A Tyrant, Sort Of

The tension in the air was palpable as the two parties eyed each other. Sable saw no reason to delay, so through Aylin, she opened the dialogue for Verindale’s surrender. She had no great hopes on how it would go, but she would still try.

[I see the Rustspike Tribe has gathered what remains of their forces,] Sable began, taking an amused tone. While the goal wasn’t to goad them into what she was already sure would be happening, she also needed to make it abundantly clear how little she thought of their defenses. It might be the only way they came to terms with the reality of their situation and thusly surrendered.

Though, Sable thought they did know their reality, and had chosen to see this through regardless. But there was nothing to do if that were the case. [I’ve come to extend your people a simple offer. Submit to my rule or die. This resistance,] she sneered as she swept a gaze across the thirty or so goblins, [will be broken without effort. It would not have strained me alone, much less my forces. Do what is best for your people. Resistance will only bring you ruin.]

Three goblins at the front were the clear leaders. Various emotions flashed across their faces at Sable’s words. Obviously, they had expected the ‘submit or die’ part, but the more moderated half—that Sable seemed to not want to bring ruin to them—had them baffled. It was both a boon and a curse that her ancestors had such beast-like reputations.

There was one goblin in particular that caught her eye. He was a short, older man, though the face peeking out from his thick black robes wasn’t quite as wrinkled and worn as Chieftain Kirak—though close. Something about him set Sable’s nerves on edge, though she couldn’t place exactly why.

By how he was dressed, she got the impression he was some kind of mage. There was a … glint in his eyes? Almost excitement at the unfolding events. The rest of the opposition seemed grimly determined, on-edge as they gripped the hilts of their weapons. But this one was antsy to get started for a seemingly whole other reason.

[Predator’s Insight] told her the goblin was dangerous, in the top three or four highest level of her opponents here, but it gave no clues as to his odd behavior. Her power and status discernment skill gave her some outstandingly useful information, but it hardly revealed the inner thoughts and plans of anyone she pointed it at.

Rather, it was her natural instincts telling her the goblin was dangerous, since the skill itself seemed rather unimpressed. Even ‘one of the strongest goblins here’ meant little to Sable; he would die in a single attack if she wished it. So why were her scales itching?

The resolve on the woman at the front’s face solidified. Her decision had been made. “Ruin,” she said. “As you brought Gadenrock?”

[More or less,] Sable sneered.

It was a lie, since she would only eliminate those who stood directly against her, then instill martial law with Bonecracker troops, but better to set the threats high—maybe it would dissuade them from their path.

“And you think we would rather be ruled by a tyrant than die fighting?” The woman turned a disdainful gaze to the Bonecracker troops to Sable’s left and right. “Maybe some cowards would be satisfied with that fate.”

Rukni snorted. “It’s not cowardice to run from obvious death. It’s common sense.”

“Then if not cowardice,” she growled in response, “it would be honorless to accept the death of our Chieftain and the genocide of our capital.” The expression she leveled at Rukni was downright scathing. “I will not serve such a beast, even if you would.”

Rukni’s face soured, and she didn’t have a quick of a retort for that. Sable could tell she even somewhat agreed. There was a definite problem to needing such a horrible reputation—there would be groups of people willing to resist such a perceived horror, regardless of their fate.

Such a mess.

“Yes, yes,” a new voice entered the fray. “The posturing is delightful, but the pieces are set and already in motion. Shall we not just begin?”

All eyes turned. Sable noted with some concern it was the goblin from earlier: the one who had an unusually excited glint in his eye. Surely he was aware of his circumstances, that this fight could only end one way?

Seeing how Sable didn’t think the man suicidal, and also noting that he didn’t seem half as emotionally involved in Gadenrock’s fall as the others, Sable’s scales were set, again, crawling. She got the impression he didn’t think this would be ending the way Sable thought it would.

But how? Had they planned something? Well, of course they had planned something, but Sable couldn’t imagine them mounting a defense that posed a real threat against her. How could they?

“Nexr is right. There is nothing more to say.” The leader’s upper lip pulled back in disgust, and it didn’t seem to be targeted at Sable or her allies, this time, but rather the goblin in dark robes. “Such blasphemous means to fall back on.” She shook her head. “But sometimes evil is needed to purge greater evil.”

Nexr—Sable had a name, now—almost seemed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the woman’s statement. His hands had been buried in his robes, and now he pulled one out, revealing a tattooed, wrinkled hand holding a black gem.

Even a glance at the object had Sable’s danger instincts screaming at her. Inside the sparkling, pitch-black depths, some inscrutable force swirled around, and it almost seemed to suck her consciousness toward it. Formless voices whispered promises of power. She was struck with a sense of deja vu. The aura radiating from the fist-sized gemstone reminded her of only one thing: that hulking shadow-monster made from black goo, which had been the true destroyer of Gadenrock.

She’d been confident, coming to Verindale, that little could truly pose threat to her. After so effortlessly squashing the Bragghaven squad, she’d been certain even dozens of similar warriors would be, while perhaps a minor threat, nothing she needed to worry overmuch about. Her recent levels and gained competence in spellcasting made her nearly immortal to these low-tier goblins of the Red Plains.

But that had been arrogance, a burning bout of clarity told her. While possibly safe from the goblins themselves, Sable had already known there existed greater threats. Aylin had even suggested Gadenrock’s fall had come about by ‘someone messing around with things they shouldn’t’—that was how most such calamities happened. She’d also seen evidence of it in the Ruins of Nefar, where Granite was from. Clearly it was no once-in-a-lifetime event.

