V2 C12 - War in the Shadows

The attack had been a surprise, but Mimir assessed the situation quickly.

Forty attackers in and outside of the Hierophant, fairly skilled and acting in perfect coordination. All wearing studded-leather armour and wielding silver weapons which are effective against monsters and supernatural beings.

Mimir drew his weapons. They are a threat.

“Fenrir, Mania, deal with the ones outside!” He threw three knives into the closest thug, all of which the mercenary cut out of the air. “We’ll handle this.”

The dozen Machai in the basement emerged, catching the attackers by surprise, killing three before they could react. Six Ravens descended from the rafters and assassinated several unsuspecting mercenaries.

Mímir parried two of the thugs’ attacks before throwing knives at them. The men dodged the knives and charged him again. When one attacked Mímir from his left, the other would strike from his right; it was an attack pattern that would have kept most opponents off balance and at a huge disadvantage.

Mímir, however, was no ordinary opponent.

He parried the one on the left, then cut down the one on his right. Mímir turned his attention to the surviving thug and sliced at the thug’s shoulder. The thug blocked the attack, but Mímir threw a knife into the thug’s chest.

For good measure, Mímir cut the man’s head off.

Around him, seven Machai and two Ravens were dead and ten of the thugs remained.

The guards at Castle Kelsey couldn’t even kill one. Mímir leapt across the tables towards the remaining attackers, throwing knives as he went. Either they are far stronger than average soldiers or the guards at Castle Kelsey were far weaker.

Mímir kicked off the last table and smashed his foot into a thug’s face, breaking the man’s nose. Mímir landed firmly before him, spun a kick into the man’s temple and the thug flew across the room and out of a broken window.

Sylvan said Herakles would send his best men, but was that the truth? If it’s a lie, this is most concerning.

***

Outside, Mania and Fenrir had fared better.

Half the men were dead and the women were unharmed, but their foes were capable at avoiding their attacks. Fenrir’s fists and Mania’s whip were fast, but the thugs’ reactions could just about keep up, but they couldn’t counterattack successfully.

“Honestly disappointed.” Fenrir shook some blood off her fur. “You managed to land a surprise attack on us, but.” She smashed her foot onto a dying man’s skull, breaking it in two. “You’re still weak.”

If Fenrir’s words had upset them, the mercenaries didn’t let it show on their faces.

“Do we need any of them alive?”

“Keep one or two alive if you can,” Mania said.

If they know where our base is, it’s only fair we learn where theirs is.

Seven of the eight remaining thugs charged, but the eighth ran.

He’d killed people and monsters stronger than him, but all that experience couldn’t help him win against these two women.

WIthout Herakles, they didn’t stand a chance.

I gotta warn the boss!

So, he fled as his comrades fought and died.

***

Though the skirmish was brief, the Hierophant had been heavily damaged.

The street outside was running scarlet and all the bodies had been piled up inside the inn.

All twelve Machai had fallen, as had three Ravens.

“They must have paid off the city-watch and the Holy Legion,” Mimir theorised.

“So, what do we do now?”

“Find their base, right?” Fenrir answered. “Though we didn’t manage to capture any alive to interrogate.”

“This idiot!” Mania kicked Sylvan's corpse. “Was meant to help us with that, useless insect.”

“On the contrary, Mania, he served his purpose very well,” Mímir said. “He fed us inside information about the Son’s operations and other valuable intelligence, such as the wedding to the north, and he allowed us to find their base.

“When there were only a few left inside the Hierophant, I sent the Ravens outside to assist you two and to follow anyone who fled. It would seem that someone among Herakles’s killers has good instincts and went to warn their boss about us.”

“Where is it?”

“White Manor of all places if you can believe it.”

Mania giggled. “Well, that would certainly explain why they had so much money to throw at the guards. So, are we paying them a visit tonight?”

“We will, but not just yet. For now, we need a big distraction, one that will draw the guards and Legion to the other side of the city, allowing us to comfortably assault the Sons of Tartarus’s lair and end this conflict in a single strike. To do that, we’ll have to abandon the Hierophant and cause quite the stir in the city.”

