Poisonous Fox

Not that this revelation would do me any good, for an alarm had been raised, the Vigilants were in attendance, the Knights as well, and the Peacekeepers that were actually competent occupied the space beneath my feet.

All this, and the safe still remained locked.

My false-arm, my symbiote, coiled and twitched, responding to my sudden stress…

“-there’s an intruder!” a man’s shout echoed through the hallway, through the outer office, and into the room where I was currently and unfortunately residing. A rattling came as they tried the door handle from the hall into the outer office.

“-door’s locked,” a man said in a lower voice. It was a bit muddled, but one of the Peacekeepers added, “sure it’s not a false alarm or–”

A sharp smack interrupted the complaint.

“Fool!” The first man scolded the second. “-means nothing! The inner alarm was tripped–”

“-urgh, must you?” The second said, his voice distorted as though he were rubbing his cheek.

Then came a third voice, still male, likely another Peacekeeper. “-an alarm from the safe, you think?”

A hissed string of words that might have been swearing, but too inaudible for my comprehension.

“-just unlock the door already!” shouted the first.

“Would, if we could…”

“Just waiting on the key.”

“No!” the first, and seemingly the most senior of them uttered. “There’s no time! Step aside. Now.”

“What… are you… No!” One of them protested.

Not that the protestations did any good.

“Yes!” the first shouted, soon followed by a thudding slam. The office shook slightly, but the lack of footsteps running across the outer office, and the lack of a crash of debris striking the floor left me doubting their success in kicking the door down.

From the Peacekeepers, I began to hope that they would give up and decide the alarm to be false. I knew this was overly optimistic and overall a foolish hope, but I found myself hoping all the same.

And it seemed that at least one of the Peacekeepers seemed to doubt the necessity of such extreme actions.

“If this is a hoax that’s coming out of your hide–” the second voice lectured the first, even though the second had been struck by the first for his original complaints.

“Enough!” Their more action oriented comrade protested. “Help me kick this godslickin door–”

My previous hopes had been folly. Realization sunk in and my nerves rose, unbidden, unwelcome, unhelpful, as I experienced an untoward moment of panic.

It was then that my derailing train of thought was interrupted and reset, when my false-arm twitched its tendrils within my ribs, almost seeming to want to remind me to remain grounded and present within the moment. This led to me taking a calming breath.

Not all was lost, I considered. For if I played my cards correctly, things would still work out. But for this to be the case, I needed every action to be a deliberate choice that made the fullest use of my dwindling time.

First, a decision to make: Did I try taking the safe? No, it weighed over a hundred pounds, far too heavy to escape with. I needed speed and agility, not cumbersome momentum. But did that mean abandoning the objective?

I had begun to consider, when another thud from the outer door, the crackling of wooden paneling began to tear from the door jam.

If I had only just twenty minutes prior to the alarm triggering, I could have picked the tumbler by tracking the rise and fall of pressure as the pins rolled within the mechanism.

But thinking these could-have-beens was folly. I castigated myself. What mattered if I could do so in tens of minutes, when I only had tens of seconds with which to work? A matter of ego to satisfy my professional pride, I decided. Foolish, in another word, especially as I had no way to pick the lock as I normally would have.

I was forced to consider the facts. Belobog’s code had failed, which meant I could only rely upon the less oft used tools in my kit, that was unless I chose to abandon my primary objective altogether. Better a successful escape with empty hands than no escape at all. And should I make a production of my escape, surely the baron would face embarrassment, and that had been a secondary, possibly even primary objective, depending on how the client looked at it. But I could not tell this for certain.

And more importantly, regardless of the client, I had been promised the Grimoire which still resided within the safe, at least, my intel had stated as such.

What then, I wondered, could I use to breach the safe… As quickly as thoughts ran, I considered my options.

I might have been able to generate a thin and sturdy tangible illusion with which I could either pry or pick the door apart. However, to use such illusions, my Guise would need to drop: it would take time to revert back to my less human form, potentially minutes. I likely had a minute at best to vacate the office, which meant I had tens of seconds to either breach the safe or cut my losses.

But even if I would not have my illusions by the time I had left the office, they would still prove useful later on in my escape. And it would be better for any sharp-eyed officers to avoid seeing the face of my Guise laid bare.

Thus, perhaps in a poorly planned manner, I began dropping the Guise.

The changes began reverting, washing over me in a hot and itchy sensation. The quickly progressing minute differences to bone, musculature, and ligament caused my posture to begin altering almost immediately. My nose and chin began lengthening; fur began sprouting in a disgusting fashion. Ten seconds were lost as I overcame the feelings of revulsion.

In hindsight, I ought to have dropped my Guise prior to attempting the safe. But then again, had I known this would occur, I would have planned my evening differently.

Guise of the Kitsune: 9/9 (+1) ->

Guise of the Kitsune I: 1/9

Malleable Form: 1/9

A familiar burning traveled down my right arm, more significant than the usual little updates. Intrinsically, I knew something significant had changed, although I could not be sure as to what until later. I was a tad distracted at that particular moment.

There came a loud crash which was followed by a rumble and then several bangs. Thuds and heavy footsteps rushed across the outer office as the hallway door was breached. Thankfully, the inner door remained locked and thicker than the first, but this would prove only a temporary barrier.

My time had been exhausted, and as bitter as the pill tasted, I could afford no more time to be wasted on fruitless endeavors.

I glanced towards my means of escape, a window overlooking the gardens and courtyard. We were high enough that I could find shelter along the exterior walls as I timed my escape or waited for the promised distraction. The window appeared clear and broad paned. I would need to break it–the latch appeared complicated and mechanical, likely associated with an artificed control somewhere near the desk.

With one last heartfelt sigh, I glanced at the safe beneath the desk.

