A Desperate Struggle

As soon as the dagger was thrust into his stomach Azalon felt himself collapsing onto the ground. His knees hit the hard stone painfully as his legs suddenly lost their ability to support him. The pain he was feeling from hitting the rocks face first was nothing compared to the long dagger lodged firmly inside of his gut. He tried to pull his arm out from under his body, but he just couldn’t move. He couldn’t even cry out as the sneering rat loomed over him.

“Well now. Figured me out then did you? Too late to do shit about it though.”

Azalon felt a fresh rush of panic when he finally noticed the glimmering symbols in the upper left corner of his vision. He had never seen a status warning from his Akasha, so it took him a moment to decipher the pair of flashing warnings that read, “Paralyzed” and “Sealed.” At least he was breathing, his heart was still beating, and he could even move his eyes a bit, but otherwise he was trapped within his own body.

He wasn’t sure what “Sealed” meant. Instinctively he tried to pull up his Akasha to get a more detailed report, but when the rest of the interface refused to open he suddenly understood its meaning as well. Shit. He didn’t need to move to cast a spell, but he did need his Akasha. Without it he couldn’t even try using one of his few mental attack skills, useless and ineffective as they would be in this situation.

“Think you’re so clever, all your book learning. Got no street smarts though do ya?”

Azalon struggled to look over his shoulder as the ratten started walking around behind him, but it was just no use. He felt the rat’s hands on his waist, lifting his hips upward while tucking his knees under his body, positioning the fox so that his ass was sticking up behind him while his chest was pressed against the ground.

“Well, lucky for you, you get to live a little bit longer. But only so I can see if fox ass is really as good as people say it is.”

Azalon’s heart beat faster as he felt the rat jerk his pants down to his knees. A moment later the fox felt something wet against his asshole. A thumb. It was rubbing against him roughly, preparing him for what he knew was coming.

“May as well enjoy it. Gonna be your last time after all.”

A moment later he felt the ratten’s cock between his ass cheeks, the hot rod of flesh pushing against him as the rat worked to get himself hard. He desperately tried to clench up, but even that much muscle control was denied him. He felt a sudden sharp stinging sensation as the rat slapped his ass.

“Who knows, might even let you cum one last time too. Slit your throat right when your cock starts spurtin’ for me.”

Azalon felt the pressure of the rat’s fat cockhead against his ass and he closed his eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop him. He felt a sharp stabbing pain in his side and thought for a moment the sadistic rat was twisting the knife inside of him. This time however the pain was accompanied by a tugging sensation as suddenly the blade was pulled free. The blade landed on the hard ground with a metallic clatter, and finding himself able to move, Azalon kicked wildly at the rat kneeling behind him. Somehow he managed to hit the rat square in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards.

The move sent a bolt of pain through his injured side, though at least it bought him a moment to grab the bloody dagger off of the ground. As soon as he picked the knife up though he found himself face to face with… himself apparently.

The confused looking vulpine was on his hands and knees. He had the same face, the same clothes, and was even clutching the same bloody knife in his hand. It took the shocked vulpine a second to register that he was looking at some kind of mirror image of himself. A moment later though the illusion burst like a popped soap bubble as the ratten assassin angrily thrust another long dagger through its chest.

Azalon had no idea what was happening, seeing more than a dozen copies of himself fanning out around him, but he wasn’t going to question his good fortune. At least for the time being, he had more pressing concerns.

“Goddamn mage!” the ratten yelled as he stabbed another nearby illusion, “One of you’s the real one!”

The fox yelped and backed away, finally scrambling back to his feet despite the stabbing pain in his side. The rat took a swing at him and Azalon stumbled backwards, hitting his back against the side of the stone cliff, again feeling the panic threatening to overwhelm him. He needed to do something, fight back somehow. He held the stolen dagger out in front of him amateurishly. It trembled despite the fact that he was holding it with both hands. Each time the rabid snarling rat managed to hit one of the illusions they disappeared. He was running out of time.

