XI

Ambition: No Evil

A small wooden stage had been erected in the town square for mayoral candidates Goldheart and Goodman, but the men of the hour hadn't arrived yet when the Ambassadors joined the crowd.

It was a fairly sizeable group of people waiting for the debate to start, larger than the crowds that gathered outside the Tower of Unity in Servus, where the land negotiations took place. But Alikath reckoned that made sense; civilians couldn't attend the negotiations, and the news of the meetings' verdict would spread regardless, so there was little point in waiting outside to hear it first.

"This is so exciting!" Dez trilled to the bellboy. "I've never seen a mayoral debate before. Are there bullet points the candidates follow? How is this being recorded? Do they declare a winner for every debate, or- oh, is there audience participation!? I hear people in Valor are really involved in its politics. Do the candidates call in witnesses?"

"Witnesses?" Amira chuckled. "It's a debate, not a trial. What'd there be witnesses for?"

"Well- I dunno, maybe people come in to tell us what problems need dealing with in the city."

"I think it's the candidates' job to do that, Dez," said Alikath.

"They don't need to know everything that goes on," said Roland. "As long as they repeat what people were already saying this week, their job's done."

"Do you pay much mind to politics, Roland?" asked Alikath.

"No. Valor is a republic, and people are shallow. You should know that."

Alikath nodded, and let his eyes wander around the crowd. As it happened, someone caught his eye.

A young Half-Elf, clad in deep blue and emerald green. Her outfit was modest, despite the few gold adornments hanging around her blouse, but displayed an air of regalia nonetheless. Dark, brown hair kept up in braids sat atop her olive skin and serious, tired complexion. Leaning on a cane made of oak and metal, she stared at the stage, her eyes hazing over in boredom.

Alikath pointed the woman out to his friends. "Hey- the Rembrandt's here."

"Huh?" Amira asked, following his finger with her own. "Who?"

"Rembrandt? Wait, Murtagh Rembrandt? From Conscriptus?" Dez also followed his point.

"Yeah! I guess this debate is a big deal. I wonder if any other leaders are here. We should go talk to her."

But before Alikath could approach the Rembrandt, a murmur broke out among the crowd. A woman in heavy, formal robes walked out on stage and sat down in a chair faced away from the audience. Shortly after, two middle-aged Elven men joined her, standing on either half of the stage and facing the audience. They were tall and well groomed, typical of High Elves, with short hair that sat lightly on their heads. Judging by the audience's reaction, these were Goldheart and Goodman. They were wearing expensive, crisp outfits which shared shades of gray, but contrasted where they found true color. The man on the left half of the stage was draped in hues of mustard yellow, and his opponent, a slightly darker shade of mustard yellow.

The mediator, the woman sitting between them, stood up and quieted down the crowd.

"Thank you all for coming!" she began. "Have a wonderful show for you all tonight. Debate of the century: our twenty-seven twenty-four incumbent, Salomón Goldheart, faces Paco Goodman on the topics of local production, women's rights to seek office, and the proposed port deal with Servus. Mr. Goldheart, your opening statement, if you will."

The man on the left, Goldheart, held his hand up to his chest and smiled.

"Well, I'd just like to say that we have a wonderful turnout today. Really lovely, just wonderful. The pride of Fortaleza del Valor Eterno has always been its passionate citizens, and that passion is on full display in the crowd today.

“It is that very passion that drives our community to do greater and greater things every day,” he continued. “Things that you won't see anywhere else in the Land District, I'll tell you that. Things like the bridge on Heymann and Dart, or the community service center downtown- both projects constructed under my term, for the record.”

Goodman chimed in. “Actually, I believe your grandfather made the community center, Solomón, you had nothing to do with it.”

“Nonsense!” Goldheart laughed. “You can walk over there right now and find my name engraved on the front door. ‘Goldheart,’ that's your mayor's name, isn't it?”

Alikath's face went pale. “Oh, Seliphus give…”

“That may be so,” Goodman nodded. “But what my opponent fails to mention, good people of Fortaleza del Valor Eterno, is that he also has his hands in the pockets of organized crime here in our good city!”