That was when my coiled false-arm solved many of my problems all at once, if in an unforeseen manner. I had not realized the tendrils could behave so sharply, nor that the coiled tendrils bore such tension and pressure.

My symbiote’s tendrils snapped forward, the metallic gel of its flesh seemingly hardening to a razor edge and piercing through the safe door’s seam.

It caught me off guard, as for every force there is an equal and opposite; my false-arm had exerted much and without the proper leverage. Suddenly, I was lacking adequate counterweight and began to fall backwards.

The symbiote also solved this problem as well, although I was unsure if it was planned or merely happenchance, for as I was falling back, the symbiote began pulling on the tendrils still wedged within the safe. The motion was a quick snap, abruptly halting my fall, but jarring my shoulder in the process. The metal of the safe creaked slightly, but remained largely unmoved by the motion.

Just as quickly as the snapping stop came, the force reversed itself, then reversed itself again.

-snap-snap-snap-

Belatedly, I realized that my false-arm had formed sharp teeth along the surface of the tendrils which were wedged within the safe, and that the constant and slight back and forth motion was reminiscent of a saw. Flecks of metal and filings began to sprinkle both the symbiote and the plush carpet beneath the desk.

The sawing generated some volume, but not near as much as the Peacekeepers struggling to enter the inner office.

“Now you find the gods-lickin’ key?!” the first shouted, sounding similar to a snarl.

“Maid!” Somebody snapped their fingers, from their voice, I thought they were shouting away from the door. “Get your–”

At the same time, another spoke over them, “-doesn’t matter about damages! The alarm was tripped, so we–”

How many guards were in the outer office? I could not help but wonder. I had counted at least five voices, but with them shouting over one another, they were far from coherent. Not that it mattered, really, except for me preparing against a certain number of immediate pursuers.

“-But there’s no–absolutely no signs of entry! If this was a false alarm then you’re–”

“-Move it!” The one who had shouted towards the possible-maid added. “Get that key now! If anything’s missing, you can bet it’ll be worse than the whip–”

One of the others, I thought perhaps the second voice, the one who had been slapped, added somewhat snidely, “Ha! Well, if nothing’s missing, wonder what’ll happen to ya for kickin the last door down, yeah?”

Meanwhile, the door to the safe was wobbling, the hinges nearly cut through, along with the lock-bar.

It was then that a new voice entered the conversation, and one that left goosebumps prickling my emerging flesh.

“Boys,” A woman said in a sultry and confident voice.

“-that ain’t a made you ass!” One of them hissed in a whisper.

“Ma’am!” Two of the Peacekeepers greeted. A third instead used, “your Lady-ship?” It seemed that one was unconfident of the proper mode of address. Given that all of the Peacekeepers present here came into contact with nobility on the regular, the only way that they would fail to know the correct mode of address was if the identity of the woman was in doubt.

Regardless of the respectful tones, and in one case, a quaver, she continued speaking as she approached. Her movements came silently, and only her voice alerted me to her change in position, though she was still on the other side of the locked door, thankfully.

“Oh?” she asked, a sense of humor about her voice. I could imagine her smiling. While I could not be absolutely certain, and in fact, I doubted that this was the case as she would certainly be recognized by the guards, but her voice… It reminded me of someone that I would rather avoid in perpetuity. However, unknown to my thoughts, the woman continued, “Am I interrupting you? It seems that someone has made something of a mess for the beloved Baron Ore…”

“Just need the key, ma’am.”

“What a coincidence!” She said, the anticipatory humor in her voice left me cringing, and I was considering abandoning the safe altogether, nevermind the fact that my symbiote had nearly finished sawing through the lock-bar. “In fact, I do have the means of ingress with me.”

“The key-?”

“-You do?”

Two separate voices spoke over each other.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Her smile was plain on her voice. All during this conversation, the Peacekeepers had ceased their attempted entry. I could not be certain that it was intentional or not, but the woman had certainly bought me several seconds. Already the lock-bar was loose. Only the jagged irregularities of the metal kept the safe closed at this point, but with the pressure my symbiote was exerting on both myself and the safe, I had non doubt that access was imminent.

“My, aren’t you excited.”

“Give us the key already!” the first man, the most short-tempered of the bunch, snapped. “Or stop wasting our–”

Then came two simultaneous sounds: the man cutting off with a strangled gurgling, and a flash of a pop–immediately recognizable as an arcbow–this world’s equivalent of firearms, except artificed instead of built upon chemical incendiary reactions.

A second of stunned silence followed, before one of the remaining Peacekeepers protested.

“Y-you shot him!” he stuttered.

“...oopsie?” the woman said, mockingly.

I was all but certain that this woman was the Princess Marissa at this point. Her voice, her sadism, just… everything, pointed towards her. But unless she wore a convincing disguise, and I could think of no reasons for her to do so, the Peacekeepers should have recognized her. Which I took to mean that there was yet another sociopathic sadist on the loose. Briefly I wondered if that was an oxymoron, as sadists certainly did care for what others felt, so long as it was painful and brought the sadist pleasure. In the end, I decided it mattered little.

Especially as the door handle began jimmying and moving far more than it should have, considering it remained locked. I would have heard a key if one were used. Unless… I winced and peeked over the top of the desk. A hole had been burnt through the door handle, striking where the pins would have met the turning gear. A bit of slag from the door handle had almost dripped loose but had cooled and resolidified before separating from the rest of the handle.

It was at just that second that the safe groaned as its door was dislodged completely, revealing the contents to my suddenly very greedy eyes. And while I could hardly catalog everything, I at least confirmed that a thick leather tome was there, along with fat coin purses, and several sealed documents.

From an inner pocket of my uniform’s jacket, I removed an empty cloth satchel and while holding it open with my teeth, I used my good-arm to load up everything, all the while my false-arm held the safe’s lid in its grasp, for some reason reluctant to drop the lid. I spared the oddity not a thought.

