostlight tossed the grenade across the stairwell, two flights down.

  Frostlight unclipped a grenade from his bandolier, primed it, then tossed it down and across. The wardens were just passing the stairway below where the grenade landed when it went off with an ear smashing boom. The vibrations caused the stairway to buck beneath them, Frostlight staggered and caught himself on the wall. Belatedly they realized that Kirk was already climbing the stairs, beginning to leave Frostlight behind.

  Frostlight saw this, clicked his tongue, gave Nick an apologetic glance, then as a final farewell he tossed one last grenade.

  “Ware!” One of the more vigilant wardens called out. Others began to turn back and dive down the stairs, despite the dangers of tumbling down the stairs. The grenade sent out a concussive wave of force. Near immediately, there was a rattling popping sound of metal rivets cracking. The metal structure groaned and began tearing away from the wall.

  “This will not keep them for long. If you escape, head south, and our paths may cross again, ya?”

  “Indeed,” Nick said, feeling somewhat more hopeful. “It is very possible. Until then.”

  Frostlight waved back and then hurried up after Kirk.

  As for Kirk himself, already a floor above, as Kirk came around the corner and briefly faced Nick, the two caught each other's eye and gave a terse yet respectful nod. During this, Kirk called out, “Good luck, yeah?” As he kept climbing.

  But that phrase had always bothered Nick. It was an almost instinctive cognitive behavior. Nick scoffed. “As if I’d need luck,” Nick said to himself, beginning to try gaining entrance to the floor with the vault. But of course, the door was locked. Yet another impediment, although one which Nick had the tools to resolve swiftly. “Just as a good general in war, a good business-man makes his own luck.” What Nick failed to mention was that this luck was made through preparations beforehand, but it was less pithy and memorable.

  The stairwell groaned and shuddered. The stress from the collapsing section pulling on the portion of the stairway he was on.

  It was not as if Nick was in a hopeless situation. He convinced himself that he had better than even odds of achieving what he needed before escaping. But if the stairway collapsed completely, he was unsure how he would get out. The problem was that the stairway was being dragged downwards by the connecting bits of metal between his section and the one below.

  The added weight of the wardens likely was exacerbating that issue.

  The answer to both problems was found within the satchel he had been handed by Frostlight. He pulled out one of the three such devices, a special cylinder painted white with red stripes. He primed it and tossed it down the stairway.

  Seconds later came a fwoosh and a wave of super intense heat. The stairway lit so brightly it may as well have been blinding.

  There were screams of course. Oh, how there were screams.

  The flames continued burning white. Steel began to turn cherry red, then yellow, then drip and dribble, similar to hot wax.

  The strain on Nick's portion of the floor lessened as the deadweight was cut.

  When the stairs below crashed downward, carrying the pool of flames and the pained terrified screaming wardens, the problem was deemed resolved.

  Nick clapped his hands and turned his full attention towards the iron door separating him and his minions from the vaults and administrative sections. As he considered the collapsed stairwell, he decided to only leave one minion behind, instead of two. Resource management.

  He put down a shaped charge, hid behind his minions, and triggered the detonation.

  One of his minions took shrapnel to the neck but was already regenerating from the damage, far more quickly than normal.

  Nick kicked the door open himself, viewed the darkened corridor, and then sent two of his minions forward, with the other two remaining in the rear.

  He knew that even with the stairway collapsed that his time was limited. There were likely wardens coming downwards which would only be delayed by so long by his ex-teammates. There was also the likelihood that there were alternative means to traverse the floors besides the stairwell which the wardens could use. And finally, there was the fact that even the collapsed stairwell would not impede the wardens long, at least after the fire was exhausted and they collected themselves. Afterall, they had enhancements, and simple rope could account for the rest. All reasons for him to make haste, following the main hallway towards where he felt the pull of his phylactery. Due to this haste, he passed many side passages and doorways which he lacked time to even partially consider.

  As he went, the tug only grew.

  He was making haste when one of the doors opened ahead of him. He tensed, preparing to strike with a spear, when a portly woman in a slovenly skirt strode out, a set of papers in her hand.