The crowd gasped. Goodman went on. “Just six days ago, he was spotted having a long conversation with convicted criminal Wei Mengyao on the east side of town- now I ask, what is our mayor doing so close to someone we have rotting behind bars?”

“Convicting them,” Goldheart replied. “I was overseeing their trial.”

“A likely story. We'll see if scumbags like Mengyao receive justice under watch from such shady eyes. Elect me for the next four years, and I promise you, there won't be a single crime committed after ‘78.”

The crowd seemed to like that one. Goldheart rolled his eyes, as did the Rembrandt below him.

“Funny for a man like you to be hard on crime,” Goldheart frowned. “I've heard some very convincing rumors that you were the child of Basilisk-peddling child-eating swingers.”

“Unfounded and offensive!” Goodman scoffed. “My family has been celibate for three generations- It's a large part of my identity and I'd thank you to respect that.”

“It's just what I've heard.”

“Well you know what I've heard?” Goodman asked. “Money, rattling in your coin purse.”

“What were you doing in my coin purse? It's a tenth of your size, you absolute whit, you'll snap it in two.”

“What are you doing with a coin purse in the first place? Doesn't the city pay for your expenses? Trying to sneak a little extra under the table, are you?”

“This is the city's money. I make the transactions myself.”

Goodman gasped. “The bastard admits it! He's lining his pockets with your money, people! Your mayor, the thief!”

The crowd went wild. This was unprecedented; a scandal the likes of which the masses hadn't seen since the previous debate. Fathers held their wives. Mothers wept on their children's heads. Children broke into fits of petty crime and alternative music. It was unclear if the city of Valor would ever return to the simpler days of eight sentences ago.

Alikath watched the scene break out, disappointed in himself for willingly exposing his new recruits to this nonsense. He was about to gather up his friends and leave, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

A Half-orc, cloaked in a dark green robe, slipped through the manic crowd, holding a lumpy pink pod in her hand. Alikath felt like he'd seen the pod before, though he couldn't place what exactly it was before the Half-orc reached the head of the crowd, in front of the stage. As the Half-orc reeled back and prepared to hurl the pod at the stage, Alikath thought fast, and cast a firebolt at the Half-orc, striking her in the wrist, and forcing her to drop the item.

The Half-orc hissed, and the pod shattered on the ground, releasing a wave of purple energy violent enough to send everyone in its vicinity stumbling back off their feet- most of all the Half-orc, and the mediator on stage, who hadn't really done anything of note since the debate began.

The purple waves washed over the Ambassadors, and each of them felt a sort of pressure build up in their heads, like something inside them had been blocked. Alikath tried to cast another cantrip, but nothing escaped from his fingers. It was then that he finally remembered what that pod was.

“We're in an anti-magic field!” Alikath shouted. “I can't cast anything!”

“Anti-magic!?” Dez panicked. “But magic is- is what I do!”

Roland unsheathed his weapon, and sneered at Dez. “You're an Aarakocra, bookworm- use your arms!”

Roland led with his polearm like a rapier, giving Amira a good look at it for the first time. She noticed how strangely it was built; the tip had a long, asymmetrical blade akin to a glaive. But on the lesser side of the weapon, a little down the hilt, a small flourish of protruding metal curved out in a regal looking shape. Imposing, but it stuck out like a sore thumb.

Amira shook off her curiosity, and took out the Dane Francisca, as the party charged the Half-orc.

The crowd pushed and trampled each other in a frantic ploy to disperse. The Half-orc noticed her assailants, and took out her hammer to combat them.

Alikath was the first to reach her, leaping and plunging his dagger at her chest. She swung her hammer to deflect, taking a clean cut to the shoulder instead.

Amira cut in next, whiffing a swing and narrowly missing Alikath's head.

“Terrorism? Are ye so spineless, tusker?” She hissed. “Drop yer weapon, now!”