It was then that the door handle clicked and jammed, only partially turned. The door separating me from the inner office remained stuck closed.

I finished loading my satchel and securing it around my neck and shoulder before turning to my own means of egress: the window.

Meanwhile, as a Peacekeeper undoubtedly jiggling the stuck handle, he stuttered with clear nervousness in his voice, “I-it’s no-not turning–”

The woman clicked her tongue before speaking once again in a voice laden with false sympathy. “Perhaps the reason is that your hand is shaking. Why, it is almost as if you are nervous! Now, why would that be the case, I wonder…”

When I first reached the window, I expected the latching to be a simple hook or slider. Unfortunately, a quick glance failed to discern the latching mechanism, and upon a slightly more thorough review, I thought I found a motorized track that the window would slide on. There were no buttons or levers in sight, and as this part of the job’s portfolio had been light on the details, I was uncertain as to where the trigger could have been, although I expected that wherever it was that it was accessible from the desk.

However, despite my suspicions, I simply lacked the time to gracefully open the window. While I considered the window, I had noticed it overlooked an expanse of gardens encompassing a courtyard which was in-turn encompassed by other wings of the manor. None of these facts helped me currently, but I expected to make use of them as soon as I shattered the glass.

Rearing back and pivoting, I swung with my hips and hooked my elbow into the pane of glass.

Other than a new bruise, I had little to show for the efforts.

The window remained unaffected from my blow.

I quickly surmised it to be reinforced. Before I swung again, the woman spoke once more, this time more loudly, and into the door itself. Instantly I determined she was speaking to me, even though she lacked confirmation that I was even in the office, at least if the Peacekeepers’ discussion could be believed.

“Strange that the good host’s men are struggling with such a simple concept as a door, is it not?” she asked, to me, presumably. “But, while they remember how to turn a handle, how about you and I entertain ourselves with a pleasant chat. As it seems that you are a captive audience, I will take the liberty to begin this diversion…”

She paused, and I could have sworn she licked her upper lip, although I had no means to confirm this beyond an unpleasant and tingling suspicion. Naturally, during this time, I continued my efforts to break the window, including tracing the windowsill to identify any structural weaknesses. There were none, at least not that I could find.

“...I must say, I was somewhat impressed with your ability to reach Ore’s safe so readily. I expect that were it not for perhaps faulty intel, that you likely would have absconded with the prize…”

I found the first heavy object I found, a decorative paper-weight, and I slammed it against the window. There was a slight chip from where I struck, but not much else. It seemed the paper-weight took more damage than the glass. But, the chip meant that progress had occurred. I struck the same spot once more, then again, all the while, the woman continued speaking.

“...Not only were you provided faulty information, but I expect that you are underpaid and undervalued by your current employer. Unless this is a solo job?” She seemed to be considering me through the door, despite the thick wooden slab between us, “No, not solo, but then can you be certain that your friends will honor their deal? I would expect them to betray you at the very least. That sort of crowd always does, it seems…”

The door handle groaned and something within gave out as additional torque was applied by the Peacekeeper.

“...undervalued, underpaid, underappreciated… and most certainly… not used to your full potential. Which is why I am so gracious as to extend an offer of employment, for my own private services…”

I would be a fool to consider anything that she said. From my measure of her, I wanted nothing to do with her. The very fact she knew I existed, I felt, was incredibly unfortunate. I kept my thoughts to myself, never voicing anything that might reveal any characteristic of mine at all. All the while she spoke, I continued pounding away at the glass, chip after chip after chip. Small fissures began to extend from the point of impact. The glass would soon reach its shatterpoint.

“It seems you have the misunderstanding that the contract is in any way optional. But mark these words, you will serve.” She then focused once more on the Peacekeeper. “Open it, now. Before she escapes.”

I could not help but shudder from her mercurial insanity. The window began creaking as the fissures spread on their own, followed by small pops as the cracks divided.

But then a sharper pop sounded, almost a retort. At the same time, the door to the office gained a large hole where the door handle had been.

A second after that, a man shrieked.

“M-my hand!”

“Dally and your head will be next. Kick this door down. Now.”

Apparently, the woman had ended her play and had moved straight to business. I could not say her new mood was not an improvement, but I would really rather her continue to hinder the Peacekeepers.

And frustratingly enough, the window had still yet to fail catastrophically! Just what was it made of?

Just as suddenly as I had such a thought, I found myself pivoting and bending away from my center in a reaction to my symbiote. All this time, it had kept the heavy metal lid firmly in its grasp. On its own initiative it had kept it, and now on its own initiative, it spun, unspooled, and sent the metal slab on a trajectory through the glass.

A hole appeared where the metal had gone through the glass.

The glass burst into thousands of shards of various sizes, but all of them razor sharp and falling out and away from the now open window.

Chance Encounter: 5/9 (+1)

I could only watch part of the breakage, as the centrifugal momentum continued to spin me even after the release. I spun and regained my balance, pivoting similarly to what a dancer might perform. When I next came around to face the window, I leapt through, transferring my spin from a vertical axis to a horizontal one, so that as I passed through the window I soon thereafter faced the sky, from which I reached both arms up and latched on to the wall above the window, allowing my Climbing Talent to kick in and leave me sticking fast to the exterior wall while I regained my breath.

It was then that I realized there were screams. A substantial number of them, coming from the courtyard below. I risked a glance down and immediately cringed, for that was an unfortunate happenstance.

Somehow I had failed to even consider that party-goers would spend time idling in the courtyard below.

Their presence was messily inconvenient for them, and likely Baron Ore as well. The shards from the broken window had rained down like shrapnel on several men and women, several jagged pieces sticking from shoulders and forearms, one man with a cheek rent open and flapping. The worst though, was the woman seizing up and thrashing across the stone walkway. The slab of metal from the safe had crushed a portion of her temple.

