Soulforged Dungeoneer

I found myself feeling almost helpless very quickly after hustling my new assassin 'friend' into my apartment. I was nervous about turning immediately to Louise, partly because I didn't think she could help and partly because 'Hey I just accidentally enslaved a woman' was not the kind of phrase to say to your girlfriend; however, when I sent a message to Harry, I didn't get an immediate response, and in fact I quickly remembered that he was still in government custody, or at least on their bad side, after he tried to rescue me at Armand Bayou. I thought about Kamau, but I knew so damn little about the man; our only real point of contact was about Fairies, and that didn't seem to be relevant here. The large, intimidating black man might have the resources to look into this, but I also had the general impression that he would not be eager to get involved with me unless it interested him, one way or another.

Speaking of fairies, Merry was of course giving the assassin, Zoya, an examination, as well as she could, but for all that both my magic and the Dungeon System had enabled this, it seemed to be less of a status effect in the mechanical system sense, and more like actual violence had been done that was not easily healed. She explained to me, in brief, that the fact that I had some kind of control over Zoya had as much to do with the fact that the woman's consciousness seemed to be damaged or missing as anything; with that gone, and me having a magical stake in her, the system was ready, maybe even eager to have me claim her body as some kind of Dungeon artifact.

Which was creepy as all hell.

I hadn't forgotten, either, that the other woman in the pair, the one who I'd manipulated Zoya into betraying, had escaped. It had been kind of a spur of the moment thought, taking the woman over, but it had come when I felt a flood of emotion in her at her handler's words. It felt like... like she was sure that she would be punished, tortured somehow. Given that Dungeoneers don't feel pain the same way... it was difficult for me to imagine how she was being tortured, but there was no question that the handler had found a way.

As I considered the assassins, I found my thoughts drift back to a place I genuinely did not expect. In spite of everything, Vlad--the Russian man from the International Dungeoneer's Association, who had rambled on at the meeting and sent me a gift basket after the first time this same woman had attacked me, at Armand Bayou--had left me a note with a phone number and suggested he would do me a favor.

Granted, that seemed like an absolutely terrible idea.

Vlad had mob contacts and was, as far as I could tell, actually legitimately evil, if in an affable, distractible way. Admitting to him that I had the ability to control people's minds felt like I would be getting the attention of one, or several, people who were probably not actually aware of me, and certainly not aware of my brand-new ability. And... I frowned, though it turned into a slightly crazy smile at the memory. Vlad had said, directly and without ambiguity, that he knew of people who wanted me dead, even back then.

Even after everything I'd been through, that whole conversation was a fucking trip, wasn't it?

What was it he'd said about assassins back then, anyway? I tried to remember, eventually coming up with, something about, keep your head on your shoulders and understand the mind of assassins; is not movie. I came out of that thought and looked at the assassin, that thought rolling around in my head as I did. It certainly wasn't a movie; I could tell that even before I'd broken her brain, this woman was abused and broken until she became little more than a tool.

Vlad also said to consider the possibility of bombs, snipers, and poison. I... hadn't considered the possibility of a bomb at my apartment, and immediately started snooping around. I didn't immediately find anything, though I had to admit, if I was worried about bombs, I should probably be just as worried about rockets, which I wouldn't see coming any better than I would see sniper shots coming, and wasn't that thought fresh on my mind.

The sniper wound in my shoulder had, of course, healed; it was a high-caliber bullet, but not any kind of special Dungoneer thing that prevented things from healing. If I'd had to rely too much on that shoulder in combat, I would have been in danger, but as a telekinetic who frequently wielded two weapons at a time, I wasn't in nearly as much danger as assassins might expect.

Eventually, grudgingly, I did send Louise a text saying we needed to talk, and then I sat looking at Zoya for a long while, wondering what the hell had happened to her. Because... I sighed. It wasn't a movie, or a dream. Whatever had happened to her had actually happened.

