Pandora Unchained - a Cultivation Progression Fantasy

With the players having been whittled down to only five, the game slowed down. No large bets were made for a good half hour as everyone took their time to carefully probe their opponents and maintain their stamina.

Once everyone was clear on each other's capabilities, Charles took the lead by attempting to subdue Sorin with his poisons. The attack took Sorin by surprise, as he soon discovered that his resistance to poisons didn't fully apply to Charles.

In the end, however, he was able to wiggle free using Toxic Metabolism. The exchange left Charles drained and helpless, and as a result, the mage bowed out. "I see it wasn't just luck that you've been able to hold out for so long," said Charles, folding yet another hand against Sorin. "And it's now clear to me that our family has greatly underestimated the Ten Thousand Poison Canon's suppressive effect. I've had enough of this one-sided beating. I'm out."

"So soon?" asked Melinoë. "You barely lost any chips in that exchange, and you're still up by a generous amount."

"But will I gain anything if I stay?" asked Charles. "Michael has the best senses in the room and can read everyone like a hawk. You've been manipulating me this entire game. As for Bast, he's naturally lucky and has been steadily wearing away at me, Sorin, and Michael. But it's taken its toll, and I'm sure he'll be pulling out in the next few rounds."

"That you were able to last so long against everyone is indeed impressive," said Michael. "Your divine ability gives you potent spell resistance, doesn't it?"

"Yet another reason I don't wish to stay," said Charles. "Staying any longer will risk exposing my true abilities. I bid you farewell, ladies and gentlemen, and wish you luck for the rest of your stay at this stacked table."

As Charles left, the game quieted back down. Bast eventually bowed out as predicted, having more than doubled his chip count.

Several dozen rounds passed, and without Bast constantly wearing away at his stamina, Sorin was able to gain a large number of chips in a short amount of time."

"How did you do it?" asked Michael finally after losing yet another pot.

"Do what?" asked Sorin, grinning widely.

"Mark the cards, of course," said Michael. "At first, I suspected it was your familiar, but the game you play is too… mathematical."

Indeed, things were as Michael. Early on in the game, Sorin had covertly used Madness to slightly erode at the divinity of each card—so little that it was barely noticeable to everyone at the table but himself.

Cultivators had a good grasp of statistics by default. Any player worth their salt would immediately know the odds of their cards coming up. But Sorin took this to a whole new level by knowing exactly what everyone's cards were instead of guessing.

But the key was not this but instead Ophiuchan Simulation. It was normally not possible to use the divine ability in such a way, but by using Madness, he was able to slightly twist the ability to roughly predict the odds, even with Melinoë drawing on her misfortune abilities.

That's my greatest gain from all this, thought Sorin, counting the chips in front of him. Knowledge of my opponent's abilities. Melinoë can manipulate people and skew the odds, but with enough information, I can incorporate this into my calculations.

There are also her mood-altering abilities; they functioned using a divine version of Madness, which I'm naturally resistant to. Moreover, there is a pattern to the Madness she inflicts; the cognitive dissonance isn't chaotic but serves a purpose. I can, therefore, prepare myself by keeping her goals in mind.

In addition to these gains, he now had a better read on the nine top performers in the Shrine Descent. Bast, for example, was extremely logical and motivated by money. He absolutely hated losing out. Charles was the opposite. He was a very emotional person by nature and simultaneously a slippery snake. He liked to hide information by covering it up with overt actions.

As for Michael, Sorin was still undecided about him. Throughout the game, the man had simply sat back and calmly analyzed his opponents. He was more or less immune to emotional and mental manipulation thanks to a light-aligned Golden skill or Divine Ability. In addition, he was resistant to Sorin's poisons, making him potentially a very tricky opponent.

He's not played aggressively against anyone all game. Since he's a political person and doesn't care about money, he's likely using this game to reinforce his politically neutral stance and show that he doesn't favor any specific side. At the same time, he can showcase his superior abilities even outside the dungeon. Few would be willing to offend him after this.

"I think that's about enough for me," said Sorin, finally pulling his chips in. "You two can continue playing if you like, but I believe everyone is likely satisfied with their gains tonight."

"It wouldn't be any fun playing if you're not around," said Melinoë. "Thanks again for playing along and hosting this game, Michael. I believe everyone will benefit from having experienced each other's abilities and feel more comfortable working together in the Shrine Descent."

"Now we just need to hope the second floor is a cooperative dungeon," muttered Michael. "Or at least something that lets us take advantage of our improved knowledge. Sorin, before you go, a word?"

