Interconnected: Spliced Souls

We stood at the end of the tunnel, checking our weapons and gear once, twice, and thrice while waiting for the sole spirit user to report what was happening in Canary. Tension was running high, but everyone was preparing to begin the attack.   

Creevca was focused, her eyes closed while both hands gripped her necklace, which acted as her spirit's catalyst.   

Suddenly, she twitched. “Okay, I have confirmation of the smoke bombs!” 

“Got it. Then it's time to get started. Servi, do the honors. Everyone, stand back! She's going to bust through! Remember the plan and stick to it!” Llamare said, his voice deep, echoing throughout the tunnel.  

I sent a message to Itarr and slipped my phone into my pocket as 36 shadowy bolts of thick death appeared, causing gasps to erupt from the others. When overcharged and packed to the brim with skill energy, [Shadow Shot] was very damaging. And I needed its pure destructive output at this moment.   

Understood. I have the swords ready to go. I will only go after the ones with armor and weaponry.  

I let the bulging spells loose, watching as they slammed into the wall without prejudice, shattering it as if it was drenched paper, revealing the evil market where slaves were treated and sold like livestock. 

We all rushed through the opening and followed the plan. As the map said, we found ourselves in a large ballroom. Half of the room consisted of dining tables. The other half sat the stage, which held about a dozen naked women clasped in chains and bondage.   

“REMEMBER THE PLAN! STICK TO IT!!!” Llamare shouted, repeating it twice as we immediately went our separate ways. The two Earth Elves rushed across the stage and quickly turned left, remaining close to the wall. I was right behind them, just a few feet away. The goddess inside me took out thirty weapons I'd gotten from one of the monotonia dens and controlled them with [Telekinesis]. They acted like drones, flying through the air, swerving in between the panicking guests, who cried and commanded for help.   

The guards standing in our way felt Llamare’s naginata, which cleaved through their armor like a hot knife through butter. And for the ones that didn't die immediately, his cousin used her weapon to finish them off, either through a quick stab through the head or a thrust through the heart. Meanwhile, those weapons flying through the air rained down blood. Death followed wherever they went. Even if they were weak and barely able to cut leather, let alone hardened steel, you couldn't just shrug off the impact of a ten-pound broadsword slamming into your head at fifteen miles per hour.   

But the showroom was massive. It was probably about the size of a mansion, which sickened me even more. But our target destination led to a hallway, and a door at the end of that corridor granted access to the dressing rooms. Each VIP had their own chambers to ‘test’ out the merchandise they bought, or they could use it to rest and relax.   

Parrel had the largest, which was our destination.   

“[Executor’s Gale Slash]!” Liealia’s spear flashed green as she swirled it around her body, letting off four gusts of invisible wind that took the heads of the guards standing near the first door. I overcharged a handful of shadowy arrows and broke it, allowing us to continue without slowing down. The sound of fighting reached my ears, but I didn't look back. Scratch and the others would have to hold their own.   

“BRING THE GUESTS TO THE PANIC ROOMS! REGROUP AND REORGANIZE!!! OUR PRIDE IS ON THE FUCKING LINE!!” I heard someone say. The map didn't have the safety rooms, but they were probably through those double doors I saw at the end of the leftmost wall.   

But we raced through the corridor, illuminated by nearly three dozen flickering lanterns created from ornate gold and decorated with rubies and sapphires. They looked expensive, so I snagged a handful while absorbing the souls of the handful of guards killed by the Earth Elves. I was close enough for those souls, so like hell would I not reap the advantage. The resistance we encountered when turning down the path leading to the dressing rooms was severe, but only in terms of body count. Itarr still had control over those weapons she manipulated. After we had left the showroom, she flew them close and absorbed them, but they emerged in front of me.   