He could tell that Bendigo was a far more experienced fighter than he was, his movements swift and deadly, but also reckless. He slashed and stabbed at the decoys surrounding him, quickly eliminating his targets but leaving himself open to an attack from the fox. Maybe he just didn’t think Azalon could do anything to actually fight him, or maybe he was just baiting the fox into revealing himself.

He quickly called up his Akasha, the strange symbology of the Arcanum of Delirium unfolding in the air around him. While he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the spells in this arcanum it had been years since he had actually used any of them. He hadn’t bothered to invest any mana into them either so the few spells he had access to were still at their baseline levels. However weak they were, if he used one at just the right moment…

Azalon waited for the rat to make another reckless lunge at one of his doubles then hit him with a quick Daze as he dashed past. It was a weak spell, causing only a moment of vertigo in his target, but it was enough that the rat lost his balance. Seeing the rat stumbling forward he rushed at him, ramming the dagger into his back. The blade cut easily though the rat’s leather coat, stabbing into one of his lungs from behind. As it was with Azalon, the enchantment on the dagger seemed to have an immediate effect. The stumbling rat immediately went stiff and fell forward onto the rocky ground.

Azalon fell down on his knees as he clutched the wound on his side, fighting back the urge to vomit. He stared at Bendigo’s still body, thinking for a moment that he had actually killed the rat, but then noticed that he was still breathing. Whatever paralyzing enchantment was on the dagger seemed to be working just as well on him as it did on the fox.

He reached into his inventory and pulled a small red vial out of his coat pocket. His hand was still trembling as he opened the cap and drank its contents in a single pull, coughing when the warmth from the healing potion started to fill his chest. When he opened his eyes again he was surprised to find a pixie hovering directly in front of his face.

“Ha! Way to go! I really didn’t think you were going to make it, but looks like you showed him.”

Azalon stumbled backwards, falling onto his bare ass at the sudden appearance of the fae. He cursed under his breath, but not wanting to offend her he quickly gave her a polite nod, “Ahh. Um, thanks. My lady.”

A pixie, she must have been the one helping him with the mirror images. He had read somewhere that they were master illusionists. Being one of the fae though, he also knew her help would likely come with a few strings attached. She seemed friendly enough though, smiling down at him with her hands on her hips. She was perhaps a foot tall or just under, with a slender almost androgynous body. Really the only way he could tell she was a woman at all was the fact that she was completely nude right now.

She grinned wickedly as she turned to the downed ratten, “Now you get to rape and murder him instead!”

Azalon winced at the thought and shook his head, “Umm, I would prefer not to. Thank you.”

He knew he needed to be careful with her. Lovers of tricks and pranks, pixies were unpredictable, erratic creatures, motivated primarily by whatever they think will be the most fun. Their definition of fun ranged anywhere from harmless to monstrously cruel, and given the way she was looking at the downed rat he had a feeling she probably leaned more towards the latter. While he was certainly grateful for her aid, he knew she could turn on him for saying the wrong thing.

He groaned as he stood up, clutching his side a little more than was necessary. The healing potion had already closed the wound though the spot was still tender. “At least, not having been so recently wounded. My apologies.”

She flew back to the rat, landing cross legged on his head, “Hmm… Well you’re still going to kill him right? Ooo, you can stab him in the balls so much that he dies!”

Azalon chuckled at the murderous fairy despite himself, “Well… that is certainly an option. I think I’d like to ask him a few questions first though.”

As he frowned down at the paralyzed rat at least a dozen questions sprang to mind. Clearly this had all been an elaborate setup. Someone wanted him dead, but who, and why? Was it a rival house? Were the others being targeted as well?

He was deciding on what to ask first when it dawned on him, the paralyzed rat couldn’t talk. He cursed under his breath again. That was going to complicate things. He could pull the enchanted dagger out of course, but if the rat was free he’d just attack him again. He could tie him up first, but then Bendigo was obviously some kind of rogue, and probably had abilities that would let him escape anything Azalon could manage. He shook his head angrily. Freeing him was just too dangerous. Better to kill him quickly and get back to warn the others, rather than waste his time interrogating him.