The gore overwhelmed me and almost caused me to vomit, and I would have, were it not for my false-arm squeezing my ribs and seemingly forcing me to regain control of myself, almost a threat. I always tended to respond well to threats, I thought. But I quickly regained myself thanks to the reminder. The gore was a problem for someone else. And if the objective was to cause Baron Ore embarrassment, then certainly the suffering below me would count.

Thus, I made haste.

With my Athleticism, I quickly scaled up the wall from where I had climbed out.

Below, another crash came from within the office. It seemed as though the door had finally come down.

I had not even climbed ten feet in a diagonal course from the window when a man shoved his head out the window. His face was ashen and damp; it seemed he had been forced to scout the exterior under duress.

“Well?” the woman demanded from the safety within. “Where is she?”

The manner in which she spoke implied dire consequences should the man fail.

“She–” he scrambled, frantically looking every which way until he finally glanced up and spotted me. “She’s up there!”

He pointed at where I was still exposed, still climbing. For although it was night, there were plenty of lamps illuminating this section of the walls. And now that he had drawn attention to me, several of the partygoers below drew their attention from their wounds and from their wounded and saw where I climbed. Several pointing and shouting angrily, several demanding I be shot on the spot.

The woman made a biting comment from within the office and something was thrust towards the man’s hand, though I could only spare infrequent glances as I sought to turn a corner. The nearest cover I could see was a tower-esque turret that spanned the second and third floor.

“Yes, Lady–” the man started to say, but the woman cut her off.

“Less of your inanities and more of your shooting. Unless you truly are the waste of space I first perceived you as?” the woman asked.

“But,” the man stuttered. “But my dominant hand is–”

“B-b-but my dominant hand is–” the woman mocked in a sneering voice.

The man grimaced but clamped his jaw shot, steeling himself to shoot with his off hand. He angled himself out the window so that his left arm was sticking from the window, taking aim with a pink and chrome colored arcbow.

Then there followed an actinic pop.

I felt warmth from near my knee and felt a second of panic, but the delayed shock of a grievous injury remained absent. I was relieved when I felt bits of masonry struck my leg, proving my nerves still intact.

“Failed, then?” the woman asked. “I wonder just what Ore is thinking with your training. Nearly worthles…”

“Beg pardon,” the man said, wiping the sweat dripping from his brow with a blooded bandage. “I’ll hit her this time.”

“We shall see,” was all the woman returned.

Meanwhile, I was unfortunately experiencing the reckless task of dodging gunfire. I still remember when my younger sister… I forget her name–

I shuddered and forced myself to redirect.

But, the trick to dodging a gun, or an arcbow in this case, was to avoid being in the line of fire.

So, as the Peacekeeper readied his aim once more, I guessed at where he aimed, where the trajectory would line up. This was far from an exact science, but I thought the shot might hit, somewhere near my right shoulder.

I continued to climb, keeping an eye on him all the time. When I saw his hand start to tense, I released my hold upon the wall and I began dropping.

I intended to drop no more than a foot.

He fired before he had realized I had jerked downward.

Masonry scattered across my face.

My right hand went to regain my contact with the wall, but the wall was further away than I expected. I had not thought I had pushed myself off so far. A split second stretched as I raced to account for the change.

It was my false arm that saved the situation, embedding tendrils in the stone and jarring me into the wall itself.

The breath escaped my lungs.

But I could not delay.

The man popped a spent Charger from the arcbow and began slotting another in.

The woman said something snidely, I was sure, though I failed to hear what she said exactly.

Below me, in the courtyard, Peacekeepers had come rushing in; they carried with them longer variants of the arcbow, more similar to a rifle. Also, there came servants to tended to the wounded, although I paid them little mind except to note them.

What I truly needed was cover, a place to hide for a moment of respite. Thus, this is what I sought as I continued to climb.

“Did you get her?” the woman asked.

“M-maybe? She fell a bit. Gonna try again–”

The woman scoffed, and once more uttered, “Worthless. “I handed you the keys to the kingdom and you're still missing the shot.”

I had thought she might have been quoting a piece of literature, but I failed to recognize the piece. It seemed the man did as well, judging by his response.

“I-I would hardly call this arcbow the keys to–”

“Are you implying that I am mistaken?” she asked with venom.

“N-no,” the man squeaked out, turning his full attention upon me once more, now with the arcbow reloaded.

During this time, I had not remained idle. I had determined the turret to be the best source of immediate cover, followed by a balcony I had remembered seeing on the other side of the wall.

Unfortunately, I doubted I would make it in time.

Rifles were pointing my way from below, in addition to the woman’s gunman.

I had been working my way sideways, but I was still three feet out.

Without better options, I crouched from where I stuck to the wall and I sprang outwards and to the side, towards the turret. I could already tell that I had overshot. I would have sailed off into the night and come crashing down on the courtyard gardens below. This would hardly kill me, but it would slow me, and leave me momentarily exposed to the guards below.

My false-arm fully uncoiled to its full length, whipping up and sideways, striking a protrusion from the farside of the turret. Less gracefully than a small child on a rope-swing, I went spinning out and around then back in, my left shoulder tight and uncomfortable pressure where tendrils had attached to my collarbone and ribs.

Several flashes and pops, most from below, one from the side.

Charred divots appeared in the stonework around me, though none hit. It was dark out, I was a moving target, and my form was not backlit or contrasted against the building. It would have been more surprising if any of them had hit.

One of the shots did cause a brick to shatter and fall. It was apparently a facade of stucco or gypsum. The guard barely dodged away from in time, but when the brick struck the ground, it shattered to dust. Several of the partygoers observing my flight as some form of entertainment pointed at the powder and jeered the baron’s shoddy work. Several wondered how many wounded would have suffered had the baron invested in appropriate building materials to begin with.