It was a brilliant dance of death and confusion. Body parts and chunks of flesh were severed, the screaming and panic cut short by death gurgles, and the whirlwind of gore painted the walls, floor, and ceiling bright visceral red. Llamare and Liealia were honest-to-god afraid. They didn't have to say it– I felt it when they took a second to look at each other.   

They recovered quickly, and off we ran to the door at the end, which led to Parrel’s dressing room. Itarr had orders to absorb the corpses, weapons, and armor since they would be helpful. If the latter didn't fit, I could have them resized. Or I could sell them. It wasn't like protective gear did me any good.   

Like before, I blasted the locked door away and turned around just in time to see a pair of archers at the end of the hallway send a flurry of arrows my way. Llamare and Liealia dodged instantly, but they pierced my skull a dozen times, killing me for a fraction of a moment.   

“Just find the fucking passageway!” I shouted, standing up, snarling with a growl, and tasting my blood as it flowed past my lips.   

“Got it! Just hold them off!” Llamare shouted. He turned his weapon to the paintings and cabinets and destroyed everything to find the secret tunnel. I knew this was the room because that fat bastard had a portrait of himself in a loincloth near an open door leading to a bedroom.   

Rocky pillars burst from the ground and wall, skewering and crushing the archers while I tossed [Shadow Shot] by the dozens. The black bolts of death launched without any sign of stopping, preventing the reinforcements from dragging their allies to safety. To piss them off even more, I summoned pillars from the ceiling and hammered the corpses repeatedly. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were hiding to the left, just past the wall. A couple of sharp skewers birthed from the surface behind them.   

I didn't have to see the entire wall to use my spells.   

“I found it! It's here!” Liealia shouted.   

“It's time to roll! Come on, leave them be!” commanded Llamare. I nodded but used a few dozen [Stone Pillar] to blockade the passageways every few feet to make it that much harder for them to follow after us. I backpedaled into the bedroom, where Llamare groaned at chains, cuffs, and locks on a desk. There was no doubt that the sick bastard I saw on my first day here was the same one I would kill before the night ended.   

“Stop staring, cousin! We're burning time!” Liealia jabbed her cousin with the pommel of her weapon and pointed to a hole in the wall– the same one she had made moments prior. Sitting beside it sat an expensive grandfather clock, so I stashed it in my ring before we rushed into the narrow tunnel. 

---

The singi known as Scratch held his dagger in a reversed grip. He stepped back and reached into his pocket to grasp a handful of dusty rocks, which he used to blind the guard attempting to skewer him through the chest. Glimmer, who held a double-headed axe, used the nearby chair to leap into the air, bringing her bloody weapon upon the bastard, cleaving his arm.    

Scratch followed it up with a thrust through the helmet’s visor, only becoming satisfied and moving on once he felt something fleshy. And it wasn't a moment too soon because someone shot a burning arrow at the corpse, causing a pillar of flames to burn it to a crisp.    

The archer was a fellow singi wearing a breastplate covered with bones. He held a crooked grin, yet it vanished in moments as Glimmer’s husband grabbed tables and started chucking them like pebbles. Creevca used a spell called [Astral Projection: Bow] to summon her bow of magic. A whimsy arrow of pure wind appeared when she pulled the string back.    

Most elves were born with masterful control over the bow, yet those that weren't were declared failures and often exiled from their village. Creevca was one such outcast. She devoted herself to being accepted by her clan.    

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! 

Just like that, she sent three arrows and guided three people to the afterlife. It had been ten minutes since the operation began. The guards rushed the guests to the panic rooms. Well, some weren't so lucky and fell in battle-- their corpses stomped and crushed by friend and foe alike.    

Fifteen people held the line while a select few ventured to free the other captive slaves. Those on the stage, when they arrived, were already running down the escape tunnel. They were bound and chained together, so their progress was slow. Above all else, Scratch and the others knew that they couldn't let a single enemy breach the tunnel.    

That would be a failure, and the line they constructed would fall soon after, leading to their untimely deaths.    