Unlike back then, when I was fighting possession by ghosts, I had proof positive that my abilities worked and that I wasn't insane. I was still having trouble believing that. I suppose, in a way, I should be having trouble believing the whole Dungeoneer thing, since that had changed the world so much, but that had never felt as personal as what went on inside my head. Even with all the bullshit I got involved in, it was easy to say that none of that was my business so much as everyone else's, but what went on inside my own head was exactly my business, and nobody else's.

And now I was responsible for what happened in someone else's head, and it felt really bad.

I found myself thinking of Vlad again and again as I sat around waiting for a couple hours for Louise to come by, and I ended up looking at the note he'd left me. It promised that he might be able to help with things, in exchange for a favor. I very much didn't want to owe someone like him an unspecified favor; when you considered that I'd probably be becoming an Administrator, assuming I didn't die, that was probably the kind of thing that I could skip out on, but I also didn't feel particularly great about using him and not paying him back.

It was around three hours after I originally hit her with the ability that I sensed a change in Zoya, and the status window for her that I'd pulled up slowly fuzzed up with static and eventually dropped. I hadn't done anything; either the woman had healed on her own, or the System had decided on a limited duration for the [ Enthralled ] condition.

I moved forward to try to help, as the woman who had been sitting on my couch fell over, and I caught her and laid her out on the couch instead. As I studied her, I found that, for the moment, she was unconscious, but that only lasted five-ten minutes at most. When she started to come back, the first thing I sensed was a pain and confusion, and then fear, which escalated into... well, I could pull out a thesaurus and come out with a whole bunch of variants on the word fear, but the point is, it was intense to the point that it controlled her.

As that panic rolled over her, she snapped upright, already cringing like she expected to be struck, and I backed off, raising my hands to try to look innocent. But when she looked around, her eyes barely dwelled on me for a moment, instead looking for something else, or (I suspected), someone else. And when she didn't find that, she leaped up and started moving for the window.

"Wait." I had the Cloak ready, mostly focused on telekinesis. "You're safe here, I pro--"

Zoya turned at me, and clenched a fist in an odd way; I bet she expected one of her swords to appear in her hand, but the one thing I'd done while I had control over her was empty her inventory of anything that was either a weapon or a communications tool. When nothing came to her, she started backing away from me, away from the window and the door as well; she would end up in a corner if she continued, but she clearly wasn't thinking about that.

"Safe?" Her voice had a slightly manic edge to it. "You don't know anything. There is no safety in this world."

And she slipped into a Stealth so powerful that I suddenly couldn't detect her at all, though I didn't need to; I swept out with the Cloak, and when it encountered resistance, I pushed Zoya back towards the corner. I was aware of how that would probably affect her, but...

The shitty drywall crumpled a bit where the woman fell into it, but she didn't make a noise--or I couldn't hear it, which wasn't the same thing. I cornered her, but kept my distance, and tried to make my voice soothing. "Easy... I'm not going to hurt you, but I can't let you escape, either. Just calm down and let's talk. I won't let... I won't let that woman get you again, I promise.

I ended up repeating myself a few times, but it was Merry flying her way up to my shoulder that ended up distracting the woman enough to calm her down. Zoya, a minute or so after Merry appeared, let her Stealth fade, and although I could feel intense paranoia still radiating from her, her curiosity seemed to have gotten the better of her.

"What is that creature?" she asked, looking at my shoulder.

"She's a person, not a creature. A fairy." I smiled, though it was a bit of a grim smile, because I was still stressed out by the encounter. "Her name is Merry."

"Hi!" said Merry, waving politely.

Zoya's fascination was obvious, but it didn't take much--a small movement from me--before it stopped being central attention. Whatever was going through her head, though, she'd broken that initial spell that had completely consumed her with fear. "Where am I?"

"My home, for now."

She finally looked at me and started to recognize me as the target she had failed to kill. "What..." she started to ask the question, and then found herself at a loss.

"I won't tell you all the details, but I controlled you and attacked your... partner." Not that partner was the right word, but I was trying to avoid revealing how much I already knew. "She fled."

Zoya grimaced. "But she is alive."