Fenrir looked at Mímir confused but Mania glowered at him.

“You don’t mean-?”

“We’re abandoning the Hierophant. Take all of our supplies, valuables and money, then set it ablaze. We’ll risk torching the entire merchant’s district to draw the guards as far away from the noble’s district as we can.”

“Woah!”

“Mímir, I’m not the best person to say this, but are you insane?” Mania asked angrily. “The Demon Emperor was kind enough to forgive us for our past sins, and now you want to burn our main base inside the city and risk burning it down? Insanity.”

“The Hierophant lost all use to us once someone attacked it,” Mímir reasoned. “Now that the Sons have struck, any other factions watching us will no doubt begin to move as well. If anything, it’s fortunate that the Paladins or others haven’t found us out.

“I foresee two possibilities. One: the Paladins saw the Sons preparing to attack us and left to report that information to their companions. Two: the Sons wiped out the Paladins who were watching us before beginning their attack.

“If they did that, then they removed the risk of being caught by the Paladins themselves. Right now, time is of the essence. If we’re too slow to respond to these threats and ask his majesty for guidance, we stand a much greater risk of being exposed. In the worst-case scenario, we’ll place a large target on our back and, by extension, his majesty’s.

“We have the advantage right now and we need to press it. My Raven is still tailing the man who ran away to their base in the noble’s district and it won’t be long before he tells Herakles what he saw. If they go into hiding before we can finish them off, it’s over.

“Therefore, we’ll torch the Hierophant as a distraction and then all teleport en-masse to the noble’s district and wipe the Sons of Tartarus out. If this displeases his majesty, then I alone will take the fall and the blame. However, I strongly believe the positives outweigh the negatives in this case and thus we must get started now.”

***

Lord Carlson Penwise’s mansion, the biggest estate in the district, was the Sons of Tartarus’s main base.

The grounds and gardens, surrounded by stone walls, stretched half a mile around the main house, with more than a hundred guards protecting it.

Carlson Penwise was both the leader of the Sons of Tartarus and a prominent nobleman, making him one of the most powerful men in the Holy Empire, made even stronger with Lord Kelsey’s backing.

However, with the Kelseys dead and the Sons of Tartarus under attack on multiple fronts, the future of the underworld organisation was bleak.

In the Merchant’s District, the Hierophant was burning and the blaze was spreading fast.

Mania and Mimir had returned to the Dread Keep just after setting the fire, and then, with a small army at their back, the Demon Emperor’s forces struck at the Penwise mansion.

The Ravens assassinated the guards at the gates, flung them open and let the demons and skeletons spread like a flood throughout the grounds. Mania charged into the master bedroom, killing Carlson and his wife, before opening another portal to bring even more Machai into the battle.

Mimir and Fenrir broke down the front doors and slaughtered all the guards they encountered.

“Remember, only kill the guards; no servants, slaves or prisoners are to be harmed,” Mimir restated to the Machai flooding inside the mansion.

“Ah, this is so much fun! I haven't felt a rush like this in years.”

“I don’t mind you enjoying yourself, Fenrir, but please do remember we’re here on behalf of his majesty.”

“I know, I know, I won’t go against my orders or do anything like that.” She grinned when she saw two Machai come flying down the stairs dead. “Seems like we’ve found the boss.”

“Seems like our guests wanted to start the party without us, lads,” Herakles called down. He swung his bloodied club onto his shoulder, then leapt down the flight of stairs in a single jump. “I know we sent you guys an invitation earlier, but didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Herakles chuckled. “Either you’re really confident or really stupid. Maybe both.”

Fenrir grinned. “You don’t seem all that worried about this.”

“Why would I be? Honestly, you coming to us works out great for us. When you’re all dead, I can finally start working on rebuilding the Sons of Tartarus’s reputation and this time.” He lost his happy demeanour. “There won’t be anyone dumb enough to cross us again.”

“If you can win.”

