Spire's Spite

Pain. Three, no, five kinds of pain. Black, silver, white, dark-green, blue-green. They swirled in Fritz's mind like solid plumes of smoke, gnawing at him like fanged worms. He screamed and bit down on the leather strip in his mouth. He fought the infectious energies as they tried to wrap him in terrible tendrils. With force of will he held them an inch, or was it a mile, away from his soul.

The agony threatened to split his mind and break his hold, his Focus steadied his thoughts and steeled his resolve. He was not helpless, this was his Sanctum, and his was the storm that raged overhead. Fritz pushed back the pain, knowing that if he let the dark energies run rampant he would be twisted and changed, perhaps even killed, within moments. It was the same as the Eldritch flame, and without the tempering he received from that calamitous error he would have panicked and succumbed to the Aberrant Seed's insidious intent in an instant.

With an enormous effort, levering the entirety of his Control, Focus and will, he set his Awareness and Perception to sorting the strands of coloured Power. He first seized the searing blue-green, felt its terrible, warping heat and fed it to his own maleficent fire trapped within his brass brazier. The flame ate it greedily, cackling and burning brighter as the flickering line of light was consumed.

To Fritz's dread, the imprisoned fire chose this moment to riot again, to attempt to immolate his Sanctum as it almost had before. It was within his expectations, he knew the thing was merely biding its time but he had hoped it wouldn't choose to strike now. He was reminded that hoping was a fool's game, action was what mattered in the moment.

Fritz grabbed the silver pain next, knowing it to be aligned to metal from the cold ringing of its cutting cadence. Brass was a base metal, not enough to contain the flame forever, but what of this energy that tasted of moonsilver?

He pitted his mind against the brazier's being, it belonged to him so it should yield, and after a heartbeat of terrible strain, it did. While it submitted, he poured the line of silver power into it, and the white pain of Purity flowed with it. Entwined, they cried, like the ringing of bells, as they slipped into the metal. The brazier bent and boiled beneath the surface, the brass dripping away to reveal newly polished moonsilver that held the flame fast in its eerie, flailing fury.

It shrieked and roiled in its renewed prison, but Fritz couldn't spare it a thought, or even a triumphant smirk. Not now, not with the Seed still eating away at him, trying to make his choice for him.

Tired and trembling, but with still two pains to go, Fritz turned his attention back to the Aberrant Seed. Only to find the tendrils of black seeping into his arms, numbing him, draining him of his strength while the dark-green swept around him, snapping and jagged, stalking him like a beast. It was a small reprieve that the black was so slow and the green seemed content to hunt him. Now that he wasn't being assaulted by all five alignments he took some moments to search the energies for recognisable glyphs.

He caught them on the sides of his vision and at the edge of his comprehension, names or translations of what the Powers meant to convey to their hosts. Inaccurate, minimal and constrained by the magic's incompatibility with human flesh. He pushed that impression out of his mind and searched the words rippling before him.

In the wisping glyphs of green he saw the names of Abilities: Jagged Fangs, Bounding Legs, Razored Claws, Beast's Strength, Pack leader, Pack Lord, Nightmare Fur.

Useless or close to useless for him, he disregarded the obviously Primal aligned Abilities, and bent his search to the black glyphs next, praying for something better. Before he could focus his attention the Primal energies headed towards him, leaping toward his chest. He dodged, a staggering step, but enough to avoid the green pain's fangs.

Get rid of the Primal then sort through the Shadow, he told himself as he trembled from the exhaustion.

The green power was elusive and wily, but it was still a beast and could be baited. He feigned weakness, falling to a knee. It pounced, straight into the waiting clutches of his will. He gripped it tightly, and with invisible hands of intent, threw it into his Eldritch Flame. The fire raged, seethed, and seared the foreign energies, incinerating them with glee and leaving nothing behind.

Panting now, Fritz examined the last of the pains. The black pain, numbing and cold. Darkness and shadow. He searched the glyphs as he had before, these were easier to read and felt far more welcoming, or maybe that was his imagination. Shadow Meld, Gloom Strike, Consume Light, Howl of Terror, Quieted Steps, Subtle Presence, Bleak Aura, Shadow Shift, Black Bite, Shades Bloom, Shadow bolt.