The Half-orc huffed. “Can't. But if you wanna walk away, this doesn't need to be your business!”

Roland plunged his weapon into the Half-orc's back, struggling to dig it through her armor.

“You're outnumbered. This only ends in death!”

The Half-orc pushed Roland off her, and grinned. “There are more important things than numbers, reveler.”

Dez, holding his staff but not engaging, looked at the stage to find Goldheart and Goodman on the floor, struggling to cast protective spells on themselves. Up center stage, the mediator was getting back on her feet.

Only, the mediator had changed. Her hair had changed from flowing locks to curls, the curves of her body shrunk and flattened. Most bizarrely of all, the features of her face sunk into her head and disappeared. Eyes, nose, lips- gradually, they became nothing more than divots on skin, which was quickly shifting to an eggshell white hue.

Dez recognized this phenomenon before- only one kind creature could do something so grotesque without the use of magic- only one kind of creature looked like that.

“Changeling!” Dez trembled. “The mediator's a Changeling!”

“What!?” Roland looked to the stage, where the Changeling had now fully shifted to their true form: a textureless white canvas with only suggestions of where human features may be.

The creature cracked its neck, took out a set of daggers, and marched toward Goldheart, who was still foolishly scrambling to protect himself.

Roland disengaged from the Half-orc and raced for the stage, but Dez knew he wouldn't make it in time. Hesitating to rely on his strength, Dez gripped his staff, and swooped in to block the Changeling.

Dez gracelessly swung his staff like a bat at the Changeling, missing when the Changeling ducked, and stabbed Dez in the chest. She kicked the Aarakocra back, toward the trembling Goldman. Dez dug his claws into the wood, and scraped it as he was dragged through the floor, finally stopping as he stretched out his mighty wings, shielding the Elf behind him.

The Changeling twirled her daggers, and dueled with Dez, her speed and strength both more than Dez could keep up with.

“Stop it! This is evil!” Dez pleaded, holding the staff with both hands and knocking away stab after slice. “Assassination is no way to express your anger towards a politician! He's your leader!”

“No leader of mine.” The Changeling spoke, though she possessed no mouth. Her voice reverberated inside of Dez's mind, as if her words were an extension of the Aarakocra's own thoughts. “Goldheart's got no right to stand above me. But I'm just doing a job- you understand.”

“I don't! I promise, I don't! Kh-” Dez winced as the Changeling's dagger danced down his arm. “You know, Valor has a very commoner-friendly governance, as far as the Land District is concerned! Have you considered throwing your vote in with Goodman instead of Goldheart? I hear he has a very high opinion of- GAH!”

The Changeling sunk their blade in Dez's groin, just in time for Roland to arrive, and divert attention to himself. Roland planted his feet behind the Changeling, hooked her arm with his weapon's protruding flourish, and spun her around so the two faced each other.

“Eyes over here- or you might lose them.” Roland quipped.

The Changeling grimaced, and twirled her weapons.

On the ground, Alikath and Amira tag-teamed the Half-orc. Amira was by far the superior specimen between the two, but Alikath's experience and cunning with the dagger allowed him to be a perfect distraction, while getting more than his share of strikes in.

Still, the Half-orc proved frustratingly difficult to fell. Amira clashed weapons with her again and again, but the Half-orc displayed a constitution to rival her own. Amira gritted her teeth, and maintained fierce eye contact with her combatant.

“It's a matter of time before we wear you down!” Alikath reasoned. “Surrender now, and we can stop this here!”

The Half-orc raised her weapon, barely blocking a crash from the Dane Francisca that sent her sliding back. She took a deep breath in, and spat in the dirt.

“You've got a point. I think it's time, Triandra!”

The Changeling, evidently Triandra, was busy- her own hands full with her pair of rivals. While Roland dueled with her, Dez picked up Goldheart, and carried him off to safety. Triandra swore, rolled between Roland's legs, and raced for Goodman, who was frantically calling out for help instead of running away. 