  An office worker.

  For a moment, he considered taking her hostage, or extracting information for his target from her. But during the period he considered, this, events moved swiftly.

  The woman turned and saw Nick and his minions. His minions, wired with his sense of danger, took initiative in a manner which he had been unaware that they could. The minions launched themselves across the short few yards separating them from the woman, landed upon her, and made quick work of it in a grisly affair.

  The sight seemed far too gruesome for him and he hurried past, skipping the administrative set of offices. His target was the vault, afterall. He focused on his target, clearing his head of all else. Eyes on the prize, so to speak.

  The tugging sensation brought him to a sturdy looking door.

  Another locked door, Nick thought with ire.

  Nick tested the push-bar and found the door locked.

  He checked his supplies and found he still had one or two shaped charges left so at least the problem was one easily solved. The issue was that this would be noisy and was certain to alert the wardens to his location.

  It would behoove him to take this moment of providing anonymity and better prepare, and so he did. He divested all of the gear acquired from Frostlight. He girded himself for war. He ensured his minions were as ready as they could be. And then, he detonated the shaped charges and sent the locked door falling.

  In the distance, there came the sounds of alarm. It seemed Nick had been discovered on this floor, either by the office-worker or by the noise of the explosion. The boom of the door falling open echoed down the long hallways carved in stone–terrible acoustics, really.

  He sent his two minions through towards the vault before stepping in himself.

  Of course, he left several surprises in the hall behind him, although they were the last of the mines. He then strode through the lingering smoke and airborne debris, followed by the last of his minions. He was down to three, he thought unhappily.

  Through the smoke, Nick found himself in a straight and plain atrium, one lined with metal plates on all sides.

  On the far wall was yet another doorway.

  He knew he was drawing near. His power, and the power trickling down to his minions, had increased significantly. It caused him some manner of drunkenness, a rush tha pounded through his ears.

  It may have explained why he forgot himself.

  His two leading minions crossed a threshold of some nature, one with gaps along the floor and walls.

  There came a click.

  Spikes exploded up from the floor and speared through one of the minions, catching and serrating and ruining it. The other leading minion had escaped with only a glancing wound, a gash along its thighs which were already regenerating.

  Just as Nick was processing this trap, the spikes began to retreat. A sucking vacuum left within the flesh of the damaged minion, a disgusting sound.

  Nick realized that the trap was resetting.

  This would mean either another minion would be damaged or that he would need to take the time to neutralize the trap. Further delays. Nick made a snap decision. The still impaled zombie twisted itself, applying pressure to the spikes, leading to the retreating metal to shear against the sockets, leading to the strained groans coming from the mechanism.

  Despite this, the spikes continued retreating, if more slowly.

  Unacceptable.

  Nick sent his other minions to tackle the impaled asset.

  This caused the retreating spikes to further damage the minion, enough so that Nick lost his connection to it. The damage had been more severe than Nick had assumed. With the trap costing himself an asset, he needed to ensure the benefit was actually bought. Currently, the spikes were stalled out in their retreat, but he could tell that the mechanism was still pulling, the trap still arming itself for another go.

  He needed to apply additional pressure or to spend one of his devices.

  The choice was easy, really.

  He joined his minions with a short but powerful shove, pumping his feet in small steps. One spike groaned and bent. Another snapped. The remainder of the spikes took the brunt of the remaining force. Then came a series of snaps, smoke wafted up from the threshold, and the mechanism guttered out.

  The flesh of the impaled minion was beyond recoverable, at least not without significant time and energy spent to do so.

  He left it behind, along with another mine hidden within its torso. The gaping wounds had been useful for that.

  The trap had cost him a minion and no more than ten seconds to defeat and pass. At that time the wardens had been approaching. As they now knew he was on this floor, they would easily have guessed his destination.

  He was now down to two minions, although his connection to them had grown ever more strongly, and the minions ever more agile. Nick feared this would be insufficient to see him succeed.