As he read, Fritz's vision darkened as his heat slowed and skipped a beat. The shadows burrowed deeper. Creeping beneath his skin like new, icy veins, which was good, because one of the many Abilities within the shifting black would be useful for him. He sought for the Ability he wanted, he tore at the dark tendrils discarding the unwanted and unwelcome adding them to the flames.

He steadily grew weaker, the world darker and duller, he could barely feel a thing and he was moving so slow. His hands, his mind, everything was sluggish. Then he seized the black thread he desired and claimed it. As he did, the power wriggled in his grasp and the rest of the smoky strands were consumed by it, pulled in by some inviolable force. Then, having chosen, it coiled around his chest and crawled into his Sanctum.

It was agony. Cold and draining, though it was over in a moment. His body stopped trembling and numbness fled. He felt the new power take root and become his. He smiled as he saw the newly formed silvery glyphs and his Sanctum darkened all around him. He rejoiced at his wonderful new Passive. He tried to cry out his triumph but his vision went black and his mind became muddled, frayed at the shadowy edges.

He could hear Bert's worried voice calling to him.

"I'm sorry. I lied," Fritz mumbled, then he died.

---

Bert checked for his reckless, idiot friend's heartbeat, placing his fingers to his throat, and as if with sense other than touch, felt the pumping of blood in Fritz's veins.

He grumbled. The dumb bastard was fine, he had just passed out. He searched Fritz's sprawled form for any changes, finding the Seed had turned to dark dust and his fingertips were stained black. Apart from that, there were no other obvious changes. The lucky fool must have succeeded.

"What was that noise? I thought I heard a muffled scream?" Lauren said, approaching with the lantern.

"Scream?" Bert asked, playing dumb.

"Scream," she reiterated frowning, not taking the bait.

"Oh, that," Bert hedged. "Fritz yelled, then passed out... from the stress of the argument. He's far more sensitive than he lets on you know. And being Captain is a terrible pressure."

Lauren looked at him sceptically. Bert grinned, motioning to the gently breathing fool beside him.

"Come, look for yourself. Completely overwrought, he is. Passed out from the strain."

Lauren stepped closer, shining a beam of light on Fritz. He moaned.

"Before, with the fight," Lauren said with trepidation. "Do you think he would've really killed Cal?"

"Not a chance," Bert lied.

She stared at him a while longer and he amended his statement and dropped his grin. "Maybe, but not likely. The raider is bringing out the worst in him. The worst in all of us."

She nodded and bit her bottom lip in thought. It was very alluring. Bert flexed subtly, and upon seeing his powerful, sculpted muscles bulge and ripple, Lauren rolled her eyes.

Too bad she has no appreciation for my mighty form. She's beautiful. Ah! It's too bad! Too bad indeed! But as they say: there's plenty of fish in the barrel!

Lauren continued, "He scared me, and I think he scared George too-"

"I wasn't afraid, just startled," George said, the armoured man having somehow approached without their noticing. "It was a sudden change."

Bert sighed and rolled his shoulders. "It was building up, like a clogged gutter. You must know that we've been doing most of the heavy lifting. Me and Fritz could have cleared this Spire easily if we weren't keeping you lot alive."

There was the scratch of leather on stone and Bert could see Cal slinking in the dark of the cave, eavesdropping, his face a mask of contemplative contrition. The other two didn't seem to notice him so Bert let him listen in, it might clear some things up for the idiot.

"Is that so?" she asked.

"Yes. Without breaking a sweat. This Spire is easy," Bert stated seriously.

"You'd still need one more to ward off the spite," Lauren observed.

"But we didn't need four," Bert countered. "Fritz saw you, and helped you."

"And himself," George said.

"And himself," Bert agreed, grinning again. "And me."

"Mutual gain is the name of the game," Fritz groaned out as he sat and steadied himself.

He was pale and tired, and without the self-satisfied smirk he usually wore, the dark shadows under his eyes cast his features in a wretched gloom. To the others he would have looked pallid and pitiable, a far cry from his usual charming, confident self. But to Bert, the sight was just nostalgic.

"Whoa, you could be a poet with those kind of words, Fritz," Bert said.