But Roland didn't let her go. He swung his weapon and cleaved the flourish into her back, its many curves and points catching her skin like a barb, keeping her from taking another step.

Triandra yelped as Roland pulled the flourish out of her back. Turning around to face her opponent again, she locked eyes with the Half-orc, and the two shared a brief, knowing look.

The Half-orc swung her hammer up above their head, and slammed it into the dirt beside them. She screamed at the sky, every muscle in her body tensing up and bracing for impact. Amira recognized the gesture; this was a barbarian, like her. She gripped her hilt and readied another swing- but then the Half-orc did something that caught her off guard.

Weapon still lying idle, she pressed her left hand to the bridge of her nose, and spread her thumb and index finger over her eyes, to her temples. Following that trail, a white blindfold materialized in front of her face, obscuring her eyes to the world. Alikath furrowed his brow, and stared.

“Did you- what?” He stuttered. “But the field-”

Amira didn’t pay any mind to the blindfold, and swung her axe into the Half-orc’s ribs, landing a clean hit. The Half-orc winced, but barely swayed, and returned Amira’s attack with two swings of her own- one for each raging fist.

On the stage, Triandra's skin changed again, though only in pigment, and on a much smaller scale. Along the strip where her face sunk in to suggest eyes, a pair of zagging golden lines, making a chain of diamonds where they intersected, painted across her head, wrapping all the way around like a circlet.

Roland squinted at the tattoo, and stabbed at Triandra again, narrowly missing her stomach, and digging the tip into the wood below. As soon as the polearm whiffed past Triandra's torso, the pattern along her eyes flash with golden light.

And it was dark.

Roland gasped, and held his hilt for dear life, pulling it out of the floor, and stepping back. He guarded his chest with his arm, and turned his head around to see something- anything.

He couldn’t- but he could feel one of Triandra's daggers slide into his ribcage.

“GAH-! I'M BLIND!” Roland screamed. “I CAN'T SEE!”

“What!?” Dez dropped Goldheart, and flew back in to come to Roland's aid. While Roland futilely tried to swipe his weapon at a target he couldn't see, Dez flew above Triandra, and tried to scratch her with his talons.

“Numbers won't do you any good!” Triandra boasted. “Minako and I can render each of you useless!”

Dez swiped and grabbed at Triandra's face with his talon, but Triandra saw it coming. She grabbed Dez by the ankle, and pulled him down to earth. As his back slammed the floor, his vision also went black.

“Dark!” Dez clicked. “Too dark- too- click- too dark! Get away f- trill- from me!”

“Heard enough.” Triandra covered both of her ears, and dragged her hands down- leaving behind tight bundles of cloth wrapped around them.

Alikath stepped back from his own fight, to look at Dez and Roland flailing desperately at the air, as Triandra marched toward Goodman.

“Roland!” Alikath shouted. “Dead ahead! Throw!”

Roland heard Alikath's command, planted his feet where they were, and threw his spear like a javelin- missing Triandra narrowly, but giving her pause.

Alikath turned back to Amira. “Leave Minako to me, get Goodman to safety!”

But Amira didn't respond. She kept dueling with Minako, who dodged most of her attacks while blindfolded with a practiced deft. Alikath caught sight of Minako's ears, which were circled by rings of golden pigment- two gold lines building a chain-link of diamonds.

Alikath hissed, and left Amira alone- which she didn't notice. He dashed and leapt onto the stage, intercepting Triandra from the frustratingly useless Goodman- who was holding Roland's polearm in front of his face for protection.

Triandra swiped at Alikath, who matched the swing with Daemor's own, making the wavy metal blades swirl, and sing a verborous duet.

“What's your game, Triandra?” Alikath asked, to the deaf Triandra.

Minako heard this, and laughed, her concerns about Triandra's safety sated by the ineptitude of their enemies. Once the Goliath was dead, they'd butcher the rest like cattle together.

“Come on, white girl, can't we make conversation?” Alikath teased, snatching the polearm out of Goodman's hands, and using it to defend himself.

