Trouble was on the move. He flew on light feet from one roof to another, scouring the streets below with his eyes for any sign of a Human with red hair and gold teeth. He had spotted several humans with the necessary hair color. But every time he approached them and asked to see their teeth, none had the telltale dentistry. Admittedly, several of those people refused to show the Neoform their teeth, and he had to force their lips apart. Not that he hurt anyone, but he was stronger than he looked.
Tro sprinted along one rooftop and kicked off the ledge to spring across to the next roof, a full story taller than the last. One hand caught the edge of the roof while he planted both feet on the brick siding. He kicked off into a flip to land on the synth-crete roof. With precise steps, he walked the length of the space, watching the streets below as the masses ebbed and flowed. Tro crouched at the edge, propping a wrist on one knee as he inspected the crowd. He spotted several red-haired human men below. One caught his eye. A shorter man, with curly carrot-orange-red hair, who looked to be in his mid-thirties. He wore camouflaged armored pants and a black tank top under a brown jacket installed with armor plates. The clothes spoke to an Adventurer, which was one hint, but what brought Tro’s focus to the man was what bounced at his hip. A burlap sack of dingy and fraying fabric. Even from where Trouble perched, his keen bat ears pinpointed the sound of rattling metal. The bag was about lantern-sized. Another hint was the direction the man was walking; directly toward the Evea-Life offices at the center of the settlement.
Trouble tracked the man, trailing just behind, outside his peripheral view. The possible Drake man was jovially bantering with a taller human man with long dark hair pulled back in a tail. He appeared to be in his early forties. What bare skin showed displayed the well-toned muscles of a veteran fighter. The man was dressed in reinforced black leather with a gun-blade strapped to his back. A belt at his hips was slotted with several rapid-injection vials, also known as hypo-jectors. From those indicators, the black-haired man was clearly a Jaeger. That man would be a problem, without a doubt.
Drake turned to the tall man and flashed a gold-toothed smile. Tro contacted the rest of Ill Omen with a therra group call. “Target sighted.”
“WOOH!” Vex cheered. “Heading your way now. Send me your ping.”
Tro sent his location with real-time tracking even as he continued to follow the targets.
“En route,” Architallis said.
“On my way to break some faces!” Alex shouted through Architallis’s therra.
Trouble followed Drake and his companion. Three blocks from the Evea-Life office, another man joined the pair. His hair was corn-blond, worn short and spiky with plenty of gel. The pale-skinned man was dressed in blue, flowing mage robes with red and gold trim. He looked to be in his late twenties and moved with a confident air. At his hip was a spell tome. A Wizard. More trouble.
Two blocks from the office, a pair of Knyghts joined the growing group. The lance was definitely making its move. Tro restarted the call with Vex and Architallis. “Problem. Move being made.”
“Damn it!” Vex cursed. “Double time! Me and Sin are a few minutes out. Archi, how far out are you and Ex?”
“A minute bit further than you. Estimated time of arrival is eight minutes.” Architallis said between heaving breaths.
“Let’s make that three minutes,” Alex said, followed by a loud thud and the sounds of machinery moving.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait!” Architallis said in clear panic before letting out a breathless cry. Next, the sound of thundering metal steps came through the call. Tro knew that Alex was in his Tomb Shell and carrying Architallis under one arm like a sack of flour.
Trouble watched the target lance enter the office before scaling down the wall. Halfway down the wall, he could hear Alex’s earth-shattering steps. Trouble knew the Soulforged was about one minute and fifteen seconds away, judging by the sound of his steps, his speed, and the Doppler effect. Trouble was three-quarters down the wall, entering a private alley, when he heard familiar footsteps and smelled his sister below. The crash of skittering trash cans below caused Tro’s ears to twitch. With a quick glance below for calculation, Tro kicked off the wall and fell the remaining eight feet to land beside his sister.
Trouble turned to face his sister to find Sin sprawled among a skew of fallen trash cans. Food refuse covered the Immortal as he lay there with a perpetually tired look on his face. Trouble traded a look between the two before turning to look down the alley just in time for Alex to fly past the back end of the alley, grinding his feet in, in an effort to stop and make the turn. Instead, the Knyght’s feet tore up the pavement into gravel as he slid by with the hulking Alchemyst under one arm. Alex corrected his trajectory and jogged up to the rest of the lance.
Trouble noticed that even through the wolf fur, the Alchemyst looked distinctly green with nausea. Alex stomped up to the group and set Architallis on his feet like a doll. The Alchemyst stumbled twice, then steadied himself, shifting his backpack's load.