It was also vital to prevent the enemies from requesting backup, something they had already failed. His feline-like eyes saw a young scout rush through the far doors– separate from the path leading to the dressing rooms or the panic rooms. There was just one entrance and exit for most people. And the guards that chased after Servi and the two ring leaders of this operation would encounter a collapsed hallway. 

So really, it was a race against time. Would the kobold break the locks and free the slaves before reinforcements came? Would Scratch and the others hold the line? There were many points of failure for the freedom fighters, while their enemies had many avenues of victory.    

But no one said it was going to be easy! Scratch ducked under a horizontal slash and placed his hand on the floor. “[Lightning Rod]! “Hey! Hurry up!” 

“[Thunder’s Banquet]!” A robe-covered man swirled lightning around his hands and unleashed it towards the glowing pillar Scratch summoned. Once the magic spell found refuge on the construct, Scratch flipped his dagger over and jabbed it through the glowing top, causing the built-up energy to launch like a wave of shocking, yellow flames. It was a powerful spell, but slow and easy to avoid. But if nothing else, it forced their opponents to remain low to the ground, reducing their mobility, at which Creevca sniped them with their bow. She wasn't strong enough to pierce armor, but the elf had trained for years to become competent enough to aim for the gaps between their protective gear, often striking the knee or elbow. And that allowed the stronger freedom fighters to finish the job.    

Their combo attacks and teamwork made up for their lacking numbers. Primarily because they knew firsthand the horror-- it was no secret that everyone here knew what monotonia was. Even worse, their presence here suggested everyone approved of the devilish pill. And none of the freedom fighters could ever forgive someone like that.   

Especially not the guards who weren't without sin. They had a choice to make. And they had made it. And now it was time for them to pay with their lives! 

---

Lieutenant Fisher Jin of the Canary Guard was sitting in his office on the top floor of the noble district branch. His silver helmet sat on the desk near him as he lifted a blisteringly hot cup of coffee to his dried, chapped lips.    

He wore his armor, which shone brilliantly even in the nearby candle and moonlight.    

His other hand held a detailed report delivered by Siora, a Wing Elf under his command. She was the same person the duke had demoted after she launched an unsanctioned patrol into the slums to search for a woman. Making your way to the city walls and allowing the force of gravity to assist in ending your life wasn't rare. But it also wasn't commonplace.    

Yet the details about the victim caused a slight in his actions.    

According to Siora and Tim, both trustworthy soldiers and loyal to a fault, said the woman had black hair, red eyes, and a crimson ring. The former two matched the person he couldn't save after Lieutenant Arnold pierced her heart in anger. In a controlled situation, you could heal someone from that injury, provided you were expecting it and had made the preparations.  

As for why Fisher was there, allowing one of his closest friends to commit unspeakable horrors?   

Well, it was because he was a weak man with weak convictions and a trembling spirit brought on from nearly a decade of living a life he wasn't proud of. Sure, he was unmatched when it came to fighting. Spells weren't his strong suit, but a god had blessed him with a skill that made up for it.  

Fisher often loathed delving into the past, although it was precisely the past that illuminated one's missteps, paving the way for personal growth. He found himself shackled by it, an impediment to his evolution. Despite its constraining grip, fate serendipitously steered his heart towards affection for an extraordinary woman. Their union bestowed them two radiant daughters, who regarded their father as the epitome of greatness. In their adoring eyes, he remained untarnished by even the faintest trace of imperfection. 

Neither they nor his wife knew of his monstrous past, but the almighty divines above knew he had attempted to tell them over three dozen times.    

Deep down, Fisher intimately understood admitting to his past would be akin to becoming alone. But the longer he waited, the more it would hurt. Truthfully, he hadn't gotten a proper night’s sleep ever since that woman somehow found something she liked about him. For most men, his life after meeting his darling Marissa was something to dream about because it was only obtainable in fiction.    