The comment slid right over Fritz's rapidly reapplied smiling facade.

"Do good, and good follows," he espoused.

"How magnanimous," Lauren said sceptically.

"Optimistic," George agreed.

"You flatter me. Though I am merely what I am. Perfect," he professed.

"You're not perfect. Barely human. One step above a squid," Bert replied.

"A squid? I've been promoted," Fritz smirked.

"No! I take it back!" Bert cried.

"Too late," Fritz smugly stated.

"Enough! Be serious for a moment," Lauren demanded.

Fritz looked to her and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" He asked. "If you have something to say, say it. I'm listening."

"You shouldn't have threatened Cal. Even if he was out of line with his accusations," she said.

Fritz shook his head sadly.

"And you can? I remember someone else saying she'd set him on fire," Bert interjected.

"That was- I didn't mean it," Lauren said defensively.

"No. We'll not talk on this now. Once we're safe at the sixth Well we can revisit this disagreement," Fritz said seriously. "For now we have an ambush to set up and I need you all to do your part. Give me some silence to consider the best approach."

Lauren looked to argue, but upon seeing the cold, cruel glint his eyes seemed to think better of it. She shivered slightly. Bert knew that Fritz's mind and malice were focused on the raider, but that terrible light in his eyes almost made him step back out of some instinctual fear.

Fritz's smile grew as he dwelt on his scheme. Wider and wider until after a minute of quiet contemplation he announced, "We'll kill this bastard. I have a plan."

---

Vaa'gur felt his fury flare through him as he came upon this last obstacle and he thrashed and slashed his dagger over the rushing river. Splashing and scattering the water with his outburst made him feel no better, no closer to calm.

The hunt wasn't going to plan, not at all, he'd thought that they'd be too weak to put up any fight, that he'd be able to stalk them at his leisure. But it was not the case. It was all going wrong. And worse if he gave up and left the Spire, Therima would know he'd failed. She always did. She'd scowl and spit, would tell the Captains back home that he was a pathetic hunter who couldn't kill a team of fresh Rookies as a Journeyman.

If that happened his dreams would be over in a heartbeat. He'd be mocked, they would jeer, and they would tell him to become a farmer or a stone hauler. They would ban him from the docks, and he'd never be allowed near the raiding ships again. Forced to till the stinking, bleak soil or tend the meskerane maggots as they shed their leathery skins. The fate of a slave, a weakling. Not of one worthy, like himself.

He screamed at the birds behind him, their songs tinged with clear mocking scorn.

It had all gone so wrong.

First, it was his trembling venom not taking root in Bert and Fritz when he had pierced them with his arrows. A normal antidote shouldn't have saved them, his Insidious Venom should have seen to that, having soaked into their flesh and reduced their resistance to poison while also extending the venom's duration. They must have used some expensive cleansing potions to cure them.

A waste of gold, since he would catch them. He'd marked them with his bittersteel dagger, and their cleansing potions would have a hard time purifying those wounds. He grinned imagining the pain they must be in already as its ruinous effects took hold. The weakness the sickness brought, the aches and pains, then the wounds burning and blistering. The hair loss and the rot of the entire body. Excruciating. Total suffering.

But it would take time to set in, and he wanted to be there to see it. Idly he slipped the dagger back into its lead-lined sheath, the catch clicking and securing it tight.

He seethed, remembering how he had caught them in the Well room, all healed and already fleeing into the next room. His own team and the movement restriction of his camouflage had slowed his ambush down. Then one of the spite shields had the idiocy to be burnt alive by the pretty woman, while he played with his prey.

It had been fun at first, whittling the boy down, cutting his arms and seeing the terror grow in his eyes. Then, when he had Fritz's soft neck in the palm of his hand, that cursed bone dagger had cut right into his arm. He should've seen it coming, but that despair had looked so real and wonderful.

That bone-deep wound still bled. The bleeding had almost halted, but even now blood trickled and soaked the bandages. Though he had wrapped it with a poultice and had also taken a healing potion it never stopped leaking. He had little hope of it recovering while he was in this Spire as Minor Spire's Wells did little to heal him at his level, and even then the two he had used had no effect on this cursed cut.