A Changeling's expressions were hard to read, but Triandra clearly knew she was being spoken to, and it confused her. But that didn't make her any less focused on slitting Alikath's throat.

The Tiefling used both dagger and polearm to deflect Triandra's attacks- but never made any attacks of his own.

“You seem mad about something- y'know, for a rogue, you don't move around too much. Feeling confident? You're right- gah- right where you wanna be, aren't you!?”

Alikath peeked over Triandra's shoulder, for just a second. Then, he let go of the polearm's pommel, and caught it again by the middle of the hilt.

“Can't say I've heard of you- got a bounty on your head, Changeling? I bet you're quite the catch!”

Alikath tossed the polearm up, over Triandra's head, leaving himself with only the dagger to defend with. Triandra's head tilted up to watch the weapon fly- which made Alikath's heart skip a beat.

In a last ditch effort, Alikath thrust Daemor straight at Triandra's neck- doing nothing to conceal the strike or weave through her defenses. Still alert enough to see this coming, Triandra fixed her gaze back on him, and leaned to the side, dodging the strike with ease.

The dagger missed, and Alikath's vision went black.

“HA!” Triandra cheered, from the darkness. A moment later, Alikath felt a cold hand on his shoulder, and an even colder dagger plunge into his chest.

Alikath screamed, and dropped Daemor to the ground. He tensed up, and winced as the dagger slid out of its wound. He prepared for the second strike, when-

“AAAAGHHH-!”

Triandra let out a guttural shriek- one she herself could not hear- as Roland plunged the full length of his polearm through the Changeling's back, shredding both the tip of the blade and the full flourish through her flesh until the entire hilt had been stained with her blood.

Alikath heard Triandra's breathless whimpering, more noise of ripping flesh, and finally a thud- as Roland shoved her off of his weapon, and onto the stage floor.

Beside the stage, Minako's heart dropped, hearing Triandra scream. Immediately, she undid her blindfold to see the bloodshed for herself.

At once, all three of the affected's vision returned to them. Alikath let out a sigh of relief, seeing Roland and Dez standing, while Triandra bled beneath them.

“You snake!” Minako shouted, realizing they had been played. “I'll cut out your tongue for that!”

Dodging another swing from Amira, she held her palm to her mouth, and swiped down, trying to summon another cloth- but too little, too late. Nothing happened, and Minako panicked.

“Triandra!” She screamed. “Get up! Get up now, we're not done! We're-”

Amira roared, and cleaved her axe straight into Minako's chest, sending her tumbling back and making her lose balance. She fell to her hands, all the confidence she built up lost in an instant.

“No- no no no, this can't be happening! Not yet!”

“Kill her, Hill-Thing!” Roland shouted.

Minako's hands trembled, as she dropped her hammer and desperately crawled away from Amira. Amira stomped towards the Half-orc, but paused when Minako's body started glowing white.

“Th’ hell's she doin’ now?”

The party held their weapons close, but kept their distance from Minako, who convulsed erratically.

“No, no no- erase you-” Minako groaned. “I have to- erase- erase you!”

Minako's glowing grew more intense. in just moments, her body was glared out by the light. She became a star, a shape of pure white gleam.

“We'll be equal! We'll be nothing! Nothing! Nothing! You're NOTHING! Hhh- NOTHING! NOTHIIING! A-AAGH-!”

Amira held her arm over her eyes, as the star burned so brightly, absolutely nothing else could be seen.

The world around each of them vanished in a burst of white brilliance. But it wasn't just their vision- the sound of Minako's rambling, the taste of the salty air, the wind on their backs, the smell of Triandra's blood- all of it gave way to the burning star.

Alikath, Dez, Amira, and Roland lost themselves as they were taken someplace else. They were themselves, but without shape; concepts in a white void. And somewhere in that void, they knew, was Minako. She was the star's engine- the tether to this void, the thing that was tearing them away from the world. That meant she was the thing that would bring them back.

That's what they had to remember. That's what they had to focus on. Strike Minako, and the burning would stop.