He sat the coffee cup down and rubbed his tired eyes, then stared at an illustration he had made of his family when they went to a local festival in Adenaford. His wife was beautiful. That long brown hair matched his short hair in color, yet he could never get his as soft as hers. And those green eyes were like sparkling emeralds. His daughters took after their mother's hair while they had his brown eyes. But there was no doubt they were their father’s daughters.    

Fisher reached a hand and thumbed the drawing, then flipped through the report to read the definite deductions about this mysterious case. While there wasn't a body, it was nearly inconceivable for an attractive woman to survive after being declared missing in the slums.    

But that wasn't what his instincts told him. Fisher saw life fade from those crimson eyes. Before Arnold sent a message to his unit to dispose of her and the other corpses, Fisher confirmed her demise multiple times. There was no pulse, after all.    

Siora and Tim weren't liars. After filing the missing person's report, the Wing Elf went to the guild and examined their records. And yes, she found proof of Servi's survival from that fall. How could she have perished yet be alive and register with Warden hours later? Better yet, according to the investigation, Albert Crystalerik– butler of Duke Parrel Biggins– had been seen talking to a red-eyed woman before she went missing.    

For Fisher, that was a potential problem. She had seen proof unbecoming of a man in the running to become Canary's captain– the one in control of its armed forces, who only listened to the Duke of Canary’s Duchy and the king himself.    

It was his word versus the claim of a street rat. Anyone who was anyone would believe him over the red-eyed girl. All he had to do was deny the claims, but that wasn't the man Fisher wanted to become.    

He yearned for redemption. He wanted to make up for his past. All those innocents that fell victim to Lando’s Reaper had their lives cut drastically short. Nothing he could ever do would bring them back. 

Fisher knew that a thousand times.    

Sometimes, he wondered if ending it all would be the best thing. Had he not met his wife or had children, it was a path he would have taken.    

Perhaps Lieutenant Arnold would've already been the captain had that alternate future come to pass?   

“Lieutenant!!! Lieutenant Fisher?!!!!!l It’s an emergency!!!! Canary's under attack!!!!” A stern voice and heavy knocks pounded at his office door, sending him into combat mode. Without missing a beat, he threw the document against his desk, put on his helmet, and grabbed his sword.    

“Give me more information,” he commanded, changing his tone to become what his soldiers expected upon opening the door. He followed the one-eyed scout downstairs while learning about the four smoke bombs and the assault on the underground slave market.    

Yes, Fisher was well aware of it. He was regularly ordered to guard the clients who visited on orders from the duke. There wasn't much about the city that Fisher remained unfamiliar with. 

“Lieutenant Arnold, take four squads and investigate the smoke bombs.” Fisher bolted orders once he walked outside, spotting 90 soldiers standing in formation.    

The man in the black armor nodded. He raised his two-handed axe, yelled a battle cry, and immediately started on his task. All 90 followed him. Fisher reentered the building with the one-eyed man, but they headed for an unmarked room. You wouldn't find it on any map or blueprint.    

The underground slave market had many entrances hidden all over the city. All required either a passcode or phrase to enter.    

This room led to a holding cell, where forty-five armored warriors prepared for battle. They all cheered when they saw the illustrious Fisher Jin raise his shimmering sword high in the air, and they followed him through the tunnels.    

Before long, they emerged into the primary waiting room, just a mere room away from the showroom. This side held fifteen warriors whose sole purpose was to prevent anyone from reaching the headquarters. Fisher ordered them to immediately re-barricade the doors after they charged into battle.    

“Yes, sir! Give them hell! Make those bastards wish they were never born!”   

Fisher nodded, readied his sword, and bolted in as soon as it opened. Right away, [Champion’s Trance], the sole passive skill granted by his god, kicked in. It was like time slowed to a crawl. The information processed by his brain increased dramatically.    

The invaders were fighting defensively. If anything, they just wanted to control the showroom. And to reinforce it in case of any counterattack while trying to complete their objective.    