“How long since they went in?” Vex asked, stepping up to the mouth of the alley to peer gingerly around the corner.
“Five minutes,” Tro answered.
Architallis took a slow, deep breath through his nose before gagging on the stink emanating off Sin. Trouble felt sympathy for the Vhenari. His nose was just as sharp as a wolf’s, but Trouble had long since adapted; the Alchemyst was new to the intensity.
Architallis coughed into a balled fist until his throat cleared. “If it has been five minutes,” Architallis let out another cough. “Then they have already spoken to the receptionist about scheduling the challenge. Depending on several factors, the challenge could be a few minutes from now, or a couple of days.”
Vex wiggled her nose in irritation before pulling off her hat with an equally irritated flourish. She reached in and plucked Sparky from the cap, then threw the drone into the air. The drone caught itself in the air before swiveling to face the Hexxen Bane. “Yo, Boss Lady, you there?”
A sigh of ancient patience came from the drone. “Yes, Miss Vexxenna. Now, how can I help you on this fine day?”
“You got a hacker on the payroll?”
“In fact, I can provide one rung above that request. I have an Arcane Circuiter on retainer. What do you need? And how soon?” Faith asked in a level voice.
“Tandem request,” Vex replied. “I need the building schematics for the local Evea-Life office in Conan’s Fall. I also need the challenge schedule for the office as of now.”
Faith gave an affirmative hum followed by the sound of a typing keyboard. “Give me five minutes to submit the mission request. Afterward, I would estimate, he would have the requested materials within ten minutes. Hold position.”
“Damn it.” Vex cursed with little energy. “That’s too long for us to wait. Can’t wait that long.” Vex stomped a foot in frustration. “The brawl could be starting right now. Those cheaters could be running their racket right now.”
“Patience, young lady.” Faith gently chided through the drone. “Even if the challenge were accepted immediately, it would need to pass several levels of verification, be confirmed by the local head officer, and would only be immediate if the on-call defending lance is at the ready.”
“I don’t have time to wait for those bastards to start the brawl!” Vex snapped. “Those bastards are going to cross a line and hurt people.”
“Hurt whom, may I enquire?” Architallis asked with no small amount of scorn. “The corporation? I think Evea-Life will barely notice the loss of one office.”
“The people.” Trouble said with his own venom.
“Yeah!” Vex said with enthusiasm. Trouble knew that she was jumping on the justice bandwagon he started to justify her impatience and irritation. Tro would not rat her out. He knew she had her problems and flaws, but she still held a deep sense of justice. Even if she was distracted by her temper, she would always have a drive to help people. She was just focused on the Omen at the moment.
“The people?” Architallis asked with scepticism as Sin pulled himself from the trash pile. “They will only be trading one collar for another.”
Sin dusted himself off and delicately removed a banana peel from his shoulder. “The Vhenari has a point. Whether the corporation is one or another makes little difference. All just grain for the mill.”
Trouble let out a subaudible growl that could be felt in the chests of each living lance member. Sin gave Trouble a weary look, a mix of worry and resigned acceptance. Alex shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his stance with a pair of loud steps. “Don’t get me wrong.” Alex started. “I’m itching to crack some skulls and take names. But we’ve got a mission to do. We can’t worry about the bigger picture.”
“Excuse me.” Vex hissed. “People are hurting, and they’re about to hurt more. We need to do something.”
“Do what?” Architallis asked in an almost demanding tone, gesturing to the corporate office just out of sight. “We can’t simply uproot a corporation with no replacement and expect it to function.”
“I don’t-” Vex started, but was cut off by a notification on her therra. Trouble and Architallis got the same notification.
Trouble opened the notification to find a pair of attached files. Tro pulled up both as his sister and the Alchemyst did the same. The scheduling record showed that the challenge was accepted and was to be carried out immediately. The three-dimensional map of the building highlighted that the challenge arena was on the roof. Trouble couldn’t help but wonder just how many corporate offices had built-in challenge arenas.
“Great!” Vex said. “Let’s get rolling.” She turned and headed for the office’s front doors at a brisk pace. Tro followed her, kicking off with a skipping step. The rest of the lance followed, less eager than their leader.
The office entry hall was a high-ceilinged affair of clean white, with mint and jade green detailing. The design had a clearly Elven aesthetic, with leaf-and-vine scrollwork and the occasional replica of famed paintings from the same culture.
Vex stormed up to the reception desk in an aggressive stance. She slammed a splayed hand down on the desk with an assertive thud. The Wood Elf working the desk in a cool blue suit looked up, unfazed and with a bored expression. “What do you need?”
