Untempered honor is a form of enslavement as well. It leaves one vulnerable to mercy when an enemy masters you and leaves the edge of their blade upon your neck, allowing the coldness to settle in, but never pressing hard enough to gouge you open and let your blood flow in the fullness of coming shame. You then are bound to them. The steel becomes a figurative chain, and you realize that your fate is no longer yours to wield. Gods and others, you have been bested, and in the besting, you have been spared.
But sparing you is not a bad solution for your enemy. No, it is bondage in a form. Bondage that will mark your memories—and if your enemy is a proper philosopher, one who has an interest in delving into the mysteries of heart, mind, and flesh, they will learn to wield you well, better than the blade they used against you. Their power over you will become figurative first, then literal, for they will learn what machinations guide you, what rules you abide by. Your habits, your traditions, your very thoughts will become sculpted through exposure to your superior-savior.
It is important that you ensure this does not happen, and if you are to take on attributes or change because of the influence of your superior-savior, then do so only after confirming with your own rationality and understanding that it is to your benefit. Sometimes it is crueler than death to be bound to another's will, simply because you think they gave you back your life rather than claiming it. Another way is a deeper mistake, a darker mistake, and subtler mistake, so fine that many miss its presence altogether…
—Legend-Philosopher Melaia Kelhaus
VIII-9
Loose Ends
“Hero-Vanguard Havel Van Stormhalt, I've got good news for you! You're going on leave, and by 'on leave,' I mean packing up and going back home immediately. I need your help dealing with your household.”
Shiv's request arrived like a dagger in an alley, surprising both Avatar and Ascendant. Dust fell, descending as curtains of light mist, as another spell detonated above. The world beneath them trembled as tectonic plates and unthinkably massive sections of earth coiled and slammed together, trying to dislodge or crush any subterranean saboteurs. Despite the best efforts of the gods of blood and sacrifice, however, what remained of the Unforgiven endured.
They numbered ten at the start of the raid: two teams made up of eight Heroic Vanguards, Archers, Magi, and Assassins, and two Legends. Now there were only four of them left—soon to be three if they couldn't figure out how to stop Renfri's heart from calcifying. The metallic floor was slick with blood and filth, both substances spilling out from the petrification-cursed abdomen of Hero-Aeromancer Renfri Van Guste—the second team's dedicated mage. With only five meters of space and extraction minutes away, the survivors had to contend with the sounds and tastes of death.
But they were long used to it now. It was part of the bargain: join the Unforgiven of their own volition, persuaded by the Deathless; in exchange, their house's name and reputation would be upheld. Otherwise, well… a social death sometimes hurt more than a literal one.
That didn't mean Shiv was beyond shame. He knew there was something dark and vile about executing these deniable operations for the Auroral Council, but it was part of the game. The great bargain to spare Piety and ensure their safety and the stability of the Republic. It bound him deeper into the web of great power politics, but it was inevitable anyway.
Especially with what he'd learned about the Southern Gods. Veronica called them the Strayed Ones, deities not of this world that bound mortals to their blood and their will. Unlike practically every other god on Integrated Earth outside of Demigods, they didn't operate by casting themselves into a physical vessel of faith in the form of an Avatar. Rather, they were manifested directly through great architectures of ley lines, channeling expressions of divine mana through their ever-expanding network of temples. Each of the Southern Gods effectively had a constantly growing divine anchor that didn't rely on any one specific object or person.
Furthermore, from what Shiv understood, the Strayed Ones that inhabited the lands south of the Republic were only the latest and most insignificant set of offspring to the eldest of their pantheon, which spanned innumerable realities and dimensions with ambient mana thresholds far, far higher than that of Integrated Earth. Effectively, worlds that were still capped at Legendary-Tier served as playgrounds for new generations of the Strayed Ones to squabble over while their elders resided in the countless worlds that composed the higher realms
But even if the Wolf of No Suns and its sibling, the Feathered Serpent, the two Southern Gods closest to the Yellowstone border, were among the youngest of their family, they still held an edge all their own. An edge that far exceeded the Pale of the North and all its thralls. The Republic spared the Frost Giants because they were more like a whetstone rather than a proper adversary. The same couldn't be said about the Strayed Ones, for when they gathered their forces to bear and infused their divine will and skills into their chosen champions, burning away their vitality to enhance them in ways that few others could, they devastated both land and armies alike.