In the next instant, Fenrir had flown into one of the pillars and the whole house shook from the impact.

Neither Fenrir nor Mímir knew what had happened.

Since they’d arrived in Aangapea, Mímir had never once thought of the residents of this world as a threat to him or any of the generals. Not even to the Machai or Ravens.

Abaddon was strong enough to defeat a fifteen-metre-tall giant alone without getting a scratch.

Mania could cut through forty men with a single strike of her whip.

Mímir had been unmatched in terms of speed.

Fenrir, one of the generals chosen by the Demon Emperor, whose strength rivalled his own, was launched across the room before either of them could react.

“Like I said, when we kill you,” Herakles gleamed.

This is worse than his majesty predicted!

With a ferocious scowl, Fenrir pushed herself onto her feet and spat blood.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Fenrir, stand down.” Mímir stepped in between them. “He’s mine.”

Herakles grinned and swung his club back onto his shoulder. “You think you have a chance?”

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Mímir-!” Three people jumped down from upstairs and surrounded Fenrir.

“You can play with our resident A-ranked adventurers, wolf-girl. I’ll be with you once I’m done with your friend.”

Mímir scoffed. “Don’t kid yourself, Herakles.”

Physically strong and with a sound mind. Had we the option, I would have tried to bring him into the fold. However.

“There’s no place for people like you in our master’s world.”

“Oh, and what sort of people are those?”

Mímir disappeared from sight and reappeared behind Herakles. “Those who are too free.”

He sliced at Herakles’s neck, but Herakles ducked beneath it, then spun on his heel and swung his club at Mímir. Mímir easily bent to the side of the strike, then stabbed at Herakles’s face with his knives.

Herakles blocked them with his shield, then kicked Mímir away from him before leaping back a few feet himself.

Mímir threw his knives at Herakles, but Herakles easily knocked them out of the air with his club. Herakles kicked off the ground with great power and flew across the room at Mímir with his club wound back.

Mímir dodged the attack but, just before Herakles slammed into the wall, Herakles twisted his body mid-air, kicked off the wall and leapt at Mímir again.

Mímir's eyes widened in surprise at the follow-up attack and he blocked the club with his sword. The impact, however, sent him flying through the dining room doors towards a window.

Mímir adjusted himself mid-air so that his feet landed on the frame, then jumped off it before it shattered. He landed on the table just as Herakles burst into the room with a nasty grin on his face.

Herakles roared and slammed his club down on the table, launching it and Mímir high into the air.

Mímir clicked his tongue and threw six daggers at Herakles. Herakles blocked them all with his shield then jumped into the air in pursuit of Mímir. Mímir twisted his body and narrowly dodged Herakles’s attack, then kicked the man in the ribs.

They cracked as Herakles was launched through the ceiling and into the roof of the building.

Herakles coughed blood and landed roughly on his knees, but his smile still remained on his face.

Mímir leapt up into the bedroom Herakles landed in and the two clashed again.

Herakles parried Mímir's slash, then bashed him in the stomach with his shield, knocking the wind out of Mímir and sending him flying through the bedroom doors and out into the corridor.

Mímir landed in a crouched position and rolled out of the way of Herakles’s follow-up swings. He leapt up onto his feet and threw three daggers at Herakles, all of which the man caught in his club.

Herakles shattered the daggers using his shield, then hastily moved to block Mímir's flurry of slashes. A couple lightly scratched Herakles, but they only drew a few drops of blood.

Herakles caught Mímir's sword in his club and wrenched it free of Mímir's grip, then, he launched a spinning kick at the side of Mímir's face.

The strike was so strong that the entire house shook.

Mímir was sent flying down to the very end of the twenty-metre corridor and collapsed onto his knees.

Herakles spat blood and wretched Mímir's sword from his club before breaking it in two against his shield.

Despite the intense rage and humiliation that Mímir felt, he didn’t let it show on his face.

His majesty always exercised caution and advised us to do the same in case we ran into someone as strong as Herakles. Mímir stood back up and brandished his daggers. We generals had no fear of these people because of our confidence in our own strength.