“We’re here about the challenge that was just submitted,” Vex said.
The Elven woman glanced around the group before going back to her holo-screen and went back to typing. “If you’re here to submit a challenge request, you will need to schedule for a later date. The soonest opening we have is next month.”
“No, no, no.” Vex said, shaking her head avidly. “We are here about the challenge going on RIGHT NOW!” She punctuated her words with another slap of her hand on the desk. “They are going to cheat! We need to stop them!”
The receptionist gave Vex an irritated glance from beneath lowered brows. “Miss, if the current challengers are caught cheating, the challenge will be null-and-void. Now, what time would you like to schedule your challenge? We have an opening on the 20th.”
“You’re not listening!” Vex snapped. “We need up there, NOW!”
“Ma’am, I need to ask you to leave the premises before I call security,” the receptionist said sternly.
Vex clenched her fists and stomped a foot in rage. “Damn it!” She spun on her heel and stormed out, tearing the automatic doors open because they were too slow.
Tro traded a look with each of the lance members before they all followed Vex. She stood just outside the freshly broken doors, fuming with her arms crossed and a pouting expression. As Trouble passed through the broken doors, he turned and pulled them closed so they were less likely to be overheard. Even as he turned back to Vex, Tro reached into one of the many pockets on his pants and produced a plastic drink pouch. He knew what was coming next.
“This is crap! Flaming damn crap!” Vex vented. “That slither-spined knife-ear bitch wasn’t even listening to me! She just wanted us out of there like we were stinking up the place!”
Trouble cut Vex’s angry wind up short when he shoved the beverage into her hand. She immediately stopped venting and drained the drink. While she finished the drink in a single long pull, the rest of the lance discussed options.
“We could just wait for them to come out.” Alex proposed. “Jump ‘em like a gang on a lone corp-rat. They’d be worn down by the scrap. Would give us a better chance.”
Architallis folded his arms and shook his head. “I suspect that would not be a viable option. A skirmish in the streets would call the local guard down on us.”
Sin nodded. “The Alchemyst has a valid point. If bystanders witness and testify that we incited the incident, we would be detained while they are allowed to walk free to their next target.”
“Damn it.” Vex cursed with less venom and more frustration as she crushed the empty drink packet in one fist. “But what can we do?” She spat to the side. “We can’t just let them stride outta here like they did nothing wrong.” She rolled her tongue over her teeth. “It’s not like we can just climb thirty floors to jump into the scrap.”
Trouble gave an irritated huff through his nose. He knew what he had to do. “I go.”
Architallis, Alex, and Sin gave the Neoform a perplexed look. Vex, on the other hand, gave him a wary look. “You sure?” She asked.
Trouble gave a single firm nod.
Vex pinched her lips and wiggled them back and forth. A telltale sign she was unsure of the idea. When she finally agreed, it was only through a single, firm nod of her own. “But I want you safe. Nothing risky. No gambles. You hear me?”
“Yes,” Tro said with certainty.
Without another word, Trouble pulled off his gloves in two swift motions and carefully stowed them in their special pocket. He looked at his nailless fingers, wiggled them, cracked them, then flexed his fingers. With that last motion, claws extended from each finger tip like switch blades. Each was keen enough to sever a free-falling tissue, but strong enough to bite into stone without losing their edge.
Trouble ignored the shocked stares from his lance mates. Instead, he knelt down, bending his knees fully and balancing on the balls of his feet. He bounced his body lightly, two, three times, then launched himself from the street to the wall of the third story. His claws sank into the synth-crete like butter, his Pacer Shoes’ Stasis Grip function active to keep his footing. Trouble held his place for a moment to ensure his weight was evenly balanced. In a sudden burst of movement, the Adroit scuttled up the wall like a flighty arachnid, not looking down, and careful not to be seen through any window he passed. In just over a minute, Trouble reached the roof.
He poked his head over the edge to find a gladiatorial arena of reinforced steel and synth-crete. Across the space where Trouble spied was an elevator with a light indicating that the car was rising rapidly. The doors to the elevator were massive; wide enough to fit six human men abreast and tall enough for a kolterrath half-giant to walk through without ducking. A dull chime as the indicator read ‘R’. The doors retracted, revealing a group of six people who stepped out.
Trouble spotted a mountain dwarf, three humans, a wood elf, and a high elf. The group marched into the center of the arena
The High Elf was male, dressed in a fine, deep-blue silk suit that resembled the receptionist’s but was clearly of much higher quality. His white-gold hair flowed in a clean waterfall down his back. The Elf’s sea-blue eyes shone with irritation and confidence.