The four concepts marched forward, an unspoken understanding of their goal shared between them. But in the void, a thought emerged, distracting from their goal, and betraying their focus.

“Where are we? What is this heat? It burns! My skin! It's burning my skin!”

Dez realized his pain, and the void reacted violently to that realization. The glow burnt even brighter, and Dez's presence here was burnt away in an instant. 

Nothing could remain here. Anything more than nothing would be reduced by an infinite fury. Dez felt- and for that, he was erased.

Alikath, Roland, and Amira marched on, remembering their goal, but nothing of themselves.

“She's the tether. She is all that exists.”

“Kill Minako. Kill Minako.”

“Keep moving. Nothing changes. Nothing stays.”

The engine was growing closer. As thoughts focused on her, closer and closer she grew. Ahead, not thirty feet away- a silhouette! A golden shape amidst the white, Minako was near!

“That's her! That's Minako! If I can just strike now-”

The star knew that it was being seen. The glare pulsed and grew, destroying all that was not blind to it.

Alikath saw. And for that, he was erased.

Roland and Amira marched forward. They thought not of how they would kill Minako, what weapons they would use, how they would strike her- they didn't even consider that they themselves weren't Minako. Only that Minako needed to die.

“Reality is close. She is close. She is our portal- she's close.”

But, it would not be so easy. An unwanted stranger swam about the thoughts, and invited discordance. No, many strangers- dozens of voices were chattering and rambling words that could not dare be heard! Had the terrified audience been consumed by this burning as well?

A building frustration burst as Roland acknowledged what he had been trying to ignore all this time.

“Shut up! All of you, shut up! We can't do this- I need to hear her, I can't-”

Roland heard. And for that, he was erased.

Amira marched on. And there were no more thoughts. Not even those of reaching the star's engine.

There was no burning white light. There was no emotion, no intent- there was nothing.

Amira closed her mind, and became nothing.

And so she found the tether.

It all came in so quickly. First, there was touch: Amira's hand gripped on something firm. Then, scent and taste: her body returned to her and became her again, inside and out. Then, sound: Minako's screaming, stifled and cut short by something violent. Finally, sight.

Amira grabbed Minako's neck, and pulled her back into existence. Nothing was no more- the blinding white light faded and was banished forever. Roland, Alikath, and Dez lied dazed and confused on the stage.

Amira had won. She realized she had succeeded! And her prize was right there, choking in her iron grip.

Amira reeled back her right fist, and punched Minako square in the nose- CRAK! Minako was snapped out of Amira's grip, and dropped to the dirt. The Goliath lifted her foot, and slammed it on Minako's knee, unsettling the dirt beneath them, shattering one of her legs.

Minako yelped, herself too dazed and in shock to put together what was happening.

Amira took a step back, and let her breath steady. A proud smile crept onto her lips, butterflies swarming in her stomach. Elated to be free of the nothingness, and especially the deafness, Amira pounded her chest with her left fist, and screamed to the heavens.

“HOU!” She belted. “HAHAHA! LET'S- FFFUCKING GO!”

Amira arched her back up to the sky, held her arms out, and flexed her statuesque muscles in triumph.

“I WIN! HOO!”

On the dirty floor, bleeding and terrified, Minako slowly came to her senses, and lifted her spinning head gently off the ground.

“Kh-... e-erase… h-have… t-to… get… T- Tr…”

Minako grabbed a clump of grass beneath her palm, and dragged her limp body mere inches across the ground.

“Triann… dra… we… are all… ghh…”

Her hammer was right there. Her… weapon. Safety. She could escape- if she could just… reach… a little more-

SHINK

Minako's life was snuffed out by the sharp blade of a serrated cane. It dove clean through her skull, and planted itself in the grass she was laying on. She didn't even register the pain before it killed her; there was Minako, and then there was nothing.

Draped in blue, adorned in gold, and tanned in olive: Murtagh Rembrandt's tired eyes loomed down at the would-be assassin. She severed this terrorist from her mortal coil, now but a stepping stone beneath her feet.