They spent the weakest of their number to fuel the strongest, and they had a great many lives to spend. If the Wolf of No Suns, the Feathered Serpent, and others of their generation were only capable of coexisting or even just temporarily aligning with each other without breaking down into bouts of internecine conflict, Shiv suspected they could sweep through the southern reaches of the Republic within weeks and likely consume Lone Star in short order as well.
Thankfully, however, the Strayed Ones were not so keen on kinship. Viewing one another more as rival predators, their natures were even more counter-harmonious than that of the orcs, and such was their greatest weakness. It was what allowed Shiv and his Unforgiven to strike, and strike deep. Over and over, he triggered battles between the southern armies, none of them marching under the same banner, each of them serving a different god. That made them as much an enemy to their fellow southerners as it did their would-be victims in the north.
And it was because of that lack of unity that Sooth ended up as a Ranger of Lone Star. Her parents were once priests of another Southern God, one that had been devoured by the Wolf of No Suns. It had been young and vulnerable, kindly compared to its siblings.
For a god built on sacrifice, kindness was an unaffordable and fatal vice.
Tlaocoltentli, she called him. Tlaocoltentli of the Gentle Chain.
Yet Shiv found himself glad that Tlaocoltentli was dead. A god kindly to its own was beyond dangerous when arrayed against an outsider enemy. A kindly god could be counted upon, could lead, could be a unifying column. In a low-trust society, a kindly figure would be a banner to flock toward if overwhelmed, when the rest of your civilization found itself encroached upon by an equal or superior. The North could have served as their equal or superior. A kindly god could have served as that banner, but it wasn't to be.
Oftentimes, civilizations poisoned themselves from within before the battle even began. The Republic had its own diseases, but the Southerners? Well, they made the Republic's symptoms look tame. The worst thing about spending time under Veronica's tutelage was discovering just how true a lot of her words were. She was a monster, the Ascendants degenerated, and the Inquisition rotten to the core, but even so, despite the despicable actions they performed, despite the horrors they indulged in and the costs it took to fuel both their needs and wants, they were nothing compared to the Strayed Ones. Even Longinus could be distracted by a few lives for the span of months; the Wolf of No Suns burned through ten thousand people in a day and ensured breeding operations to keep himself fueled.
Such was also the Southern Gods' greatest weakness. They were logistically fragile. They needed sacrifice to be made manifest. It was practically scarred into each of their lores. Every single one held Domains of Offering and Giving, and the fuel for their power had to be given willingly: psionically or emotionally coerced sacrifices were empty calories, offering no power at all. The willingness was a narrative prerequisite, so to speak. It was a potent thing to give oneself for faith in a higher will, faith of a darker expression, but faith nonetheless.
And it was the fragility of that faith Shiv targeted. They had sacked one of the Republic's border towns, capturing the tripwire soldiers there and torturing them for information. While they were overextended, however, the Wolf of No Suns and the Feathered Serpent began fighting amongst each other, jousting as colossal forms of divine mana given shape, and their armies responded in kind. A simple spat turned into a bloodletting, and where the Republic suffered a few hundred losses, a small town subsumed by a foreign adversary, two war hosts of the South, fifty thousand strong, smashed against each other, tearing and gouging as their mutated forms sought bone and flesh in grievance, reaping lives and ruining their scouting run before it could fully begin.
While they were distracted, gaps opened. The Unforgiven ventured along these gaps, using the darkness, Diviners, and Blessings provided by the Midnight and the Endbreaker to strike deep into the rear lines of the enemy before pulling back out.