  The atrium was straight enough to serve as a shooting gallery. If the wardens arrived before he could breach the far door, then he would be poorly positioned indeed.

  He decided to mitigate this risk by leaving one of his minions at the atrium’s entrance, where it would be well positioned for an ambush.

  He sent the last minion ahead of him, checking for any additional traps between him and what he hoped was the final obstacle. There were no further traps, though there were several questionable thresholds along the walls and ceiling. Either these possible traps were not triggered by the minion’s path, or more likely, that he, by disabling the one trap, had disabled them all. Regardless, he followed briskly, arriving seconds later at the far doorway.

  A strong front kick shook the door on its hinges. Another caused a notable deformation.

  The sounds of pursuit drew nearer.

  There was limited time to waste on preserving his resources.

  Frostlight had given him a single wand. It would be good for several shots. It would be faster than using explosives in this instance, and also safer, as he had run out of shaped directional charges, and any explosive would blow back upon him in the atrium.

  He aimed the wand at the edges of the door where the hinges would likely be.

  A bright blue flash of light, a pop, a scent of burnt bone.

  He blinked.

  A hole had been melted through metal and stone. The wand was beginning to crack. As it was made of bone, as he had helped craft and shape the material, he could feel the stress fractures radiating along the material. He used his osseous manipulation to repair the damage as he lined up another shot.

  He fired again.

  The micro-fractures grew.

  Another hole created in metal and stone.

  He applied additional pressure through his manipulation and lined up a final shot.

  Someone yelled an order from behind him, around the corner, although his minions had yet to sight the wardens.

  A blast went off from somewhere in the hallways he had left behind. The wardens had found his surprise. A pained scream and a call for aid proved that it had been an appropriate investment on his part.

  He activated the wand once more.

  Bone cracked and expanded extremely fast. The wand exploded.

  His hand was blown open.

  Shrapnel passed through his hand and also into the door.

  The door, however, had suffered the brunt of it.

  Without time to waste, he threw the remnants aside, his hand already repairing itself, and he bodily slammed himself against the door.

  It gave way immediately, the damaged hinges unable to withstand his might. The door fell open, and he fell inward, barely caught from hitting the ground face first by his minion.

  A glance showed him that he had entered the vault, walls lined with cubby-holes.

  Not every cubby held an item of worth, but more than several contained pedestals and displayed gems of various colors, sizes, and cuts. A few glowed, most remained inert. The cubbies were labeled with alphanumeric sequences, showing that the wardens kept some means of organization, but one that would also require a ledger of some kind.

  Nick saw nothing that could serve the sort, which meant the records, ledgers, and inventory lists were kept elsewhere, likely in the administrative offices also on the same floor.

  If Nick had been forced to retreat from the vault, back through the atrium, and then navigate the halls to locate the administrative offices, his venture would have been sunk. It would have been without any chance of success at all. Unless he were to simply loot everything from within this vault, that is.

  However, he did not require any ledger or index system to locate that which was his. For the moment he had entered the vault, he had felt a pulsing draw, like that of an invisible and intangible artery, pumping some nature of higher dimensional energy to Nick.

  It was this line of throbbing energy which Nick followed, leading him yards into the long vault, growing all the while, until he found himself standing before a cubby at chest height, with a black gem pulsing in time with this metaphysical heartbeat.

  Nick spent seconds transfixed by this glow, growing in power, refilling a reservoir which he had never realized he had within him, let alone that it was empty. It was indescribable, a warmth, an almost aphrodisiac effect. Incredibly distracting.

  It was not until his minion encountered the pursuing wardens, ambushing, killing, and getting cut down in turn, that Nick was snapped from this reverie.

  The wardens had just entered the long room.

  In seconds, they would reach him.

  The minion they had cut down was still somewhat functional.

  Nick wished he had been mentally present earlier, he would have gotten more bang for his buck out of the minion. But the situation was not unsalvageable at present. So, he commanded the minion to take its weakened and trembling hand and reach inside itself.

  One of the wardens saw the motion.

  A sword came down.

  A clawed fingernail pressed an indent on a wet and slobbery device.

