Take care if you are invited to a gala or a major event in the Claimed Hells. Whatever circle you are drawn to, other major players will be present as well. Even though all the circles are at war with each other, this war is a family war, a civil war, an in-house war. And while Knights die in their billions, the Dukes, the Counts, and the Princes dine and speak and taunt, but ultimately coexist, because after a certain threshold of power, no one wants to plunge back into the misery of being a mere, powerless mortal again.
And so a sort of fearful détente is established, and thus a two-layered ecosystem manifests. The first is among the great players, the great powers, counts and above, sharing and jousting for more wealth, more privilege, more position and status. They usually remain untouched by the banalities and trivialities of the Claimed Hells. Most are content about cementing their position and holding what they have.
That is different for those below. For the Marquises, the Knights, and the Servants, what is desired is simple—to climb, to find a position of power where you can determine your own fate. And thus comes the term snake-pitting, in which the feeble and the small will do anything they can to humiliate their peers and earn the approval of those above them.
Duels of position and insults are exchanged, trying to force contests recognized legally and culminating in rises of position. Ultimately, if you are at that threshold, just before essence level 100, where you are about to cross over into becoming a great power or serving as merely an efficient enforcer, be mindful. You play a game of king of the hill.
You must hold your position. You must face down all comers or cast a rising star from their throne and seize their seat for yourself.
-The Trespassers’ Compendium
II-72
Hawk Among Snakes (I)
Bodies, music, laughter, screams.
Such was the melody of the claimed hells. Such were the sounds playing from all corners of the great chamber where the gala was held. The ground beneath Wei’s feet shifted like a kaleidoscope, black diamonds sliding across golden surfaces. Wisps drifted overhead—tendril-like entities and snake-like ghosts pulling in their wake telekinetic tethers that held entire trays of food and jugs of heavy drink.
All around him, classes of all varieties belonging to races of all types littered the space. Not only that, but Wei sensed a variety of sinners as well. It wasn’t just the Circle of Pride that dominated this space, but also Lust, Envy, Gluttony, and more.
“Yeah,” Bishop said in the back of the young master’s head with a snort. “When you get involved in the higher-up in the Claimed Hells, it isn’t a closed-off affair. As much as these guys fight each other, they’re still technically family. Hell, some of them have jumped ship so many times that they’ve done a full circle.”
“A full circle?” Wei asked. “Isn’t that when someone goes through all the circles?”
“Yeah,” Bishop said, chuckling. “Good guess, kid. But that’s generally it, right? Everyone here is technically in it for themselves. Sure, they might have some appreciation for a companion or a friend—that’s the main thing that ties them to a specific circle, that or obligations or debts owed. But overall, remember this: they’re all in it for themselves. Take a look at these Sinners. What do you see?”
Wei did. He scanned them. A good majority were approximately around level 40. Many were barely Knights, just coming into their power, but there were more than a few Marquises. However, he observed the structure of the people here, the movements which they followed. They were all circulating around massive poles of power, singularities of essence. These were the Counts, the Dukes, and there was one presence more.
“Centers of power,” Wei answered.
“Yeah. And so we got all kinds of supplicants come seeking better masters and higher favors.”
Far, far away from Wei, down the long length of the seemingless boundless chamber, a pulse of power flowed. It was but an echo of a Skill being used from afar, but even it’s echo crashed over him as if a falling tide. The young mater watched as several people in the crowd stumbled and fought to stay upright.
“Yeah, a Prince just sent something to a Duke. Some Legendary high Essence artifact. You don’t want to approach them without their say-so. You will literally implode if they sense you coming at them without an official go-ahead or a mark placed on your spirit.” Bishop let out a breath.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wei said.
Bishop snorted. “Come on, let’s go find the Old Man. See what he’s got hidden in store for us today—and get this ratfucking underway.”
It didn’t take long for Wei to locate the Count of Pride. As said before, there were poles of power here, and all he needed to do was find the right one. The demonic attendants formed a perimeter guard for him and his sect. Though they numbered a few dozen, the masses of demons and other individuals that occupied this space were like clashing waves. They glided around Wei, but he caught more than one looking at him. Whispers were exchanged under lips and between essence-sense messages.
He heard them—his Omniscience granting him insight.
“Is that him?” one voice murmured.
“Yes. The one that broke the Countess of Envy. The one that stole the Sage’s position. I watched that fight. I watched him. Kid doesn’t look like much, but he’s cruel. Got a heart of coal.”
“Yeah, cold-blooded. He killed her over and over again.”