"Of course," said Sorin, following Michael over to the bar.

"I've noticed you are especially fond of my clan's Sunfire Whiskey," said Michael. "Our stock is limited, but I feel we can spare a few dozen bottlers. I'll have Mortimer send them over in the morning. I'd also like to thank you for your patience with Melinoë. I noticed her silent scheming throughout the game, and though she didn't cross the line, she came very close on multiple occasions."

Sorin shrugged. "It was a mutual exploratory exercise. Also, she crossed my bottom line back in the catacombs. Forgive me for saying this, but if I find the opportunity to dispose of her, I will."

"So something did happen down there," Michael muttered. "I'll keep that in mind. In the meantime, I wanted to prepare you mentally for what's to come."

"In the Shrine Descent?" asked Sorin.

"In the Medical Association's inquiry," said Michael. "Your family has often come under scrutiny for political reasons, but it's different this time around. I can feel a wave building up and opinions shifting."

"I'm not sure how much they can accomplish," said Sorin. "They can remove my clan's permanent seats, but they can't accomplish much more than that."

"I think you're underestimating the impact of your family losing its permanent seats," said Michael. "Many members of your clan are willing to go to great lengths to retain their influence. This isn't just an attack on your clan's foundation, Sorin, but an overt attack on its harmony. Should the Kepler Clan lose out during the inquiry, internal strife is likely. The ensuing battle will leave it greatly weakened."

"I'm not sure what kind of reaction you're looking for, Michael," said Sorin. " I don't exactly have a great relationship with my clan, to begin with."

"Thus, the warning," said Michael. "My clan's elders have already decided to vote for stripping your clan of its permanent seats. But they've also made it clear that they wouldn't be against sheltering talented individuals.

"Kepler Clan is currently your pillar of support. But there's no reason that can't change. That's especially true now that you've received Hope's blessing, strengthening both your foundation and your bloodline.

"Remember that while our clans have butted heads many times in the past, we were all originally one family. I see no reason why we can't accommodate a small Kepler Branch with its unique heritage."

Noting Sorin's silence, Michael tapped his shoulder and led him towards the door. "I'll have that whiskey delivered, and I'll throw in a few pallets of those caramelized nuts your familiar has been devouring as well. Crushed and purified demon cores are the secret ingredient. Aside from the Temple of Hope, we're one of the few clans who can do it."

"Now, would you like to wait here for an escort from your clan, or will you be heading back on your own?"

Does he suspect something might happen on the way back? Sorin thought, noting the man's body language. "I'll contact my elders and make sure they send someone to shadow me."

"That would be for the best," said Michael. "Though our jurisdiction ends at the boundary of our manor, it would be most unfortunate if you were accosted just after leaving."

Sorin sent a transmission to Elder Marik, Elder Nolan, and Elder Calvin, and soon, the three of them gave him the go-ahead to leave. He then met up with Abbey Pollen, his escort, and had her lead him to the manor gate.

"The Young Master reminded me to inform you that you should feel free to visit any time," said Abbey. "He also wishes to remind you that should your life be in danger, the Pollen Clan is very willing to shelter you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sorin said. Please, thank you, Michael, for me once again. I'll be sure to visit soon."

Confirming once again that his clan was monitoring the situation, Sorin made his way through the dimly lit Oak Street. The night was unusually quiet, but Sorin had no difficulty exiting the well-to-do area into the well-crowded street leading to the New Castle District.

It was dark out, but the day was just beginning for the shops and bars on the busy street. Youngsters roughly Sorin's age were doing the rounds, drinking themselves silly in the hopes that they could find that special someone.

"You looking for a good time?" asked a scantily dressed woman in her twenties.

"I'm doing just fine, thank you very much," said Sorin, sidestepping her. Unfortunately, a stone happened to be angled so that it evaded his perception, causing Sorin to trip and run into a nearby couple.

"So sorry," said Sorin, pushing against what he thought was the ground but finding soft flesh beneath his hands. Blood rushed to his head as he realized his mistake. "It's… it's my fault," he said, quickly retrieving his hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" came a man's voice. A powerful hand grabbed Sorin by the shoulder and yanked him off the woman on the ground. "You pervert! You must have tripped on purpose so you could cup a feel!"

The entire situation felt orchestrated, and Sorin suddenly felt his mind swimming. He searched for the cause and quickly discovered its source: a hidden poison, courtesy of Charles, that had snuck aboard his body using Toxic Metabolism as a medium.

The game, it seemed, wasn't finished.