He pulled a small knife from his coat pocket. Frowning grimly he reached down and grabbed the rat by his greasy hair, pulling his head back before unceremoniously cutting his throat. It was strange, given how the rat was silent and completely still as his throat was slit, but then that’s what his fate would have been if the pixie hadn’t saved him.

He dropped the rat’s head into a pool of his own blood with a wet plop. The pixie landed on his shoulder and yawned dramatically. “Well that was boring. I thought you were going to torture him for information.”

Azalon shook his head as he started rummaging around the rat’s pockets, looking for anything informative. “Sorry, I just realized, I’m in a bit of a hurry. I need to get back to warn the others.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for. It was unlikely that the assassin would be carrying anything identifying on him, but it didn’t hurt to check. Besides a few more knives, some loose change, and a couple of potions he didn’t have anything interesting or valuable on him. He did notice that one of the empty vials was labeled, “Glibtongue” which might explain why Azalon hadn’t been able to tell that the rat was lying to him. He’d been relying on that skill too much, giving him a false sense of security. He sighed as he pocketed the coins and the potions, then finally pulled the dagger from the dead rat’s back.

The pixie hovered in front of Azalon as he turned to head back down to Wolgur. “Actually,” she said with a wicked grin, “I was thinking that you should escort me back home. I’ve been stuck down here for weeks, and now that I have a reliable slave it won’t take me long at all to get back home.”

Azalon raised his eyebrows at her, “A slave?”

She nodded happily, “Yep. I saved your life. That means you owe me a life debt and have to be my slave.”

He frowned at her, considering his options for a moment. He was somewhat familiar with slave magic, enough to recognize that he definitely wasn’t enslaved to her, at least not in the technical sense. Perhaps the fae had their own version? Some kind of geas or curse? He hadn’t felt anything, but fairy magic didn’t follow the same rules as the arcanum. Perhaps it would be best to distract her with a better alternative.

“Oh, I’m afraid I’d make a very poor slave, and an even worse escort,” said the fox. “As you saw, I’m really not much of a fighter. I could hire someone in Wolgur for you though. Adventurers take on all sorts of jobs, and escorting a pixie back to her home sounds like the perfect task for some intrepid party.”

He smiled politely at her and started walking back towards the town. He really did want to help her. He owed her that much at least. Taking the job on himself was only going to get them both killed. Hopefully she’d be able to see that as well and leave him out of it.

She grumbled a bit as she flew along next to him, “Hmpf. So disobedient…”

The sun was starting to set and the air had begun to grow colder as they made their way along the rocky paths through the cliffs. While it wasn’t completely dark yet, the shadows were deep enough that Azalon pulled a small lantern out of his coat to light the way. No sense in surviving an assassination attempt just to fall to his death. The magical flame flickered to life, throwing a bright yellow glow over the wet gray rocks.

“Oh,” remarked Azalon as he looked over at the pixie gliding along beside him, “I’m sorry, I just realized I haven’t introduced myself yet. Azalon Rushwater, scholar of antiquities.”

She giggled a little at the fox. “A scholar huh? That sounds boring. Being my sex slave is going to be a lot better. I’m Willowing, but you should call me mistress.”

Azalon swallowed and kept his eyes on the road ahead. Apparently he’d been upgraded from slave to sex slave somehow. He tried not to think about how the mechanics of that would even work as he scanned the dark road ahead for signs of danger. He quickened his pace as well, not wanting to be outside of town once the sun had fully set.

After a brisk walk he finally came out of the deep ravine he’d been walking though, coming upon a high cliff overlooking the town. What he saw though made him suddenly stop. Far below, in the harbor, his ship was on fire. The flames from the sails alone were bright enough to illuminate the town in a flickering orange glow. The town watchmen were gathering bodies, throwing them on a high bonfire in the middle of the town square while the ship of his house sank into the harbor.