It is that arrogance that has betrayed me.

“I won’t let that happen again.”

Just as Herakles was about to charge down the corridor, Mímir struck.

He threw eight knives down the corridor, but not a single one was aimed at Herakles.

Instead, the knives hit the walls and the ceiling, reflecting off them and then bouncing off whatever they impacted next.

One knife went from the walls, to the floor, to the opposite wall, then to the ceiling, all the while gaining speed and advancing towards Herakles.

Just as Mímir hoped, Herakles’s attention was drawn to the daggers, giving him the chance to close the distance.

Herakles knocked three knives out of the air, but one landed in his shoulder and another in his waist, and the final three he caught in his shield.

Before Herakles could properly recover, Mímir threw another eight knives in the same manner.

However, this time, Herakles didn’t focus on the knives.

He charged directly at Mímir, not realising that he had fallen into a trap once again.

As Herakles ran past the knives, Mímir skidded to a stop, then wretched his hands backwards, pulling the blades with them on their wires. Herakles realised what was happening too late and the daggers stabbed and cut at his exposed back.

Mímir then spun forwards, whipping three of the daggers around with him, and sliced at Herakles in quick succession several times.

Herakles bit his lip and tried to block the slashes, but he had been badly wounded by Mímir's last two attacks, and his reactions were getting slower as his arms grew heavier.

Herakles roared and caught Mímir's wires with his shield-hand, ripped them from his grasp, and swung his club at his opponent.

Mímir rolled beneath the attack, took out Herakles’s legs, then ripped the two knives from Herakles’s back. Mímir stabbed them repeatedly into the man’s back as Herakles moved his shield to protect his neck and skull.

Herakles’s body twitched and jolted with every attack and Mímir didn’t relent.

Herakles rolled onto his back, knocking Mímir onto his side. Then, with all the strength he could muster, Herakles swung his club at Mímir's head. Mímir tried to move out of the way, but Herakles wrapped one of Mímir's legs between his own, holding him in place.

Mímir quickly assembled a net out of his wires before him to catch the club, but the strength behind the attack was so great that he felt himself being slowly pushed back.

Mímir had to act fast.

If he didn’t, there was a very real chance he could die.

Mímir's wires dug deeper into the club, splintering it in a few places, then, with all of his strength, he pushed the club to his right and moved his head left, narrowly avoiding the club’s impact.

The impact destroyed the wall and several chunks hit them both as they fell to the ground, but Mímir had the chance he needed to end the battle.

He retracted all of his wires, dragging with them two still intact daggers, and then he stabbed Herakles with both of them; one pierced his heart and the other dug into the centre of his chest.

“You fought well, Herakles, but we who serve the Dark Lord are not permitted to lose,” Mímir said, pushing the dying man off him.

When Mímir stood up and looked down at the dying criminal, he expected to see a look of fear or horror on his face.

However, the look on Herakles’s face was of pure satisfaction.

Herakles chuckled, blood drooling from his lips, and he cracked a massive smile. “That…was the…best death…I could’ve…asked…for.”

Mímir grunted. “Absurd. You and Abaddon probably would’ve been the best of friends.”

Herakles coughed up blood. “If…your…this…strong, then…I’d have…loved to fight…your Master.”

Mímir picked up his half-broken blade and held it right above Herakles’s eye. “I assure you, you wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds.”

He drove his blade down and silence descended across the mansion.

***

After months of fighting in the shadows, the infamous Sons of Tartarus had fallen.

With almost six hundred dead criminals, seventy dead Machai and five dead Ravens, including those who died at the Hierophant, the battle was over.

The city watch and Holy Legion’s attention was focused on the blaze in the Merchant’s District, allowing the end of the Sons of Tartarus to go completely unnoticed.

With the estate secure, Mania opened another portal back to the Dread Keep to bring in reinforcements to scour and clean up the site.

Hysminai escorted the servants and slaves they’d taken prisoner back to the keep for Rebecca to handle, whilst Mímir and his Ravens searched for anything of value they could claim as spoils of war.