The other members who stepped onto the roof were clearly the retainer lance. Trouble activated his therra and scanned each of them, pulling up their public profiles. The Dwarf was male with the name Dron Brickfist. His class was Cleric, worshipping Strife, the God of War. His black hair was shaved short on the sides and braided into long dreads that reached his shoulders. He was dressed in light leather armor with a Personal Sanctum Guard worn at his hip.
The three humans were two women and a man. Tom Harold was a tan man with short brown-black hair wearing plate armor with ballistic lining. His class was Warrior, and that was reaffirmed by the sword at one hip and the elemental rifle on his back.
Tom was married to Sophie Harold, a dark-skinned woman with shocking green eyes and long black hair tied back in a tail. She was dressed in red and black mage robes over a t-shirt and jeans. At her hip was a gyroscopic series of rings installed with magical gemstones, verifying what her profile told of her being a Sorceress.
The third human was a woman. Lesa Harold was Tom’s older sister. They both had the same deep brown eyes, dark hair, and tanned skin. Lesa was an Elementalist, confirmed by the strange bracer on her right hand.
The last figure was a wood elf named Torrin Oakwood. He had the telltale traits of his subspecies: green-tan skin, bright hazel eyes, and tree-bark-brown hair. His hair was a pale white-brown, like a black ash tree, worn short in a pixie cut with a gelled front swoop. He wore green and brown leather with intricate defensive spellwork wrought into the material. His arms and legs were cybernetic, though designed to look mostly natural, with skin-tone plating laced through with seams of clear steel. His class was Adroit, like Tro. He had earned the class through those cybernetics.
If the Last Light Lantern truly drained myst from the local area, this was a bad match-up. Four-fifths of the team heavily relied on the raw energy to function, including the Adroit Elf. Even the Human Warrior would be partly crippled if his elemental rifle were rendered useless.
“Really?” Tom asked as he adjusted his sword belt at his hip. “Checking our profiles. What? Checking our ranks to see if we ranked up or down? We’re still Silver Elite rank.”
Trouble ducked back down out of sight. He had forgotten that beyond the Gold Advanced rank, Adventurers would be notified any time someone checked their public profiles. However, Tro’s fears were alleviated when the officer spoke up. Trouble poked his head over the lip again to watch the conversation.
“Of course. I must ensure that the information you filed is still correct,” the officer stated in a cold tone. “If I found that you had ranked up without notifying me, that could be grounds for the opposing lance to dispute the challenge on the grounds of falsified information.” The Elven Officer gripped his hands behind his back and turned away from the lance to take three steps.
“Fine,” Tom snapped back. “Then turnabout is fair play. Can’t have you being the reason we lose this challenge.”
Trouble knew what that meant and hurried to scan the officer simultaneously as the lance lead to get any information he could about the primary target of the Shadow Saber lance. The profile displayed everything Trouble expected. His name was Loen Highguard of the Highguard noble house. His age was three-hundred and forty-two. The man was the lead branch officer of Conan’s Fall settlement office. Of course, Loen’s Archetype was Authority. Additionally, as per Evea-Life standard practice and tradition, he was a healer subcaster. Evea-Life officers were almost always elves, and always were some caster or subcaster with a strong affinity for Life Myst. Not that any branch officer would stoop so low as to use their magic to heal anyone of a lesser social standing than themselves.
While Trouble was inspecting Loen’s profile, he noticed that the elevator was moving again and heading straight for the roof. As trouble closed the profile window on his therra, the elevator doors opened with another dull chime. Without any conversation, Shadow Saber lined up in the middle of the arena, arm-span apart, or shell arm-span apart with the Knyghts. Trouble knew the two lances were inspecting each other's profiles for any useful information, so Trouble did the same with Shadow Saber.
From left to right, the members of the lance were Gem Grando, Nicholas Drake, Griswold Redcliff, Kaymoor Taiber, and Iya Grando. Every lance member was human.
The Knyghts, Gem, and Iya Grando were twin sisters in smaller Knyght Shells than Alex’s Tomb Shell. They book-ended the rest of their lance.
Drake turned out to be a Warlock and Deviant class. He would have a hell of a time dealing with Vex. He still carried what Trouble assumed to be the lantern he and his lance needed.
Griswold Redcliff was the lance leader, with the classes Jaeger and Kallibern. He would be a problem with those two classes.
The final member, Kaymoor Taiber, was a Wizard. Vex would have a rough time with him, since Wizards exclusively used positive-aligned elements.
The two lances eyed each other as they stood off. Shadow Saber said nothing; the three exposed faces only looked smug and confident.