An objective, one might add, that Fisher was very much aware of.    

And how was he so sure of it?    

He was the one who leaked such vital information in the first place.    

The people attending these diabolical events to buy people weren't free of sin. Neither were their bodyguards, the guards sent by Duke Parrel Biggins to help defend the place, and certainly not the ones that came with Fisher.    

The moment he heard the door lock and barricade behind him...  

It happened.    

Fisher stopped dead in his tracks and gripped his sword’s hilt, then he turned and immediately cleaved through the closest dwarf wearing the emblem of the city he swore to defend, shedding his blood. A man with utmost combat prowess needed an exceptional sword, and his silver blade was coated with unrefined nadrium, personally financed by the foolish man who started this devious market.    

When Fisher sent skill energy through his sword, abstract blue symbols appeared on its surface. Its glowing runes beckoned—dared any onlookers to come at its wielder with their best, for it was a tool of great destruction, designed to cut through even the sturdiest armor with the utmost ease.  

Only refined nadrium could stand up to it, but that cost 100 times as much money and resources to harvest enough nadrium from falling meteorites to refine into ingots.  

A blade as powerful as this was useless if its wielder didn’t have the prowess worthy of it.     

At the same time, a spellcaster on the invading force snickered and cast a spell called [Area of Silence], which prevented sound from leaking out of a specified area…   

Which so happened to span the area of this ballroom…   

“Lieutenant…Fisher… What are you– Aaarggghhh!!!” Fisher immediately turned his weapon to the man standing to his right, cutting him down without hesitation.   

Tiny sapphire particles trailed his sword and vanished a moment later.    

But these men were trained professionals. The shock wouldn't keep them meek for long. A gnome with a spear snuck from behind. Fisher tilted his head left to avoid the thrust, then counterattacked with a heavy downward slash.    

“[Circle of Blades]!” That was a skill from the Swordmaster Skill Path, a path dangerously difficult to acquire because it meant you had to have learned fewer than five spells while advancing enough to become Advanced Rank 10. It was to showcase dedication to the path of a warrior, but magic was just too valuable for most to ignore.    

Fisher stabbed his sword into the ground, causing the ground to flash around him. Dozens of copies sprouted from the floor, impaling anything caught within.    

“Hey, you’re pretty good!” Scratch shouted, rushing in with his dagger. He finished off a few survivors. “The boss said we had inside help. I wonder why she never told that girl?”   

“... Just shut up and fight. I've completed my end of the bargain!” Fisher ducked under a thrown axe and parried a swift strike from his side, cutting through the metal staff. A mage from the freedom fighters used [Incineration Pillar] to burn the foe to cinders. A handful of spells approached the mage, but Glimmer rushed in and used her durable scales to endure the attacks before jumping back into the heat of things.    

“Hey, don't gotta tell me twice. Who knew the rat was the fabled Fisher Jin, master of blades? Consider me pumped the hell up to fight with someone like you! It gives me a chance to see if the rumors are true, ya know? If you can really take on an army 20,000 strong without any help. ” Scratch laughed, clearly in a good mood while swatting away an incoming arrow after a mage stopped it with [Telekinesis].    

Fisher moved like water, flowing so calmly from movement to movement. No one could be his equal when he was serious. But [Champion’s Trance] required a focused mind to maintain the effect. Yes, it was a passive skill– but one that had a few catches.    

It was almost similar to a skill that read minds. It downloaded the combat intent from Fisher's allies and enemies and twisted that into raw instinct. Theoretically, Fisher could mesh well with a stranger and fight as if they had fought together for decades, but only when his mind was in the right spot.    

Nonetheless, he kept the slaughter of those that looked at him as a man worthy enough to lead all of Canary.    

While they were ready to die for him to protect their city and country from all invaders, foreign and domestic... 

It was another thing entirely to die by his hands.