They were quick enough with their discussion that I had just struck the farside of the wall when they had begun making such idle discourse. From my new vantage, the courtyard out of sight but not the garden. The hedges would prove only a slight buffer.

It seemed that none of my pursuers were in sight, and I no longer heard the horrible woman’s voice. Before I was found again, I decided that I absolutely required my Illusions. Though, my Guise was still in the process of dropping: my spine lengthened and stretched in a manner almost reminiscent of popping ones back, except far less satisfying. Perhaps another minute at tops before I had regained my ability to cast Illusions.

Not for the first time, I regretted that I was missing my full kit. Smoke bombs or incendiaries would have proven most useful. I needed to make due.

Rather than continuing to the side, or to the ground where I could run, I continued to climb. The roof of the manor was most irregular, offering plenty of avenues to conceal myself until a promised distraction occurred. And even should that distraction never arrive, once I had the ability to cast Illusions once more, I could make my escape regardless.

My flight to the roof went uncontested.

All throughout the grounds, shouts of alarm and infrequent wails broke the night, but the more disturbing by far were the sounds of merriment at the expense of those injured or seeking to capture myself. I should not have been surprised by this, as I had seen enough of the darker side of the humans of this land to know better, but I would have thought that they would at least keep their indecorous thoughts hidden from those currently suffering.

This behavior, and general condition of society, all of it was a problem. But that did not make the problem mine. In fact, once I reached the rooftop, I encountered a problem of a different sort, technically the sort that I needed, but still frustrating.

The roof itself was highly irregular. The manor gave the impression of going through various installments and additions over-time, with none of the architects agreeing on either elevation, slope, or even roofing materials. There were tower-like turrets placed at some corners, but not others. Portions of the roof suddenly ended and dropped to out of the way mini gardens, while others rose to make room for either a lofted ceiling or a half floor of some nature.

Given that the turrets often had windows and sightlines covering most of the roof, I decided to avoid a prolonged stay. Even if none of the guards had the wherewithal to scout from the turrets, certainly some of them were enhanced enough to find their way up. Truthfully, I was unsure of how long my respite would last.

I wanted to at least let my Guise completely drop before leaving, but rather than waiting in an out of the way crook or cranny, I decided to relocate towards the city side of the roof. Of course, my Guise continued dropping as I moved, even if I found myself tripping twice due to my shifting legs and gait.

Soon, I reached the farside, and I found the yard and gardens a flurry of activity, with additional Peacekeepers streaming in from the outer gardens and their garrison. It was about then that my Guise finished dropping, and my Spirit began to finally refill.

The sensation was welcome, a cool balm upon a burned soul. However, I could not simply sit and enjoy.

Directly below me, nearly ten or fifteen feet, was a balcony that spanned much of the building’s front, sitting over the entryway and colonnade. I had just peeked over the side of a very short and unsafe balustrade, when I caught the flash of lanterns sweeping the walls and edge of the roof. I pulled back and listened, but no additional sounds came from the two Peacekeepers stationed on the balcony.

It was far from ideal, but so long as I waited for the correct opportunity and timed everything correctly, I expected I could slip by unseen.

It was at that point that I noticed a strong light from one of the turret-like towers. I avoided moving, lest the motion draw the eye, but a Peacekeeper had just opened one of the upper windows and was leaning out with a long rifle.

Chances were he would fail to spot me.

But given he likely had enhancements geared towards sweeping his surroundings, I was unsure if I wanted to test just that.

Perhaps I would risk moving earlier rather than later, I decided.

But before I could decide on an angle, the double door leading to the balcony swung open and a large and hulking drunk of a man came stomping out. He wore the High Knight’s dress uniform, and I thought I might have seen him around the Bridge Tower, but I could not recall exactly.

He was followed by a servant who was pleading with him to return back to the other guests.

The Knight was having none of it.

“An’ miss all the action?” the Knight asked loudly, slurring.

One of the Peacekeepers turned from his search of the surroundings, focused on the new entrant.

“Sir, please return inside until it’s safe–”

“Bah! I was fightin’ while you were still in yer crib, boy.”

The Peacekeeper’s brows furrowed, likely unhappy with the derisive comment.

While this occurred, I realized I had just been given the best chance that I would likely receive. But even then, one of the Peacekeepers remained vigilant, and it would not take much for both them and the Knight to fall upon me should I be spotted prematurely. What I needed to do was to enhance this opportunity further.

Scanning my surroundings, I found a statue of a nude woman hanging from the wall, sticking up and over the edge of the balustrade. It hovered over the edge of the balcony, but far enough from the Knight and Peacekeepers that I thought it would be unlikely to line up perfectly, unless I helped the situation.

I slowly crawled across the roof, hugging the corner between balustrade adn sloping roof, expecting at anytime for one of the sweeping lanterns to fall upon me, or for a jarring actinic pop to blind me or pepper me with hot shrapnel. But inch after inch I crawled, all without being seen.

Stealth I: (9/9 (+1) ->

Stealth II: 1/9

Unnatural Concealment: 1/9

Additional pains wracked my right arm–an unusual amount of change, too much. My skin felt as though it were blistering, and were I not focused on the task at hand, I would have issued a complaint, or a whimper at the very least. But no, I could not allow my foes to be alerted by such a foible.

Regardless of the pain, I continued.

Soon, I reached the statue and I positioned my back to the roof and my legs to the top of the statue.

I could have pushed then and there, sending the statue tumbling to the balcony, creating a great cacophony, and drawing the attention of the Knight and Peacekeepers. However, following a hunch, I fished a spent charger loose and tossed it up and over the side.

A second later, I heard it clink against the floor of the balcony.

“Eh?” the Knight said. “You heard that too?”

“Shh!” one of the Peacekeepers hissed.

Footsteps softly and slowly approached where I had tossed the Charger.

I counted to three.