“This is a sanctioned duel,” Loen said as he stepped up to stand between and to the side of the two lines of members. “As the challenged, I choose for this to be a non-lethal skirmish. So only incapacitating strikes. Should the challengers win, the ownership of the settlement will be transferred to Dryzor Corporation. Should the defending lance win, your lance shall be banned from this settlement, and your owning corporation will need to pay a sum of thirty thousand credits. Are these terms agreed upon?”
“Agreed,” Griswold said in a level and frigid voice.
“Excellent,” the Officer said. “Now, take up your positions.”
Both lances took ten steps backward, half-steps for the Knyghts. Each member readied their weapons: Mages conjuring elemental attacks and holding them at the ready, Martials drawing weapons and/or taking battle-ready stances. The Elven Officer raised an open hand, ready to make the chopping motion that signaled the start of the fight. Before the hand could drop, Drake cheated.
With swift and practiced motions, he produced the Last Light Lantern and irised open the bullseye aperture. A flickering white and black light beamed through the hole, bright enough to be seen even in clear daylight. The light fell upon the defending lance, and their shadows from the light grew long and darker. Images flickered in those shadows even as wisps of energy seeped from any defending lance member with myst.
Each shadow showed phantom black-and-white images of each member’s darkest secrets. Tom and his sister had killed his last wife to steal her wealth. Dron had killed a group of school kids while driving drunk and was never caught. Lesa had forged legal documents to have her parents incarcerated for tax fraud and conspiracy to commit murder. Torrin had burned down his old village after she had been banished.
Each victim of the lantern traded panicked looks between their revealing shadows and the energy draining from them or their equipment. Torrin, the Adroit, collapsed as his cybernetics failed. The Mages, Dron, Lesa, and Sophie, fell to their knees, bodies quaking from the sudden loss of energy. The only one left standing was Tom.
The sole remaining member looked at each of his crippled teammates with a panicked expression before his face turned to rage, and he charged Drake. The Warrior’s blade held low in both hands, ready for an upward slash that would carve open the Deviant’s guts and chest.
Griswold stepped up to intercept Tom, his bastard sword gun-blade sweeping horizontally with immense speed. The Jaeger took the Warrior’s head clean from his shoulders in a single swing; the body falling to the floor and rolling to a stop as the sword clattered to the ground not far from the fresh corpse. The scent of gore came to Trouble’s nose as the corpse’s heart pumped blood from the neck for the next few seconds. Before the first body even stopped pumping blood, the rest of the Shadow Saber lance executed the rest of the defending lance with cold indifference and calculated strikes.
The scent of blood magnified, making Tro’s nose tingle and eyes itch. Loen, the officer, gawked at the scene in horror. Before he could speak, Drake pointed the lantern’s light at the Elf. Trouble couldn’t see what the light revealed about the man as he fell to his knees. However, he got the gist when Drake closed the aperture, strolled up to the officer, and whispered in the man’s ear. Trouble didn’t get the whole message, but he caught the hissed word “pedophile.” That made Trouble’s hackles rise in rage.
The officer gave a single, numb nod as he stared at the floor of the arena, his hands quaking in his lap. Drake turned back to Griswold and gave a single firm nod with a wide grin plastered across his face. The surviving lance looked at each other. Both of the Knyghts gave a thumbs up, the Wizard pumped his fist in victory, and the Jaeger leader gave a confident nod as he sheathed his weapon. The group turned and headed for the elevator.
This was Tro’s chance, but he had to act fast. With all the lances’ backs turned, he vaulted over the edge of the roof. The Neoform sprinted across the arena floor, body low, arms trailing. He crossed the distance in moments, snatched the lantern from Drake’s hand even as he tried to return it to its sack. Trouble yanked it from the man’s grip and threw a punch into his jaw for good measure, sending the Deviant to the floor in a sprawl.
Trouble spun on the ball of his foot and sprinted back the way he came with an extra burst of speed. In a single massive leap, he cleared the edge of the roof and entered free fall.
Your Ill Omens Acquisitions: Last Light Lantern piece really grabbed me with how the eerie power of the Last Light Lantern exposes the darkest secrets of the defending lance in that rooftop challenge, turning what should’ve been just another duel into a chilling revelation of truth, and I loved the way Trouble’s relentless tracking and rooftop leap added real tension and grit to the scene, I’m curious, will the fate of Trouble and the recovered Lantern change how his lance thinks about justice and corporate control in Anogwin?
The lance's views on corporations and the present injustices won't shift. They'll have too much on their plate to manage anything that abstract and far-sighted.