He shook his head, the best way to get rid of a curse was to kill the curser, barring that he'd have to find a priest or healer to dispel it. Or maybe the Guide or Ceph Outpost might have something or someone willing to help, for a price.

He had let Fritz and Bert go so he could tend to his wound, thinking it merely a deep cut and to be dealt with cautiously, lest it go bad or cripple his hand. But knowing what he knew now, he was certain he should've killed them right then and there.

He sighed, the grueling nature of this hunt was beginning to weigh on him. With that hired Climber dying of his burns and Fritz escaping he had slaughtered the other hired man, if he wasn't a shield against the spite he was just slowing him down. After that, he had followed quickly, snapped a Door Dowser and headed them off through the Trap floor. A lucky find for Fritz, Bert and his weakling crew.

The Spire's Spite had come down on him, it made him feel watched at all times. There would be moments where the world spun and he lost his sense of direction. All of his Primal Instinct Ability's warnings were in whispers rather than shouts. The Ability was a fusion of Trap Sense and Beast Sense, allowing him to detect many dangers before they could harm him, with some other benefits besides. But now those sensations felt muted and dull, forcing him to rely on his baser senses of hearing, sight and smell.

It was infuriating, but bearable, his Reflex, Agility and Grace saving him from the worst of the shrouded traps' spikes, darts and barbs. Still, he took small injury after small injury even if he was able to find the real Stairway before Fritz could. Fighting in those cramped hallways and suffering under the Spire's Spite wasn't a risk he had been willing to take, not when he could wait for them in the Well. And he had after he had spooked them a little by flushing them out of the secret passage.

Couldn't have them sit around on the Floor while he slowly bled out and the shadows flickered strangely, teasing him with threats that weren't there. Another trick of the Spite, and one that he knew would only grow increasingly more prevalent the longer he stayed.

When he had caught them again, with a bottle of Serpenal Soporifica suffusing the air, they had been his to do with what he will. But again, to his fury, he had been thwarted. This time by a stupid flail of binding and Bert's new Ability. That and a sudden fatigue that had struck him, a result of rushing through the trap Floor no doubt. He had almost had Fritz too, before that ugly woman had gotten in the way. But that had been a good hit, the dagger sliding right between her foul scales. It was a deadly wound, triply so for being one inflicted by bittersteel.

But again they escaped, and it rankled that he hadn't let them go this time, as he had the first. They had escaped using unfair tricks. This time though, when he got to them, there would be no playing around. Quick and close.

He winced, his feet aching from small wounds he had taken. Caltrops left in his prey's wake had pierced his sturdy boots as he pursued them with as much speed as he could. They had been slathered in some foul substance that his own remedies seemed useless to stop. Luckily, the venom was dry and had lost a lot of its potency otherwise he might be dead already. As it was, he bore the dull pain, letting it stoke the fires of his fury.

That led him to his current predicament, standing on the river's edge and searching for a way to cross the rapid waters. He'd already attempted to climb a tree, to use its high purchase to look for a ford, bridge or fallen tree as was usually the case on such Floors. But those bastard birds had set on him like a hive of hornets. They sliced and pecked at him with deceptively sharp talons and beaks, scoring him with hundreds of tiny cuts and gouges. Forcing him to cover his face and fall, lest they slash apart his eyeballs in their incessant attempt to to defend their nests and the gleaming blue eggs within.

The cursed things wouldn't follow him all the way down, though he did crush a few of the birds beneath him. He had also sprained his hip on his heavy landing, causing him to grunt with pain as he paced the river's edge. He considered taking his last healing potion. Therima would tear him to pieces if he did, or worse, banish him from her team, leaving him stranded in this miserable city of weaklings.

Vaa'gur panted and sweat as he stood, the air here was humid and hot, he usually didn't notice such trivialities but he wasn't in the best condition. Not anymore. Even with his Endurance and his many resistance and recovery remedies, his weariness grew by the hour. It was like he had small stones tied to all his limbs. He cursed this hunt and his elusive prey.