And then, I pushed. It came in a momentary strain, a bit of a creak as mortar cracked. Before the statue began falling, one of the men below shouted a warning. It seemed to have come just as the statue disappeared from sight, accelerating then crashing below, accompanied by one man’s pained screams.

I peaked over once again, though I regretted it.

One of the Peacekeepers was down, his leg crushed and bone sticking through the gristle. The other was by his side in a show of solidarity. The Knight, however, was largely unaffected, and rather than giving the wounded man any attention at all, his sharp eyes, far too sharp for how drunk he had sounded earlier, sliced across the rooftop and landed on where I hid.

I cursed myself for just having to look, but the damage was done.

The Knight crouched and sprang up, catching the edge of the roof and pulling himself up the rest of the way.

I was rolling backwards, regaining my footing in a crouch, and then I was off sprinting.

The Knight drew a massive sword that had no business coming to a party. I had not even seen him wearing a sword earlier–I cut that line of thought off. This required focus.

My tail offered a counterbalance, allowing me to take a corner more sharply than otherwise.

Rather than make the turn himself, my pursuer rolled through, hit the side of a turret, before catching himself and leaping off of it, causing the turret’s flag tipped top to shake.

Irritatingly, the man was laughing like a braying hound.

“An–and they said hunts’ere out a’ vogue!” He shouted. “Knew them gits were full of it!”

I heard wind whistling and a sense of danger sent me crouched rolling to the side, coming up to the edge of the roof, not far from where the balcony was.

Lucky Break I: 2/9 (+1)

The sword swept through where I had been. The momentum of the swing kept the man turning in a whirlwind that could not have ever been effective as it left his back glaringly open for a second before he completed his turn. As his eyes found mine I saw his smirk and I felt fury.

But, I had my habit to make passion driven decisions driven out long ago. Even if the woman had been atrocious, her lessons had stuck, and not all of them were worthless.

So, rather than engaging the brute with either violence or dialogue, I whispered my sole and only Spell.

“Illusion.”

An indistinct fog overtook me and I jumped into the night.

I hoped between the inconsistent lighting and my illusory cover that the Knight would lose track of me.

The night air whistled past me as I plummeted towards an ornamental tree. None of the branches would be thick enough to stop a normal person’s momentum, but with my Featherlight Talent, my momentum was hardly normal. I grabbed one branch, then another, bringing myself to a stop in a series of sudden jolting decelerations.

While I had been falling, I had not failed to notice that the Knight stood on the edge of the roof looking down at me with a lurid grin splitting his face. When I finally hit the ground of the garden’s manicured lawn, he gave a howl, sprung, and leapt towards the very same ornamental tree.

I took off running into the surrounding gardens between the manor, the manor’s fence, and the broader gardens and estates in the environs.

The Knight crashed through the ornamental tree, tearing up the branches and making much of a racket that must have drawn every non-deaf guard in the vicinity. I glance behind me showed him unscathed, not even having lost his footing, and already taking off towards where I currently was running. Where I would run around obstacles or leap across hedges, he ran through them, even toppling a marble statue which turned out to be a plaster replica.

I still had thirty seconds left on my Illusion before it ran out, but while my cover might have been obscuring me from most of the guards’ sight, it did nothing for the Knight. Currently, it was the Knight that I needed to deal with.

“Illusion,” I whispered.

A shadowy clone sprung off from my form, blurring away from me at an angle.

The Knight paused a fraction of a second before disregarding the clone. I let it fade, and tried once more.

“Illusion.”

Another clone sprang from me and sped off.

Illusion I: 6/9 (+1)

This one felt heavier, more realistic. The Knight faltered towards the clone before his nose twitched and he laughed. “It’ll take more than tricks to fool me, kunny.”

“Illusion.”

I would not be deterred. Nearly, I was to the fence encompassing the baron’s estate. It was overly large, but not built for patrolling or fortifications, instead for show and intimidation. While it was tall and clean and covered in ornamental metal, it lacked any obvious artificed security mechanisms. Once I crossed it, I could switch my focus to the Knight completely, assuming he still gave chase.

“Been needin a new pelt for the livin’ space,” the Knight taunted, once again finding me, despite the fact I should not have been leaving any tracks whatsoever.

Trackless Tracks I: 5/9 (+1)

It must have been some form of Talent of his own to enable him to continue pursuit.

I had just reached the cleared space before the wall when the Knight picked up the pace.

His sword sang and I found myself flying to the side before I even realized that my false-arm had shot out and diverted me from disaster. The sword meanwhile embedded itself in the stone.

“Godslickin iron!” the Knight swore, seemingly bothered for the first time that night, and all because his oversized blade had become wedged in the ornamental cast-iron grilling.

Not one to let an opportunity pass, I jumped and swung my false-arm, trusting in the tendrils to unspool and grab the top of the wall. My ability to stick to any surface seemed to translate to the symbiote, which was terrifying for several reasons that I always avoided thinking too much upon. Soon, I was rappelling upwards.

I had just cleared the top, had just begun a roll down to the other side, when I caught sight of several Vigilants, including Velvetcall.

A portion of me wondered how and why he had been heading in this direction already. The rest of me put on all haste to escape.

My Illusion had faded already, and it would take another forty seconds until I had refilled my reserves. I still had some Spirit in the tank, but if I exhausted the pool completely, then recovery would be delayed, and my physicality would suffer for it immediately.

For the moment, I relied upon my more traditional means of escape.

I dashed into the thicker parts of the garden, though not a single inch of the space could be claimed as untamed or unmanicured, which made disappearing completely into the shadows difficult.

Velvetcall issued a suggestion. I was unable to hear it over the sound of my own heart and footsteps.

A portion of me registered that I could not confirm he was talking to me of all people, and implied hardly meant the same thing as without doubt.

I continued onward, not even suffering a hitch in my step.