Most of the base was filled to the brim with contraband, stolen cargo, stockpiles of food, medicine, poisons, weapons, armour and money, all of which Mímir was very happy to take.

“Regardless of what the Dark Lord feels about the loss of the Hierophant, I’m sure he will be more than thrilled with this,” Mímir said confidently.

“If he asks me whose idea that was, I’ll tell him it was yours.”

“Do as you wish. If he’s happy with this result, only I will receive praise for this.”

Mania clicked her tongue. “Well, like you said Mímir when we first came to Stonefall, we should all share in the blame and glory for our actions. After all, we live to serve the Demon Emperor, don’t we?”

Mímir smiled beneath his scarf. “We are his majesty’s loyal servants and live only to serve him.”

The three generals descended into the basement and found a gigantic steel door formerly guarded by four of Herakles’s best men.

“A safe?”

“Most likely.”

“Should I crack it open?” Fenrir asked.

“Yes. Try not to damage it too much. The last thing we need is this estate collapsing,” Mímir cautioned her. “Try just breaking the lock and keeping the door on its hinges.”

Fenrir stretched her arms above her head and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

She went to the handle side of the vault and tried to get a firm grasp on the door itself.

Once Fenrir had a strong grip, she put all of her strength into trying to move it but the door only budged slightly.

She called for some Macha and eight of them went to help her.

Together, they slowly forced the lock free from the wall, tearing it through the stone wall and, with one final pull, they opened the door.

The Machai then pushed their backs against the door to hold it open.

When the generals stepped inside, their eyes widened with glee.

It was filled to the brim with gold, precious jewels, thousands of metal ingots, raw metal ores, glowing magical weapons and armour, and, in the far corner, were artefacts encased in an enchanted glass box to keep them safe.

“Tell the Machai to get down here,” Mimir ordered two of his Ravens that were hidden nearby as Fenrir eagerly jumped into the vault, inspecting and sniffing everything she saw.

“You’re lucky that this wasn’t boobytrapped,” Mania said as she went deeper into the vault.

“I bet the Sons were so arrogant that they never thought anyone would ever make it here other than them.” Fenrir laughed as she dove backwards onto a pile of gold coins. “Ah, this is amazing.”

“It truly is. To think that the Sons had all of this and still couldn’t stand against us,” Mania mused as she began exploring the vault.

“It’s not that, Mania. I imagine Carlson probably inherited a lot of this from his family and their connections, then kept it to himself. If Herakles knew of what was in this vault, don’t you think he would’ve taken it?”

Mania giggled. “Certainly. I imagine that Sylvan would never have sold out his allies if they offered him even one percent of what’s in here.”

Mímir’s eyes wandered around the room until her gaze was caught by a shiny metal among the pile of ingots.

He picked up the silver-coloured metal and examined it more closely.

At a glance, it looked like ordinary silver but, if you had a keen eye or touched the metal’s surface, you could tell that it was a different kind of metal.

It had a rougher texture and it was slightly heavier than silver was.

“What’s that?” Mania asked.

“Did you ever read the book I bought about the rarest metals, ores and gems in Aangapea?” She shook her head. “They made mention of one of the rarest metals in the entire world, found only in the deepest veins of Dragon Spine called Dragon Metal.”

“Dragon Metal?”

“It was originally named after the mountain range it’d been discovered in, but then it earned its name when it proved to be stronger than even a dragon’s scales. And.” Mímir looked down at the stacks of ingots and spotted dozens of Dragon ones. “Carlson seems to have plenty of them.”

“How much would one ingot cost you in Rham?”

“About a hundred and fifty thousand.”

“For one tiny ingot?!” Mania gasped in disbelief, then looked at the ingots and the treasures around them. “This entire room must’ve taken centuries for them to assemble.”

“Yes, and it only took us one evening to rob them off it.” Mímir pulled down his scarf and grinned. “This, Mania, might be the greatest gift we could give his majesty.”