  Blade parted flesh.

  Thermite exploded from the device, spraying superheated flammable gel across the vicinity. Near instantly, Nick lost all connection to this minion. Secondary explosives went off, shaking the entire building, including the fortified vault. Dust fell from the ceiling.

  Nick found himself temporarily crushed by the air, a feeling as though he were at the bottom of a hot ocean, before another whoosh reverted the change and caused Nick to fall towards the vault’s entrance.

  When things settled down, Nick regained himself and that of his sole remaining minion.

  He sent the minion out of the vault to check the status of the hallway and wardens. The explosives had opened a hole in the floor, down to the next level, and from the scattered and burnt parts, maybe six wardens had been slain.

  Of course, there were already distant noises of alarm and distress. It would not be long before more of these wardens arrived. It seemed that largely it was noncombatants that had been screaming in the aftermath of the explosion.

  Nick tuned it all out as a distraction.

  He once again found his phylactery within a cubby. This time, he focused upon the danger and the task and refused to allow himself to wallow in whatever it was that the phylactery did.

  He quickly reached for it.

  When his hand reached the threshold of the open air cubby, it hit an invisible wall. A wave of cold sweat through him, his hands felt clammy, his breathing insufficient—he felt as though he were drowning. Belatedly, he realized what it was.

  Dread nearly overwhelmed him.

  Between himself and his phylactery was some manner of clear barrier.

  He made a fist and struck the barrier and he thought that he had seen a flicker of light. He pulled back and delivered a haymaker, crushing his knuckles but also better revealing the nature of the barrier.

  There were glowing lines that only appeared for a fraction of a second, giving the barrier the appearance of a circuit card, an appearance he had come to associate with artificery with his long associations with Frostlight.

  This time, using the but of his spear, he jabbed the barrier again. The lines revealed themselves, and he followed them back to their source. Along the edge of the cubby, nearly invisible, there were several pin-sized holes revealing metal beneath.

  He gave the barrier another jab to be certain. The material briefly lit up like some sort of diode before connecting with the base of the circuitry.

  In the distance, there were bootsteps marching, in coordination, with greater striking force than just walking should create. Ill-tidings were coming his way.

  But there was still time.

  He could not devolve into a cowering mess.

  No, he was Nick Delaney, Chief Executive Officer of the largest pharmaceutical company in the world—he was rated as one of the top ten most powerful men in the nation, in the top hundred in the world.

  It was not he that should be fearful, but they.

  Taking the problem and breaking it down to its constituent parts, he convinced himself that the most difficult part was already behind him.

  Step one, he would disable whatever was obstructing him from accessing the cubby, the force-field or barrier or whatever the nonsense was called.

  As a part of that step, he needed to find the mechanism or its power source. Once removed, he could then retrieve the phylactery and make his escape.

  Ignoring the way the ground quivered as the distant footsteps approached, he focused his attention on the bits of wall between the cubbies. At first he saw nothing, but after scratching off the paint and plaster, he found many conduits running from the pinhole circuitry emanations to wherever the power source was likely to be found.

  Of course, he would be remiss should he not try the simplest solution first.

  With the point of his spear, he struck the conduit running from his cubby, he struck it several times at the same point, as hard as he could, so hard that the tip of his spear cracked off. The conduit appeared unaffected, aside from a scuff-mark. And even then, when he rubbed his thumb along the spot, the scuff-mark rubbed off, revealing itself as residue from his spear.

  Madness.

  Even metal should have shown more of an effect than that. Some force was likely reinforcing the conduits above their means.

  He decided his best bet was to remove the powersource.

  He followed the conduit until it joined with others of its sort and followed these all back to the very end of the long room where there was a reinforced door, more a slab of metal with a complex rotary lock.

  He had already spent all his shaped charges. He had no wands left. He had wasted his thermite on a trap, which had already gone off. This left percussive and shrapnel based grenades. He desperately sought an alternative solution, as he knew an omnidirectional explosion would bounce off the reinforced door and do more harm than good. It might even be enough to kill him.

