Zeitn
Zeitn von Uhrenstadt was tired.
Granted, that wasn’t unusual these days. Ever since he’d been humbled by the Demon Lord of the Old Capital his life had become little more than an endless downward spiral of failures and regrets. Now a weary anxiety clung to his shoulders like a ratty shroud, following him through life like a mockery of a king’s cloak.
Today had been particularly draining.
In the beginning, the tournament was a welcome distraction, one final hurrah to send his old guild out on before they were torn down. It would be boring, but on a critical mission like this he’d preferred boring any day.
Then some random dwarf he barely remembered from his youth hit him with enough lightning to kill a giant and left him knocked out in the infirmary for the better part of an hour.
That unexpected delay hadn’t cost him much, but it had drained him to the point he’d wondered if he could just forget about the plan and sleep the rest of the day away.
But he’d worked so hard to get here. Did he really want to throw it all away now?
That annoying thought wouldn’t leave him alone. It chased away his exhaustion and gave him the push he needed to get out of bed and start being productive.
Things went a bit smoother after that. Quietly carving his way through the Rodina’s support staff had reinvigorated him, reminding him that just because there were people more powerful than him in the world didn’t mean he was by any means weak.
His power was real. And under his new lord, it would only grow.
Killing Raum had been the hardest part of the whole endeavor. While any feelings he’d had for the elf had long since been buried, it didn’t make it any easier to so permanently sever that tie. But sacrifices had to be made, and old flames were easy to snuff out.
And it was worth it, because the distraction the drama queen had kicked off in his death throes was magnificent.
With most of the city’s population of adventurers trapped in a singularity he’d had all the time he needed to start working his way down his list of targets. Assassinations weren’t anything new to him, though it was rare that he was committing them against people rather than Demons. But times changed, he supposed, and him with them.
So far he’d taken out two of the Signora, a half dozen councilmen, and the head of the City Watch. With the All-Seeing setting his less important thralls loose on the city he’d even managed to do so nearly unimpeded.
The only exception had been the two kids on his list, the half-elf Johan and the Fire Mage Palmira. At first he hadn’t been able to believe his luck when he saw two of his targets running around the city alone—if the Goddess weren’t cursing his name, he could almost imagine she was smiling down on him in that moment.
Though the fact that he’d failed put a damper on that. Anti-Magic was not something he’d expected to face in this day and age. He might would have been able to find a way around it given enough time, but the sudden arrival of her had forced him to flee, lest he get ground down between two dangerous enemies.
He almost failed in that regard, though luckily his Lord was always looking out for him.
Unfortunately, that woman was also on his list. She’d been dangerous even before she’d started delving into whatever dark arts had consumed her, and now he worried she might be too much even for him.
No, it would be fine. He was strong. A simple priestess was nothing to him.
Right. It wouldn’t do to stew in fear. He controlled time. It didn’t matter how powerful she was if she couldn’t touch him.
Regardless, she wasn’t his priority yet. With some of the adventurers back on the streets he’d pulled back to assassinating political figures, and with the Ambrosi checked off his list he now turned his sights on their ancient enemies.
In no time at all he made it to his next destination, Castle Capparelli.
The castle of the old Dukes of Firozzi dominated the heart of the Duke’s Quarter. Sprawling yet squat, the man-made stone of its construction stood in direct contrast to the organic scales and bones of the Ambrosi’s seat of power beneath Vesuvius. Once it had been the most fortified citadel in the region, though following the populist revolt the outer walls had long since been torn down as a way to limit the Capparelli’s power in the city. What remained today was a dated villa, reduced from its old glory yet still resplendent in its own way.
In recent decades the Capparelli had clawed their way back into power, year by year seizing another inch of the Ambrosi’s power base. A century ago the idea of the old dukes returning to dominate the city was ludicrous, but time made fools of them all it seemed.
And after how badly he’d ravaged the Ambrosi, they’d have a clear shot at finishing off their ancient rivals and taking the city for themselves.
This could not be allowed to happen.
He would make sure it would not happen.