Flexibility: 7/9 (+1)

I passed another estate when I was coming up on the Peacekeepers garrison. The Knight had apparently been heading in this direction as well, as I saw him racing forward towards the choke point ahead of me, although he gave no signs of having seen me.

I saw no evidence of the Vigilants following me. It seems that without Guesswork, they lacked the ability to track me, at least not easily.

Up ahead, I heard sounds of conflict, of bellowing.

I recognized one of the bellows at least. Bee.

With them serving as a distraction, and with my pursuers thrown off… for all intents and purposes I had escaped with the prize. I could leave now and consider my job a success.

The Knight had reached the garrison and circled around the actual fortifications to the opposite side where the conflict was.

Peacekeepers continued to rush in from their various patrols around the Hills.

Velvetcall and a girl I failed to recognize landed in the open yard surrounding the Garrison. They had been jumping to quickly move, a mode of travel reminiscent of fleas. Fitting. That.

But, with all of these foes heading towards the twins, I perhaps felt some worry. Or curiosity. Regardless, I found myself trailing after the Vigilants and Knight, though I kept to the periphery, where the treeline met the yard. That path took a detour compared to the direct routes of those I followed, but I could not just abandon stealth in the presence of enemies.

While I circled the Garrison, before the fight had come into view, I heard Bee bellow rhythmically. Then, I saw a Peacekeeper fly over the Garrison walls. He flailed in the air and struck the ground facefirst. His body crumpled up and over the contact point. There was a smear, and his spine seemed bent in unfortunate ways.

I finally reached sight of the fight, and I discovered Bee to be laughing uproariously as he used another Peacekeeper as a bludgeon to keep the others away.

The Knight was about the size of Bee, and the moment Bee and the Knight struck eyes, it seemed a match had been made.

The Knight roared and charged. Bee bellowed, threw the Peacekeeper to the side, collapsing another two of the guards as a human projectile struck them, and then Bee made a straight line towards the Knight.

Curiously, neither Bee nor the Knight readied their weapons, and I knew that the Knight had a sword, or at least that he had, even though I found no hint of it on his person.

Then Bee and the Knight collided. An almost shockwave echoed out from the impact as they immediately locked horns to forehead and arms to shoulders and they began pressing against each other, hooves and boots digging in as they sought supremacy.

They created a bizarre sight, but it was one that not all were content to watch.

On the Garrison’s tower, a Peacekeeper aimed his rifle towards where Bee wrestled. The shot might not have been a clean one, with the Knight so close to Bee, but I had realized long ago that many in this world failed to account for friendly fire. And true enough, the Peacekeeper took the shot, though it went wide by a foot, missing Bee’s back.

Neither Bee nor the Knight had noticed the shot, nor had they seemed to care, focused solely upon what I was coming to humorously consider their mating ritual.

But humor would hardly do any favors as the Peacekeeper reloaded, and as the others had formed a loose perimeter around the Meohr and the Knight. Before the sniper could take another shot though, a white streak stopped behind him, an almost shadow, but the wrong color. The Peacekeeper lost his balance and fell from the ramparts. As the drop was nearly ten yards, I assumed his impact would be fatal. Meanwhile, the white shadow resolved into the second Meohr twin, Ay. She waved towards where I was still hidden, before she streaked away once more, towards where another Peacekeeper was setting up a shot.

As she had the shooters handled, I decided to take on the problem more immediate to my surroundings.

This was not the Peacekeepers forming a loose perimeter around Bee and the Knight, as I had no doubt that Bee could push through that chaff with ease. No, what I worried about was the Vigilants. Particularly, Velvetcall. The girl who followed him around likely had some powers as well, although as I lacked familiarity with her costume, I assumed she was the less dangerous of the two.

Ay resolved once more up on the ramparts, having shoved off another shooter. It seemed she had gotten them all thus far, although more may still arrive. But for once, I saw a serious expression on her face as she glanced towards the Vigilants approaching Bee. And while the Vigilants approached with caution, and in Velvetcall’s case, amusement, they would serve a significant problem. Especially if Bee lacked the means to resist verbal compulsions, which, if Ay’s panicked look was to be an indicator, he did lack.

If that was the case, then all it would take was just one word from him and Bee would be caught.

Of course, I could not just allow a member of my crew to go down. Especially not when he knew my civilian identity. While I doubted he would reveal anything willingly, this was a world with compulsions and psychics, and one that readily accepted torture.

I could not allow him to be caught.

Ay seemed to share my thoughts, though her motivations likely differed from my own. She had obtained one of the rifles from the ramparts and was sighting down the Vigilants. But when she pulled the trigger, her shot missed by a significant margin. Instead of landing anywhere near the Vigilants, a Peacekeeper several yards away crumpled with a smoking hole in his gut.

Ay swore and tossed the rifle and streaked away, going from the ramparts to the roof before hitting the courtyard of the Garrison, out of sight momentarily.

She would not arrive in time. While she had taken the shot and missed, Velvetcall had pushed aside several Peacekeepers and was watching Bee and the Knight struggle against each other.

Velvetcall was not quite smiling, but definitely enjoying the sport.

This gave me plenty of time to act.

I had no interest in going anywhere near the mess on my own, and I lacked weaponry that had any range, but I did have several tools at my disposal that could work, and those largely circled my Illusions.

I had a choice to make in that regard. A strobing light could blind and disorient and distract the Vigilants as Bee made his escape. But that distraction might also hinder Bee, and there was no guarantee he would break free from the Knight, if he even could.

The Knight had been slightly inconvenienced by my Illusions earlier, so I lacked the confidence that a distraction would suffice.

However, that was not the end of my kit, as I could also invest more Spirit into the Spell and grant an Illusion tangibility. This opened up quite a few options. I could create a knife, a sword, a clone, or something more suitable to deliver ranged violence.