I tried to keep myself from smiling at that. "As far as I know. Your sword has damage-over-time ability, but you only landed one hit on her. To the throat." Zoya was a blooded dungeoneer--no shock there--but from what Merry and I could tell, that had not been refreshed, so we were pretty sure the other woman wasn't dead.

Zoya shook her head. "She has items to give her immunity to my weapons. It would not have even damaged her."

That, I was sure, wasn't true. I didn't exactly get a health bar on the woman, but I could tell significant damage had been done. "I don't think she knows where you are, unless she knows how to track you."

Zoya looked down, and I could feel her emotions grow cold and dead inside of her. "I am under the influence of a skill, Chains of the Heretic Sultan. All that I know for sure is that she will always find me, and I will never be able to harm her."

Somehow, that skill name sounded a lot like The Devil's Rebirth Contract. I glanced at Merry, who looked back at me. Was it the same skill, the name localized to a different culture, or a completely different one? Either way, it stank to me of a skill about ownership. I frowned. "Is it the skill or the equipment that prevents you from hurting her?"

"She will never tell me that."

"Of course." I sighed, and brushed Merry with telepathy. If that skill gave the other woman ownership of Zoya, and the Cloak gave us temporary ownership, did we break the Chains?

Merry frowned, and looked at Zoya. After a moment, the fairy lifted off my shoulder and moved to fly in front of the woman's face. Zoya looked up as soon as she caught the motion, and looked at the fairy again as though enraptured.

"Do you mind if I touch you?" asked Merry. "I want to see if I can sense her control over you."

Zoya trembled, but was able to suppress the terror inside of her after only a moment. "I do not care," she said, though we could both tell just how much a lie that was. "My life is worth nothing. Do as you please."

I wouldn't have, but Merry took that as an affirmative invitation and settled on the woman's bare head.

As Merry touched the woman, I found myself actually looking at the woman as a person, and not just as an assassin. Her face had been chiseled with stress, but it was relatively pretty; she was clearly of some south Asian lineage, perhaps Indian, Pakistani, or similar, but I didn't see a reason to ask. Though she was still mostly covered with black cloth meant to anonymize her--I considered taking it off, but she was almost naked beneath, with no spare clothes in her inventory, clearly one of many controls her handler used to prevent thought of escape--I could tell that she was on the slim side of fit.

That made me wonder, not for the first time, exactly how Dungeoneer biology regulated our forms, and I ended up looking away from her as my thoughts wandered. Stress hurt people, that was a given; however the Dungeoneer body repaired damage. When I looked at Zoya and got the impression that her form was shaped by stress, but if she was constantly healed...

"You're definitely still under the effects of her Skill," said Merry, bringing me back to the present. "It looks like she killed you and stole your soul. But it also seems like she doesn't have control of you right now."

Zoya had a grimace frozen on her face, and I wasn't sure exactly which part of the news was breaking her. I considered what Merry had said, and tapped my chin thoughtfully.

"I never used it on a person, but the Contract turned the boss monster into a pet item. If Chains does the same thing to a person, then presumably the item itself is what controls her. And in that case... she probably wouldn't bring it with her."

Merry nodded at my assessment. "I can tell you it's relatively close; I can't say it's in this city, but it's somewhere between here and the coast. That general direction," she waved at a given wall that pointed roughly Southeast, "and not insanely far away."

I looked at the assassin. "If we got that item, we could free her."

Zoya heard my words, but I could see written on her face the moment she had a contrarian thought: Or they could control me themselves.

Merry looked at me. "It's almost certainly not in a Dungeon. This could mean fighting people in the real world."

That sounded like a very good way to get arrested for longer than six months, lose my Dungoneer status, lose my chance at becoming an Administrator, and end up as nobody and nothing for the rest of my life--or possibly just dying to a high level Dungeoneer. But as I looked at the assassin woman in my apartment, who had been murdered, turned into a tool, and tortured (somehow, in that order), I felt the same simmering hatred that I'd felt when I learned of what happened to Bo.

"We'll do it," I said, kind of on the spur of the moment. "And I think I know who to call."