Luckily, his enemies liked making his life easy. The main branch of the Capparelli Famiglia had become big and bloated, held together only by the political acumen of their current Matriarch. It didn’t take a Demonic spymaster to know what would happen when she finally croaked—her children practically lived in different cities for how much they hated each other.
Therefore, his next action should be obvious.
Zeitn walked calmly through the open gates of the inner walls, having been opened for just a moment to allow a troop of guards to pass through. Near-frozen in time, they moved a bare millimeter as he casually slipped past.
Now in the inner courtyard he continued on his way, his leisurely pace not slowing in the slightest. Within the gates the opulence of the wealthy elites was on full display. Marble statues by famous artists stood proud between exotic plants from across the sea. Silken tapestries hung motionless in the breeze, beautiful works of art which even he was forced to stop and admire. Standing next to a maid in the middle of cleaning one he hummed, promising himself he’d stop and steal some of these on the way out. Continuing on he passed a dozen men and women kneeling before a priest, a prayer of purification frozen on his lips. Likely they were servants, as he couldn’t see the Capparelli allowing outsiders into their home during such a critical time.
Not that he cared one way or the other. Even before he’d found his new lord he wasn’t one to bother with what the Capparelli did or did not allow.
Case in point, this was far from the first time he’d snuck into their grounds like this.
Ignoring the main door, he meandered over to a corner of the garden where a trellis leaned against the stone wall directly beneath an open window. Vines and moss had overgrown it to the point it was near invisible in its mundanity, and the lack of maintenance it had received was obvious in how much of the wood was pockmarked and rotting. The fact it hadn’t collapsed under its own weight yet was a minor miracle.
With time so utterly slowed, Zeitn climbed up it as though it were made of solid steel.
He smiled to himself as he finally entered the main building. The groundskeeper hadn’t moved that trellis in a near decade, much to his amusement. Laziness, he’d found, was the easiest thing to take advantage of when infiltrating a building.
Walking through halls he knew like the back of his hand, Zeitn considered that perhaps the Capparelli had gotten a bit complacent. Or maybe they’d just never figured out how to properly defend against a time mage. He knew that most of the Ambrosi’s defenses had only been installed after he joined.
Whatever the case, it just made his job easier. Arriving at the heart of the castle, the elf smiled as he slipped through a closing door to find the woman he was looking for waiting right where he’d expected her to be.
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Once the throne room of the Duchy of Firozzi, it now acted as the solar of a family long fallen from grace. In his father’s day tribute from across half the peninsula would find its way here, hoarded by the most powerful men in the region. Now that wealth was sparser, the decorations shiny and new and lacking history. The Ambrosi hadn’t been the only ones to pillage their once-subjugators after the revolts. All that remained of that time was an ancient throne, its only grandeur held in how old it was.
And sitting on that decaying throne was Matilda dei Capparelli, the Matriarch of the Capparelli Famiglia. Holding court as though she were a Duchess in truth.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her. She was smaller than her reputation made him expect, a petite little lady who’d likely killed more people than he ever could. Hers was a danger of poisons and perfumes over blood and blades. When dealing with her as a political enemy you could never let your guard down lest she sink her fangs into your neck.
Admittedly, he had never liked her. She’d led the Capparelli through the majority of his time under the Ambrosi, and some grudges didn’t vanish just because you changed sides.
That being said—no matter how much he was going to enjoy this—this wasn’t personal.
His lord commands, and so he kills.
Time returned to normal, and the elderly woman’s pupils dilated in fear in the split second it took her to recognize who stood in front of her. He gave her a sardonic smile, his dagger already raised.
Her guards moved, fast but not fast enough. Shock had a habit of dulling one’s reflexes. Beyond them people shouted as they realized what was going on, her many sons and daughters scrambling in blind panic. It was a familiar reaction, and one he’d grown long used to ignoring.
With clinical ease he slit the little human’s throat.
Time slowed to a near standstill once more, a sword mere inches from his back. Stepping away from it, he took a moment to admire the scene. The flailing aristocrats, the worthless guards, and the dying Duchess. Blood even now spurted from the hole in her neck, painting the air in a red rainbow of death. There was fear frozen in her eyes.
She wasn’t yet dead, and would live hours longer to him than the rest of the world. Until the moment he resumed normal time she’d technically survive.