  The first warden swept around the corner.

  His minion was peeking through the vault’s exit.

  A dark object the size of a tennis-ball was tossed into the vault, clanking against the stone floor.

  Another warden darted around the corner, leveling a heavier model of an arcbow into the vault which put out an almost continuous stream of blinding light–the minion’s flesh blistered just from being in the vicinity of the beam, which passed through Nick’s position.

  He dived out of the way, but not fast enough.

  His shoulder, upper back, and neck blackened, although his shoulder took the worst of it, that arm going numb. The burnt flesh would take longer to regenerate from.

  He was out of time, it seemed.

  A decision was required of him, a high pressure situation, high stakes, an immediate response required if he were to act.

  Escape was likely impossible at this point.

  He was unlikely to even breach the barrier in a manner that avoided harm to his phylactery. Explosions were far from precision instruments.

  But should he simply perish here, it would be the same as submitting. He would once more return to life in a pit filled with bits of meat, perhaps tortured, forced to labor for the benefit of others in an insultingly wasteful enterprise–and it was not as though it were a meritocracy, he had already checked, so there was no hope for any meaningful advancement.

  Days previous, Kirk had asked him what it was like coming back from the dead. Frostlight, listening in, had expressed jealousy. Personally, Nick was disabused of the notion.

  And then, his last remaining minion began to melt, an acidic fog billowing up from the floor of the vault.

  The hour was upon him, he could choose to act… Or he could submit.

  His remaining functional arm fumbled through his remaining grenades and found a pin. He pulled it, priming the device.

  Belatedly, he wondered about the other phylacteries that shared the room, which would likely shatter alongside his own.

  He wondered if there was a significance to their luminosity, or their lack thereof.

  He wondered–

  A heavy pressure pinched his midsection and one of the cubby’s slammed into his head.

  …

  The itching was the first he realized he had failed. He felt itchy everywhere. All his phantom limbs, all his senses. There was a slurry of death around him, but nothing that he could use. The fact that he could sense anything at all, that he was even aware of himself, meant only one thing.

  He had failed.

  Despair welled up within him. When a man set himself on a course of action to commit suicide, when he acted it out, when he technically succeeded in doing so, then he should really be allowed to remain dead. Self-termination. The fact he was denied this basic human right galled him.

  All the while, his flesh continued to grow.

  He could hear once more. The dripping of the slurry of flesh into the charnel room as his body regrew.

  Then came the sharp pinch over his chest, the tugging, the tear. His body felt cold. His heartbeat was gone.

  A piece of him was missing.

  A deep and pitiful hate bubbled forth from a well of infinite depth. Misery, without end.

  Why could they not simply let his existence end? He had not even consented to such an existence as a Lich. He had not been in his right mind when that alleged deity had pulled his soul screaming, wailing, and as helpless as a babe from that sea of chaos.

  No. This was pathetic. He was behaving in a contemptuous fashion. With a herculean effort, he tamped down upon this frothing madness. It may have seemed desperate then, but he could do this. Somehow, someway, he would escape.

  He was Nick Delaney.

  Opportunities would come, he would merely need to recognize and seize them, as was the norm.

  At that point, he sensed movement, as if he was being moved, his limbs repositioned.

  A while later, he regained vision.

  He was no longer in the charnel house, instead a workshop, needles and wires and several odd implements along a bench. Torture, then. He would definitely bring this entire penal-colony and cavern down then.

  He was not alone in the room.

  There was a man sitting on a stool. He wore white. An insignia of a boot crushing down upon a god. He knew this one, it was for the inquisitors, the same force which had thrown him to the wardens.

  After a period of silence, the warden contemplating Nick with an amused expression, the warden finally spoke.

  “You know, your friends managed to make it out.” the inquisitor said. “The rapist and the serial-killer.”

  “Who?” Nick asked, taken aback by the casual tone and the conflicting statement. He did not recognize either of those.

  The inquisitor held a hand at thigh-height. “One of them is about this tall–” he held a hand out at knee height “-remember him? Pointy ears.”