A portion of me wished to create a gun of some sort, but I had little idea how the innards of a gun actually worked, and I required intimate knowledge of every aspect of my Illusion to grant it a desired effect. I was unsure if I could even mimic chemical reactions such as gunpowder, let alone whatever magic artificed arcbows employed,

However, guns and arcbows were not the end-all, be-all, of ranged weapons.

Knives could be thrown. Although, were I to rely upon a thrown weapon, I would choose a javelin instead, as knives were notoriously difficult to throw in a dynamic environment.

I decided to go with a different option.

“Illusion,” I uttered, picturing the very image of that which I required, imagining the feel of it in my hand, its weight, its sprung tension seeking release, somewhat similar to the coiled power my symbiote could bring to bear.

“Tangible,” I finished.

Spirit flew from me, leaving me feeling sore and weak in a metaphysical itching sort of way.

But in my hand, the crossbow finished forming, already armed and cocked.

I could not hold the Illusion for more than thirty seconds at the best of times, more realistically I had twenty seconds at best.

Only several seconds were required to aim the sights down at Velvetcall.

Only a fraction of a second was required to press the trigger.

Only a second more for the bolt to strike.

I dropped the crossbow, releasing it from my grip. It was more akin to dropping a balloon though, as it floated away from my hand instead of succumbing to gravity. I noted the oddity for later investigation as I watched the bolt fly and strike Velvetcall’s shoulder. Or it would have anyway, if the girl had remained stationary. Instead, she had somehow detected the bolt and its trajectory, and she had pushed Velvetcall in those few seconds between my pulling of the trigger and the bolt striking its target.

Instead of hitting the boy in the ribs and inflicting perhaps a fatal wound, the bolt skimmed the side of his shoulder, still cutting him and leading to his crying out in pain, but nothing that would be too debilitating. I hoped the wound was deep enough to delay him.

As he cried out, clutching his shoulder, turning to glare at the girl of all things, I let the Illusion drop.

Illusion I: 7/9 (+1)

The familiar burning ran across my right forearm as the Mark updated itself, reaching its circuitry like strands deeper into my core. My false-arm shivered in pleasure, which I knew as it released a certain musk that somehow left me somewhat at peace, though the feeling quickly abated.

While Velvetcall was busy reprimanding the girl, Ay streaked down to her twin and shanked the Knight. The Knight roared and pivoted, pulling back from Bee to throw a hook towards Ay. But Ay disappeared in a cloudburst of white, before reappearing behind him.

“Time to go!” she shouted at him.

“It was just getting good,” Bee snorted, irritation clear in his voice, but he disengaged form the Knight all the same while his sister darted around the Knight’s heavy swings.

“You’ve got the worst timing, beast.” The Knight snarled, trying to get his hands on Ay, though she was grinning in a bovine manner and goading the Knight on. She ducked under one blow and pivoted from another, spinning in an almost dance before sliding a dagger along the Knight’s outer thigh.

The pants split, but not his skin.

He still screamed in irritation.

“Watch the uniform!” he roared.

It was at this point, I realized that all of these people suffered some form of insanity.

However, there was naught more that I could do.

Bee pivoted and began charging with his horns lowered towards the city.

The Peacekeepers between him and the city had a brief time to consider their options. One chose to level his arcbow. Another dove to the side. The one who had begun aiming his arcbow was gored in the chest. Bee lifted his head with the man still impaled, blood gushing from the wound and staining Bee’s white fur red.

The gored peacekeeper went flying as Bee snapped his head up and to the side, shaking the Peacekeeper loose from the horn.

And then Bee kept running.

It was then that I chose to disengage as well, gaining distance. Of course, I had already gained some distance, for I had been slinking along the shadows as soon as I had made my shot. But as Bee fled and led the more spirited defenders on a fruitless chase, and as Ay continued tormenting the Knight, and as Velvetcall continued complaining while the girl dressed his wounded shoulder, I made my own escape, although I did so much more stealthily than Bee.

A minute later I had crossed over to the public side of the hill, though I was still in the vast gardens that surrounded many of the estates.

It was as I traveled through the shadows and avoided sounds of traffic as the Peacekeepers fanned back out in search that Ay somehow found me. The white smoke materialized to my side. I noticed that she made no noise as she traveled this way, and that she left no tracks until she materialized.

For a second, I froze. She looked me over, from head to foot to tail, which was still swaying behind me.

Discomfort was felt. Much of it. No one had known I was… not human… and I felt dissatisfied that my Guise had been broken so soon. But I only had myself to blame. I should have begun reverting as soon as I passed the Garrison. But I had… not forgotten to do so, but felt reluctant at the time. Not only was my most potent tool, my Illusions, locked away while I used my Guise, but it also came with its own feeling of unease and discomfort, like wearing clothes a size too small.

Of course, these were mere excuses, which I castigated myself for as Ay stared me down.

Did she even recognize me, I wondered. Given her smirk, the uniform I still wore, and my distinctive lilac fur and cyan eyes, it was very likely that she would make the connection.

She was definitely smirking.

I did not like this.

Symbiotic Parasite (aka false-arm)

4 Tendrils, approximately 1.5 yards in length, unspooled.

Talents:

Athleticism I (3/9):

Climbing I (5/9)

Featherlight I (4/9)

Inversion (2/9)

Gymnastics (4/9)

Stealth II (1/9) (+1)

Trackless Tracks I (5/9) (+1)

Area Coverage (6/9)

Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

Unnatural Concealment: 1/9

Eschiver I (3/9)

Evasion I (2/9)

Impending Sense (4/9)

Lucky Break I (2/9) (+1)

Chance Encounter (5/9) (+1)

Courtly Dancing: Treachery (4/9)

Flexibility (7/9) (+1)

Spells:

Illusion I (7/9) (+2)

Touch (8/9)

Guise of the Kitsune I (1/9) (+1)

Malleable Form: 1/9

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (4/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)