It was a heady feeling, being able to control life and death like this. Almost intoxicating.
There was a reason he decided to become an assassin. And Goddess forgive him, there was a reason he was even now unable to quit.
Patting himself on the back for a job well done, he left.
What, expecting him to kill the rest of them? Purge the entire Capparelli Famiglia, root and stem?
Why would he bother doing that when they’d tear each other apart just fine on their own?
He did, however, steal one of the tapestries on his way out. They really were too beautiful to let go to waste in a place like this.
-
He continued killing people for much of the afternoon. Important people, dangerous people, and even some unimportant people just to spice things up. Most of them he wasn’t sure why exactly they needed to die, but since when was he one to question orders?
Unfortunately, however, his list was running low on names. And one near the top stood out like a roach in the corner of the room that he was growing steadily less able to ignore.
Rosalina the Priestess was dangerous. She was deadly. In a straight fight she would almost certainly kill him without breaking a sweat.
She also wasn’t at all subtle, which means he knows exactly where she is. Unfortunately.
Zeitn skulked his way through the alleyways of the Old Quarter. Ashes of the corrupted littered the streets, giving him a clear path to reluctantly follow. Ever since the woman had escaped Sinbad she and her thralls were carving through his lord’s army like a hot knife through butter. From what he’d been able to glean from the hivemind she had yet to suffer even so much as a scratch in the process.
It was, admittedly, a little intimidating.
But she couldn’t control time. He’d be fine. All he needed to do was slit her throat and he’d win.
Right, of course. Regardless, it was far too late to back out now. There was too much at stake, too much already lost for them to fail now.
With Iscrimo a failure his lord’s original plan was dust in the wind. Firozzi would naturally have been next, giving them free reign to march on the Holy City of Vola. But even if they couldn’t take the city, they could at least make sure it burned.
Firozzi would collapse under its own weight. The great families would bleed each other dry in a pointless war over a crumbling city. And all it took to set it all off was a little bit of murder.
Soon enough he found the priestess, the trail of ashes leading directly to her.
Rosalina stood in the middle of an alleyway, her hair haloed in blinding flame and her staff buried deep into a burning corpse’s chest. A soft divine light poured from the cracks in her skin, chasing away even the barest hint of shadow. Even frozen in time, she was a daunting sight.
Zeitn paused for a moment, centering himself. Time was still slowed, giving him ample ability to prepare. Thought that would only last until he decided to act.
That was his magic’s great weakness—as that infuriating dwarf seemed to have figured out. He could slow down time all he wanted, but after he found it impossible to affect the very world he was slowing down. It didn’t matter how hard he cut, whether he focused on flesh or paper, it refused to move. If he slowed down the world enough, even the air itself became difficult to walk through.
He never went further than that. Some questions had very obvious answers, and he preferred living.
Though where the what of his magic’s weakness was clear cut, to this day he’d never figured out the why. Maybe the Goddess saw his strength and intervened to prevent him from becoming unstoppable. Maybe there was some hitherto unknown law of physics that he was running afoul of. Maybe it was simply a subconscious block he’d put on himself, a limit a primitive part of his brain refused to cross.
Maybe none of those things. Maybe all of them. It wasn’t something he dwelled on much.
It is what it is. Better he focus on what he could do than what he couldn’t.
Stepping forward, he placed his dagger against the priestess’ neck. Out of instinct he pressed, even knowing it couldn’t break the skin. But sue him, he was nervous. He’d only get one shot at this, and every millisecond wasted was a millisecond he’d be risking his life.
Sending up a quick prayer—for all the good it would do—he returned time to normal.
And with a flick of his wrist, he buried his blade deep into her neck.
Rosalina didn’t even bother struggling. The blindfold masked her eyes from him, but he could still feel her attention, like a blazing sun bearing down on his very soul.
He dug deeper, sweat forming on his brow as he tore through flesh and bone to carve through her neck. She opened her mouth—perhaps to curse him, perhaps to pray—but he didn’t spare her the moment.
With one last desperate tug, he pulled his blade straight out the other side, and Rosalina’s head rolled off her neck, thoroughly decapitated.