“Oh, Many-wed. Ah, I really, really wish I kept the recording of her screams. The bitch had pipes.”
“Now the boy took that from her, too. I wonder how good he is at a distance.”
“Sure, he’s pretty good with that spear, but I don’t know. There are some that are just narrow in expertise.”
“Oh, get over yourself. He’ll kill you without even trying. I’ve seen how slow you are with that gun.
“I’ll show you how slow I am with that gun if you insult me one more time.”
A second later, there was a gunshot followed by a loud screech. “Lawsuit incoming! You really shouldn’t have done that.” And with a sudden rush of chains and a gust of power, two offending sinners were pulled away from the scene as a rush of golden chains erupted from the ground and vanished through the ceiling.
Wei barely caught a glimpse of the perpetrators before they were gone.
Another reminder to follow the laws—and that the Counts weren’t nearly the greatest powers here. The Tribulators were law itself.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Still, Wei was unnerved by how little most of the crowds cared. Two of their number just got snatched and here they were… walking on.
Bishop urged him to keep going. “Look at them,” Bishop said. “They don’t much care about this either. Trust me, this is a common occurrence in the Claimed Hells. Don’t fixate. It don’t matter.”
Wei nodded and continued on.
It didn’t take long at all for the young master to locate the Count of Pride. The Old Man was practically a star amidst a bunch of lesser bonfires, but beside him the Collectress also gave off her own unique signature, and when paired together, they produced such a contrast that even the most sensory-blunted Classed in this place would detect their spiritual emanations.
The two were seated on thrones, looking over the crowds from a raised dais. Before them lay an empty patch of space, stretching approximately 80 meters, where the crowd was intently watching something unfold within a magical dome of force.
As they drew closer, Wei’s Omniscience revealed the spectacle at play. Two sinners were dueling—both summoners. The first was a tall elven woman who wore little to nothing, but was encased in thick scabs. She called upon a grand creature of gleaming gold that resembled a fusion between a knight and a massive serpent. Her rival, a far shorter figure shrouded in black cloaks that emanated whispering shadows, summoned spiders that danced and twisted through the air, their bodies composed of psionic energy.
The summoned entities clashed, and the surrounding crowd cheered and jeered. The Old Man, however, looked as if he were on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. His head was propped up by a single hand, and the stars burning on his shoulder pauldrons flickered, threatening to go out as he yawned.
A second later, his eyes swept over the heads of the crowd and fell upon Wei. A grin spread across his features, and the young master returned the nod. “All right,” Vendrian said, letting out a slow breath as he rejoined the fray. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I hope you can trust him.”
“Him?” Wei queried. “My father? Young master let out a sigh. “I think we can. I guarantee you, Vendrian, I will do all I can to save your family. You have shed blood for me, and so I will shed blood for you. I will not call you my brother or anything so absurd, but you are a good warrior, and you deserve a better fate than what has befallen you.”
Vendrian stared for a long moment before grunting. “I’ll do what I can with my father for what it’s worth. The queen–”
“I don’t think…”
“Don’t,” Wei interjected. “It is not your fault. The fates have smeared upon you—but” the young master made a fist, “I will overcome your fate. I will overcome mine. I will decide my own destiny.”
“You won’t be alone,” came a quiet interjection from Agnesia .
As Wei made for the crowd, their demonic attendants formed a tipped head and began to push people aside. The force they employed was excessive in Wei’s estimation, and although more than a few sinners responded with curses, they soon flinched away when they realized who was approaching. The young master caught several sneers and vicious glares, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that not all attention here was benign.
“Yeah, expect one of them to challenge you or step to you at some point,” Bishop snorted. “But, uh, I think you would welcome the opportunity to put a few of these boys in their place, of course.”
“Wei,” the Old Man replied, rising from his throne and holding out his arms.
Just then, a flash of light pulsed, and a beam shot out from the serpent knight controlled by one of the summoners. It cleaved one of the psionically conjured spiders in half, its energy shattering into twisting fractals. The summoner of the spider called forth another and sent it into the battle, but Wei already sensed their essence waning. This fight was to be settled. Though neither opponent was an expert in commanding armies or orchestrating the blows of their minions, one clearly had more energy to expend—and for that reason alone, the tall elf would prevail.
“Count,” Wei said, offering a respectful salute. “I must express my appreciation for your facilities. You know, Slumbertown was most enjoyable for my disciples and me. Our respite was full and fruitful.”
