Consequences of Conspiring

A scene of complete carnage was illuminated by the moonlight. A lone, masked figure stood atop a small hill composed entirely of the corpses of many dark beings, trolls, shadow hounds, and gnomes. It was Saint X.

In the center of the clearing lay the last remnants of Yarte’s army. General Gryztoz, the hulking, four-armed demon, was a collapsed, his demonic blood having been boiled from the inside out.

A few meters away lay a small, impossibly dense sphere of compressed flesh and armor—all that was left of the feral wolfkin, Pirtor.

The masked Saint looked down at the two dead generals, then gave a single, quiet command that only the wind could hear.

“Devour.”

The last of the generals’ essence flowed into Anna.

“Now it’s easier...” she whispered, her voice a low hum of triumph. “Maren could turn to 3 swords…”

Her head tilted upwards, her masked gaze fixing on a single, circling crow high above. She brought a finger to where her lips would be in a clear, deliberate “shush” motion.

“Maren,” she commanded. “Kill the bird.”

One of the three sword duplicates shot into the sky like a silver-blue arrow, and a moment later, the magical connection was severed.

Helartha gasped and staggered back from the now-blank scrying pool in the lavish, dark study of Demidicus's secret mansion. Her ribs were pounded by her heart.

A wave of cold terror washed over the shadow-elf.

She knew.

The entire time, she knew I was watching. The fight, the devour… The final, horrifying truth settled in her mind with the weight of a tombstone.

The clumsy vampire agent and the terrifyingly powerful Saint X were one and the same.

Her mind raced. Should she tell anyone? Tell Yarte? Demidicus? If she revealed Anna was a traitor, playing both sides, they would hunt her.

Her only hope of freeing her people, would be lost, and she would be executed as an enemy of the Wardens. But to hide this… to hide a secret of this magnitude from Lord Yarte was a death sentence.

A soft, cheerful nyaa sounded from the shadows behind her.

Helartha spun around. Uetum was standing there, leaning against a bookshelf, her expression no longer childish, but deadly serious.

“You will hide Anna’s secret, Nyaa,” the catgirl stated, her voice a soft, unyielding purr.

Helartha, a master spy and a powerful dark elf in her own right, looked at the small, seemingly harmless catgirl.

But she know she couldn’t kill Uetum, she can’t, and she’s scared for the monstrous, god-like being that had sent her. To attack Uetum would be to declare war on Anna.

And Helartha had just witnessed, in graphic, horrifying detail, what happened to Anna’s enemies.

Her desire to free her people, her duty to her Lord, her own instinct for self-preservation, they all screamed the same, single, pragmatic answer.

Slowly, deliberately, the shadow shard in Helartha’s hand dissolved back into nothing. She gave a single, sharp nod of acquiescence.

Uetum’s serious expression melted into a smug, satisfied, cat-like smile. Her mission was a success.

The smug, cat-like smile returned to Uetum’s face. “Good job, nyaa,” she purred, acknowledging Helartha’s wise decision to submit. Her expression then shifted, her yellow eyes turning sharp and inquisitive, her voice dropping to a low, serious murmur.

“But… did you see my secret as well, nya? I didn’t realize your crow was watching the whole time…”

Helartha’s blood ran cold. She gave a slow, terrified nod again, unable to form words.

“Remove it, nya! Uetum won’t let you tell any of that to Yarte!”

“I- I will!” Her mind replayed the vision from her crow’s magical eyes and she removed it all with her skill.

Helartha shuddered, the memory still terrifyingly vivid. She was caught between not two, but three god-like beings playing a game she couldn’t comprehend.

“I… I don’t want to harm or betray anyone,” Helartha finally whispered, “I just want my family… my people… free from that mine.”

Uetum’s expression softened, her gaze unreadable. She nodded slowly. “Then you had better start siding with Anna,” she said, her voice now carrying a strange, ancient authority. “Yarte and the Kingdom have been trying to solve the riddle of that mine for centuries, and they have failed.”

She gave Helartha a small, knowing smile.

“But Anna is different.”

Uetum’s final, confident words hung in the air, a quiet promise of a new world order. Helartha stood frozen, her mind reeling from the impossible secrets she was now forced to keep.

“Now, now. What’s all this about?”

Demidicus stepped into the light. He had overheard them.

“Talking secrets without me?” he asked, his eyes dancing with amusement and a sharp, analytical light.

Helartha’s heart leaped into her throat. He heard. Gods, how much did he hear? her mind screamed in a silent panic.

Uetum, however, simply tilted her head, her expression one of perfect, childish innocence. “Nyaa? Secrets?” she chirped, breaking the tension with infuriating cheerfulness. “We were just talking about how cool Anna is! And how Lady Helartha is the bestest spymaster ever!”

Demidicus’s smile didn’t falter. He completely ignored the catgirl and fixed his gaze on the pale, terrified dark elf.

“Your network, Helartha,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Surely they were not all destroyed so easily by one little sword, right?”

It was a direct question, a test of her competence and her honesty. Lying to him was a fool’s errand.

Helartha took a shaky breath, her professional training warring with her primal fear. “They’re gone,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “All of them. The seven crows I had positioned around the forest and the barracks…”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a horror she couldn’t conceal. “The connection. It was… erased.”

The vampire noble’s smile was a sharp, predatory thing. The news of his spies being so utterly and silently erased was a fascinating new data point in an increasingly delightful puzzle. He turned his full attention back to Helartha, who was still trembling slightly from the memory.

“We lost yet again two commanders tonight, Helartha,” Demidicus said, his voice a soft, dangerous purr. “Gryztoz, the four-armed demon. And Pirtor, the wolfkin. Two generals, gone in a single evening.” He tilted his head. “Who did it?”

She inhaled nervously, picking her words carefully. She needs to tell the truth, but not the whole truth.

“It was the masked one, my lord,” she answered, her voice a hushed, horrified whisper. “The same warrior you fought at the Tramble Site. The one they call Saint X.”

She recounted what her crow had witnessed in its final moments, her voice trembling as she described the impossible battle.

“She… she was standing on a hill of corpses when they confronted her. Her sword, Ars Maren, split into three perfect copies. General Gryztoz charged her, but he never even touched her. One of the swords weaved around him, and… he began to steam from the inside out. He collapsed, boiled alive by holy water injected directly into his veins.”

Her gaze was distant, lost in the horrifying memory. “General Pirtor tried to flee,” she continued. “The other two swords… they created a vortex around him. He was… imploded.”

Demidicus listened, “So, the amateur warrior with the impossible, untamed power is also a master of mass slaughter and creative execution,” he mused. “How wonderful.”

The vampire noble’s amusement vanished as quickly as it had appeared,

“You have been a very poor spymaster tonight, Helartha,” Demidicus hissed.

He moved before the dark elf could respond. In a flash, he was across the room, his hand choking her throat, lifting her off the floor.

From his gauntlet, tendrils of black, magical energy slithered out like chains, encircling her body and limbs and securing her in place.

“Let her go, nyaa!” Uetum snarled, her childish persona gone, replaced by a feral growl as she crouched, ready to spring.

Demidicus didn’t even glance at her. He leaned in close to the choking, terrified Helartha, his voice a venomous whisper in her ear.

“Your entire spy network was just wiped from existence. You witnessed a new, God-level threat, and your first instinct was to conspire with this… stray cat. You failed to report in a timely manner. You let your fear cloud your judgment.”

He squeezed, and Helartha gasped, her face turning pale. “In our circle, failure has consequences. Lord Yarte is merciful. I, however, am a firm believer in continuing education.”