Still, she hadn’t expected this, for one of the people responsible for Gadenrock having lived. She’d thought the entire city had been consumed. Yet one had indeed lived. Or perhaps the artifact associated with the event—that ominous black gem—had attached itself to another person?

It was rather irrelevant. The thoughts shot through her head, her mind running at a thousand miles per second as reality sank into her, gazing on the cursed item.

The cultist, Nexr, didn’t hesitate to execute his plan. As soon as he’d pulled out the black gem, magic suffused the air as he activated some skill or ritual. He needed no spell circle. Sable watched in horror, unable to look away. As in, physically, she was incapable of moving; the power radiating from the gem locked everyone nearby in place. Even the cultist himself seemed to struggle under a sudden immense pressure.

A terrifying sinking in her stomach told Sable that this ‘hopeless last stand’ of theirs was anything but. But did they know what had really happened to Gadenrock? How could they possibly be comfortable repeating that? She suspected the other leaders of Rustspike had been deceived—that machinations on the part of the cultist had led them to this point, and that they had no clue what was about to happen.

But they were still complicit—and clearly had some idea, based on the woman’s comment of ‘greater evils’. Just, she’d mixed up which of those Sable was.

Pushing through the immense pressure, which seemed to affect them less than Sable’s party, the two or three dozen Rustspike classed drew daggers and dragged the blade across their hand. Blood welled up, and they squeezed their hands into fists, red droplets dripping to the stone.

“Oh, and by the way,” Nexr struggled out in something that was half a laugh, and half a gasp. “I might have misrepresented a few things, Myra. I hope you don’t mind.”

Energy gathered in the black gem, and Nexr started cackling. A few of his so-called allies turned confused looks his way, but they were unable to respond. Something horrifying had taken place the moment they’d cut their hands. Dark ribbons of energy streamed into the black gem, flowing from each of the goblins who’d willingly joined the ritual.

Sable thrashed against her invisible restraints, but failed to break free. How was such a low-level goblin able to completely lock her down? The gem empowered him, obviously, but still. That much so?

“But you will have your revenge,” Nexr said gleefully to a group of goblins who were far from capable of responding, the black gem draining their life force—or something similar, since Sable had no idea what was really going on. “I can promise you that. The tyrant will become the subjugate. There’s such beauty in that, don’t you think? Conversion between absolutes. But no, I see you brutes don’t appreciate it.” He breathed in, shuddering, as more and more black strands poured into the gem. The pressure seemed to be lessening for him by the second, though decidedly not Sable. He was shrouded almost entirely in a bubble of growing black energy, now. “No matter. You may at least experience it. The rapture of corruption.”

Unable to move herself, Sable reached out for Aylin’s and Granite’s minds. For the first time since she had arrived to this world, she forcibly took control of them, leveraging the mind-link that [Dominate] provided her. With a forcible command, she sent them scurrying away at full speed. Fortunately, it worked—her control over them superseded whatever inexplicable force the ritual was using to pin everyone down. Though it took a second of struggle.

The ritual seemed to be completing, and in reaching its final stages, the scene playing out in front of her advanced several stages in nightmarishness. The classed of the Rustspike Tribe who had joined into the ritual started to dissolve, the ribbons of black energy flowing from them carrying with it parts of their faces, melting in a gruesome display, along with their bodies, gear, and clothing. They morphed, second by second, into a terrifying familiar black goo. The liquid flung in big globs toward the cultist’s outstretched hand, only partly visible through his solidifying bubble-shield, and gathered into the black gem.

From that gem, a monster started to emerge.

The pressure finally ebbed. Sable’s desperate struggle yielded results. With enormous effort, she broke free of whatever chilling effect had frozen the entirety of the town square. With a roar, she unleashed [Horrifying Aura], then immediately took into the air. If this summoning was even a fraction of the power of the [Greater Aspect], then it would mean guaranteed death to everyone in this city, including her. Fleeing wasn’t great for her reputation, but it was great for not being wiped off the planet, and she cared about that much more.

The shadow-beast finished congealing in the next moment, and it took a similar shape as the [Greater Aspect], though far smaller—and it didn’t radiate the same overwhelming power. While humanoid, it was made from black essence and towered at least fifteen feet tall, quickly growing as more and more of the surrounding sacrifices were absorbed into the creation. That was where it gained its strength, then? The consumption of others, stealing their power for its own? What would the congealed strength of thirty moderate to high level classed coalesce into? When empowered by a cultist and a goddess of consumption, no less?

Sable’s attempts to flee turned out to be futile. Chains of black goo burst from the ground and wrapped around her legs, then yanked, and she was slammed into the ground with enough force to crack the pavement for fifty feet in every direction. It only marginally stunned her—she’d gained significant durability with her levels. Still, she’d been, for a second time, restrained. With panic, she leveled an [Inspect] at the growing shadow-monster.

[Lesser Aspect of Lady Xenaya, The Exalted Consumption - Lv. ??]

The last strands of black dissipated, and a few more clumps of black liquid impacted the monster. The pressure finally vanished.

“Go,” Nexr gasped. He was fully engulfed in a bubble of writhing shadows, obscuring the cultist and gemstone from sight. “Claim our vessel. She will be ours.”

The aspect shrieked, its mouth tearing open with jagged strands of thick tar, then it shoved its hand into the earth. With a ripping motion, it drew a wicked two-handed blade made from black essence, which it gripped and settled into a combat stance with.

The creature was, clearly, more than eager to follow its master’s commands.