He blamed Fritz and Bert for his trouble, if they hadn't goaded him at their first meeting it wouldn't be like this. If it wasn't for their trespass he wouldn't be here and riddled with so many annoying aches. He'd be drinking and whoring, and bored. But that would be far better than the burning fury he felt stuck inside him, with no way to be let out. Those stupid, ignorant wretches, he'd have their skins by the end of the day. He would hang their hides on his walls.

With no more delay, he slathered on some gill grease and trusted in his Strength to swim across. It was the Krakosi way, after all: personal power above all. He dove into the cool water and swam, the river dashing him painfully on stones, hidden logs and eventually onto the other shore. His body screamed all over like he'd taken a beating, which he had, but now he was across. He stood and drank a stamina potion, a precious thing but something he could replace with his own Serpenal Brewing, unlike the healing potions.

Vaa'gur searched the bank for signs of his quarry's passing and found little. He could still feel them through his Boundless Mark. Even though they had hidden their tracks well enough and their scent stopped somewhere in the river, he could still follow them. As long as they didn't split up; he had only marked Fritz and Bert.

His prey weren't far, but weren't close either so it would be an hour or two of walking, maybe more before he caught up. He glanced down at his bandaged forearm and tried to clench his fist, finding it weak and sluggish. Vaa'gur growled and felt rage immolate him from within.

He pushed into the red and gold underbrush and ran down his prey. When he found Fritz it wouldn't be a clean kill with an arrow, no, he wanted to drive his dagger into the weakling's heart and see the pain and terror in his infuriating eyes. He deserved it.

Vaa'gur licked his lips.

"I'll get you. Just you wait."

---

"Stay in your places until I lead him past you," Fritz reminded the team as they moved to their assigned positions.

"We know," Lauren sighed.

"Are you sure we'll be able to hurt a Journeyman Climber?" Cal asked, more out of fear than actual challenge.

"Yes. He may be twice as strong and fast as us, maybe even three times. But there's six of us and one of him, there's a reason teams exist and it's not just the Spite. It's because people are stronger together than one alone," Fritz said, borrowing some of the rhetoric in 'The Observations'. "No man is an island, let alone a fortress."

Cal grimaced, but Fritz's false confidence, brash bravado and profound-sounding statement seemed to steel the team, though few of them really took the words to heart.

With them all hidden away and waiting, Fritz stood in the prepared clearing not far from the cave and focused on his Awareness. He drew Quicksilver, held it loosely at his side, and closed his eyes. He felt at the niggling, uneasy sensation that had haunted him during his Climb. He poured all his attention into it highlighting it in his mind and listening to its subtle drumming. Every minute the sensation was getting louder, clearer and Fritz knew the raider was getting closer.

For almost an hour he stood there, listening.

When the uneasiness suddenly spiked into fear Fritz opened his eyes and glared around for his assailant. He saw nothing, but on some level he knew Vaa'gur was there, invisible.

"Why don't you just come out, coward?" Fritz drawled out as if bored of the entire encounter already.

His voice was a little too high to be entirely convincing, but it did get a low growl of frustration from his left, which Fritz turned to face.

"Or are you going to sneak around like a quivering cat and stab me in the back?" He taunted. When it got no reaction he continued with condescension. "Huh. I guess being a pathetic, snivelling craven must be part of those Commands. No wonder the Krakosi are so despised."

A blurring form lunged towards him with a feral yell, and the shifting red and gold of the jungle fell off of Vaa'gur's form like he was doffing a cloak. His dagger came forward towards Fritz's heart. Vaa'gur was no longer toying with him at all. Fritz met the dagger with Quicksilver, diverting it outwards and responding with a riposte. The raider snaked around it, and with a spin stabbed the leaden dagger, again, towards Fritz's chest.

Fritz contorted his face into fear and pain as he activated a Gloom Strike, shrouding the clay flask he pulled from a pouch. He smashed it on Vaa'gur's head, drenching him with its contents. The raider could not be distracted or deterred, and the terrible dagger plunged into Fritz and into his heart.

"Got you," Vaa'gur nearly moaned, his breath ragged. Small trickles of blood mingling with the concoction dripping off his face.

Fritz's own face held terror for only a second before his expression fell away and was replaced with a smirk. Vaa'gur's blade passed through his suddenly shadowy form as if he were made of smoke.

"That's my line."