  Ah… the elf. Nick grimaced at the accusation but remained otherwise silent. He was unsure of what the inquisitor was even after. Weeks had likely passed during his resurrection period, so any intel the inquisitor might source from Nick would be of dubious value at best.

  “He was not that short, certainly,” Nick said conversationally, despite the fact that Nick despised this person with all his being.

  Even if Nick did his best to hide this emotion, it must have been at least somewhat obvious. And yet, the inquisitor continued on in a far too amicable tone, setting Nick’s teeth on edge.

  “It seems you don’t care much about that then… is it because you consider their lists of crime uncompelling, or is it because you lack the empathy to understand their future victims?”

  Nick almost scoffed at that, but he schooled his expressions. Did the inquisitor think Nick foolish enough to fall for such rhetoric?

  “That’s fine,” the inquisitor said after waiting a pause. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re here though.”

  Nick could no longer remain silent. This battlefield was one of words, and Nick had won plenty of similar contests in the past. Sitting back and listening to other people talk was always tedious at best.

  “I think it’s clear I’ll be tortured for punishment,” Nick answered.

  The inquisitor waved that idea off.

  “What? No, no,” the Inquisitor spoke with a smile that reached his eyes and yet still set Nick’s hackles up. “That would be a waste. A waste of resources, was it?”

  That phrasing could not have been unintentional.

  “Oh?” Nick asked, something about the man’s irreverent tone rubbing him the wrong way, far more than it should have, though granted, Nick was not in the healthiest place, emotionally speaking. Despite knowing better, Nick responded to the taunt.

  “If not torture,” Nick said, “Then what’s all these then,” Nick nodded towards the wall lined with needles and a hot iron. There was even a scalpel, though it did not appear sharp.

  “So, now this is kind of a funny story,” the inquisitor said. “But since we somehow misplaced our last Sacred Artist, we had to go through all the effort of recruiting another. And well, since the job requires relocation to an abysmal pit, despite the more than generous benefits, it is somewhat difficult to convince established artists to take the plunge.”

  “And?” Nick said. “That sounds like a simple manpower problem. Train better recruiters.”

  In truth, Nick had stuffed the real Sacred Artist in one of their boltholes. If the wardens had yet to find the man, then they probably were safe in assuming the man’s demise.

  The inquisitor smiled at the suggestion, “Ha! You godsmarked and your strange ideas.” He slapped his knee in an over the top display.

  This continued to raise Nick’s ire, one of his eyes now twitching.

  “Anyways, so, unless you happen to know where the other ran off to?”

  Again, Nick did know this, but he most certainly would not help such a bothersome man.

  The inquisitor shrugged when no response was forthcoming.

  “Probably for the best,” the inquisitor said, “Y’know, considering the new one already signed a contract with us. This little operation doesn’t need two of them, right?”

  Nick made a mental flatulence sound. Creating a false scarcity was one way to drive up valuation, although Nick doubted that was what the people in charge were after, considering everything else.

  “Anyways, the new one is still pretty green, but we figured learning on the job will work fine. And since you’re the one that misplaced the last one…”

  the inquisitor trailed off, as though he were waiting to deliver some great punchline. It was not until Nick waved the man on that he continued.

  “... We figured you’ll be the one they practice on,” the inquisitor finished, before standing to leave, giving Nick a ‘friendly’ pat on the shoulder on the way by. “So have fun with that, Lich. No reason not to enjoy some free upgrades, am I right?”

  The door shut, leaving Nick in the room alone in silence. He shuddered, before a single word escaped his lips.

  “Fucker.”

  A/N: And this is the end of Absorption, book 2! There were going to be a few more interludes from several other POVs, but we can hit those later in book 3. The end of the year, 2024, seemed a good place to put a pin in this one. Nick’s POV got a bit carried away, originally it was supposed to be 10k words, and now it’s near 50k. Yikes. Anyways, Hope you enjoyed. Or didn’t. Though if you didn’t, then I’d have to wonder at … eh. Whatev. Have a great 2025! :)