It hit the ground with a meaty ‘thunk,’ rolling to a stop at his feet.
All at once, the tension which had built up drained away. He’d have laughed if he were able, but as it was all he could do was stumble over to the nearest wall, heavily leaning against it as he calmed his racing heart.
…Heh. That was easier than he’d expected.
“Oh dear. It seems a truly vile creature has attempted to desecrate my body.”
Zeitn leapt off the wall, blades in hand in an instant. What… she was dead. He killed her!
“But for one such as I, is death really so great a barrier?”
Her body still stood. He hadn’t noticed—hadn’t paid attention—because who would!? He’d cut off her head!
“Be not afraid, little one,” her head whispered from where it rested at his feet. He stumbled back, eyes wide in fear. “Redemption is still possible, even for something like you.”
She didn’t bleed. He’d been so focused on killing her that he didn’t even notice. There was nothing beneath her skin but light and bone.
The body took a step towards him, and he took a step back. The head smiled up at him as hands reached down to gently cradle it with long, spindly fingers.
He watched in horror as Rosalina placed her head back onto her shoulders. From the wound he’d carved a blinding light spilled forth, and in an instant all that remained of the life-ending injury was a thin white crack, barely visible beneath her chin.
As she did the blindfold which hid her eyes fell off, having come loose on the ground. His breath caught at what he saw beneath.
Black, soulless pits stared out from her skull. Not simply dark, but empty, like two points of nothingness gleefully pinning his soul in place. They were not the eyes of a human.
Zeitn realized, in that moment, that he could not kill her. Not by mortal means.
A moment later, he remembered that he could control time, and that he really should get the hell out of here.
Unfortunately, that was a moment too late.
Rosalina was suddenly standing before him, having moved too fast for him to follow. Her hands clasped themselves around his cheeks, her nails digging deep into his skin, her pinkies locking behind his neck.
Time slowed down, but he couldn’t move. Her grip was too firm, and his body too weak. He’d decapitate himself if he tried to tear himself free.
And unlike her, he wouldn’t be coming back from that.
He stood there for what might have been an eternity, staring into the infinite darkness of the woman who was going to kill him. His heart pounded harder in his chest, and hysterically he wondered if dying of a heart attack would be a better way to go out than whatever she had planned for him.
Then he shook the thought away. No, no. He was Zeitn von Uhrenstadt! A powerful mage of international renown! If he was going to die, he’d go down swinging.
He brought up his daggers and, when time resumed, buried them both hilt deep into Rosalina’s chest.
It did nothing. She simply smiled, moving one of her hands to gently cup his chin.
Then in a single blinding movement she tore off the mask which covered the lower half of his face, revealing what he’d been so desperate to hide beneath.
A putrid eye the size of an apple throbbed in his mouth, glaring at the human before it with the hatred that only a Demon could possess. Thick veins grew from its sides, twisting across his lips to bury themselves in his chin and nose. The entire lower half of his face was a deep purple, contrasting grotesquely with the yellow eye in the center.
“What a wretched thing you’ve become,” she whispered, fingers tightening against his skull. Some of the veins tore themselves from his face, trying to connect to her fingers only to burn the second they got close.
Zeitn gagged, unable to speak in his defense. Whatever defense that might have even been.
He knew what he had become. And, perhaps, he’d always known it would lead him here.
“But you need not worry,” she continued, her fingers beginning to smolder against his cheeks. Despite the agony, her tone was almost reassuring. “Everyone has a place at my side. Even people like you.”
Please, he begged with his eyes. Please.
“It does not matter how much you sin,” Rosalina whispered kindly, divine fire blackening his skin. Her face projected love, even as her eyes promised death. Then she leaned forward and gently kissed his brow, her lips somehow hotter than the flames. “Because I forgive you.”
Beneath blinding light his head burned. And behind his Demonic gag, all Zeitn could do was scream.
was meant to be a bit longer, but I decided to shuffle some stuff around do to time so this is what we ended up with. But we get to see what’s behind Zeitn’s mask! It’s eyes! And we also get to see what’s behind Rosalina’s blindfold! It’s not eyes!
th rather than the 3rd.