“Glad to hear it, kid,” the old man said warmly as he walked over and patted Wei on the shoulder in an affectionate, grandfatherly manner. Though the blow was friendly, the old man’s strength was evident; beneath his guise as an elderly benefactor, he was effectively a titan in human flesh.
Immediately, Vendrian made for his mistress. He broke away from the group, and a tendril of essence slithered over to her. They connected without a moment’s hesitation, and she looked him over appraisingly.
“I trust that your bonding has gone well, considering that you’ve returned together and both in one piece?”
Vendrian snorted. “Kid talks a lot.”
Wei glared at Vendrian. “This bitch is a sore loser.”
The Scion of Death turned and glared at the young master, eyes narrowing. The Old Man laughed softly. “Oh, to be young and full of spite and spirit again. Isn’t that something, Collectress? Don’t you miss those days?”
“Those days never left for me,” she said sharply. “But I’m appreciative that my champion can find some kind of kindred spirit in these Claimed Hells. Friends are difficult things to maintain, wouldn’t you agree?”
The Count of Pride shook his head lightly. “Ah, be that way. So, how do you like the gala?” he asked, holding out his hands. “Look at all these people—coming, begging, and groveling for our favor. Isn’t it just…” He let out a breath, heavy with a mix of pity and contempt, as if the whole affair were utterly pathetic.
“I cannot fault them,” Way said honestly. “Every disciple seeks a proper master. I think you should be honored instead of insulted that, so many would come to your sect, to your halls, to pay fealty and seek your patronage.”
The Old Man cocked his head and looked across his many, many disciples. “Yeah,” he drawled, “but I just wish they were more spirited and more spunk. Like you.”
Several more baleful glares fell upon Wei, and the young master had a guess as to what the old man was doing. For the Old Man was a Count of Pride, and he preyed upon lesser egos. Before this day was over, Wei knew he would find himself in a duel much like the summoners to steal his due respect. “Of course, we could always find more metal,” Wei said, “but that must be discovered through skill and steel, rather than the blankness of words.”
“Well spoken,” the Old Man said. But before they got any further, We muttered under his breath, “I would like a moment to speak to the Collectress. What she told me yesterday fascinated me, and it worries me.” He took a brief second to look at Agnesia. Her mother flinched, but the princess held her jaw tight and remained resolute.
“There is a potential personal arrangement I would like to see to,” Wei added.
The Old Man studied him for a long moment and then nodded. “Of course, something, something, proper masters and proper students, right?” He smiled, and Wei felt something run down his spine. Those teeth, that expression—it was the kind a wolf gave to a hare before biting down.
Too bad for the old man, Wei was not a hare.
As he approached the Collectress, she studied him, turning her gaze away from her champion. “Ah, you’ve come to me.” Agnesia followed close behind, though there was a hesitancy in her step. One couldn’t blame her; the girl was effectively walking into a den of nightmares. But still, she came. If nothing else, her recent experiences with death and defeat had hardened her. Or perhaps the strength had remained in her all this time, only needing struggle to be brought out.
“Is this about our arrangement? The matter I spoke regarding the Dying Queen?”
“It is. It’s also about a great many other things.” Wei pretended to be troubled so that the Collectress would buy his words more easily. “As you might know, there are people after us—the Inheritors, the Unfallen. I’ve made a great many enemies during my ascent of the Black Tower. Right now, I need to gather allies.”
“And if you meant to say that you are capable of eliminating the queen, if the Scions are a means of salvation and retribution,” Agnesia interrupted, doubtless with Bishop’s go-ahead in her mind, “I’m willing to make a bargain with you. I’m willing to go with you and understand what it will take for me, for my spirit to be used against the Dying Queen. She has done enough. She has hurt enough. She has taken enough from me. Now, now I will give anything to take from her.”
The Collectress looked on and actually seemed impressed. And Agnesia paused, biting her lip in a display of discomfort, “and I would like for you to bring me to your place. Away from here, I would like to request sanctuary.”
“Oh,” the Collector said, sounding surprised, “do you worry about your safety?” Her eyes briefly flicked over to Wei. He didn’t betray even the slightest discomfort or shame.
“Come now, my Countess. I would not be so arrogant as to think that I can protect her or myself better than you can. It helps to have strong friends in these Claimed Hells. Strong friends.” Now she glanced at the old man, who pretended not to hear anything. The only indication that he was part of this conversation was a slight smirk on his face.
“But you have so many choices,” she replied.
“I have many choices. But sometimes, only the best and most aligned interests represent security and safety. Can we talk further elsewhere?”
She smiled. “Perhaps we can.”