This was the result: seven of the Unforgiven dead, soon to be eight. The deaths brought them much benefit; the Wolf of No Suns would need to reconstitute himself, while Shiv lost a body and gained a victory. He reached and shattered a temple down to its foundations while the others contaminated ley lines and freed slaves.
The Wolf of No Suns dispatched one of his champions, the woman's nude body burning with scar sigils that mirrored the now-fetid pools of incandescent mana which marred the lands. It was a symmetry between the ley lines and the local champions, an effigy that mirrored the Wolf of No Suns in a way Shiv didn't fully grasp yet.
The champion was a powerful and aberrant Pyromancer. She didn't summon flames from herself and was utterly devoid of a mana field. Instead, she sacrificed thousands of lesser faithful to call beams of light down from the sun, and where the starshine fell, the world burned, and kept burning without end. Such was what eradicated the first team in an instant and cost Shiv one of his vessels, incinerating his trespassing shadows in five seconds and searing through his Magical Resistance after another half minute longer. But such was not enough for the champion to claim victory, for in overexerting her Legendary skill to overcome Shiv's resistance, she left herself unguarded, and Havel Van Stormhalt fell in a bolt of pitch-black lightning, piercing her with a three-pronged weapon imbued with the Endbreaker’s power.
Even impaled and being flooded by the power of a hostile god, she continued to send out pulses of incandescence and flashes of wrathful solar magic that swept the land, but she had been pierced deep. The pronged bolt of lightning split her flesh and marred the scar sigils that marked her as one of the Wolf's chosen scions, and, with the disruption between her and the pollution of the ziggurat and its surrounding land, the power she wielded became erratic and turned against her. It burned without consideration or proper guidance, and the chaotic breakdown of magics that scoured the land clean of life and soul for dozens of leagues in every cardinal direction only ended when Jessica separated the champion's head from her neck.
“Is this another test?” Havel asked, responding to Shiv's greeting. His gaze bordered on a glare, his grey eyes like gleaming steel marred in the aftermath of battle. Shiv could feel the trauma boiling inside him, twisting and turning like a sickness he needed to expel. Stormhalt was a good vanguard, a disciplined soldier. He'd seen many campaigns, killed countless enemies, and watched friends fall in great numbers, but his stoicism was a performance, and he forced silence upon his mind like a tyrant ruling over himself. He was ultimately a sensitive man. And how could he not be, with how much Roland and Shiv colonized his ruined heart?
As Stormhalt played the unshaken vanguard, his Ascendant watched on, truly unshaken, devoid of all feelings except for war and genuine pride in Stormhalt for embodying his ideals, for being his truest servant of faith. That was the separation between Ascendants and the Southern Gods: one could be enough. One expression could serve as anchor and weapon to channel an Ascendant’s divine might. Compared to the law of the South, the gods and people of Yellowstone existed on another level of efficiency and harmony.
“Not a test,” Shiv said, grimacing as he struggled to reconstruct Renfri's heart. The Curse was overwhelming his Aegis of Assimilation. He could shatter the stone and move her blood manually, but soon the calcification would expand and swallow her entire heart. Still, Shiv was a far superior Biomancer compared to a few months ago, and using his mana hydra, he could render another heart by assimilating the structured biomass of her present organ. The veins and arteries, meanwhile, were a graver problem. He possessed the attention span to struggle against the problem, but not the delicate touch possessed by a proper healer.
“Please—please, please!” Renfri gagged and coughed. She could feel herself changing from within, particulates of stone filling the space where her blood glided. Not everyone faced death the same way. Not everyone died the same way. Delirium was a mercy, the mind fooling the body and granting the host an easy passing. Some were all too aware, and some didn't want to go past that final precipice just yet. “I know I did wrong. I know I deserve this. I know I shouldn't have killed my nephew. I know, I know, but please save me! I will serve as an Unforgiven for a hundred years. A thousand years! I will make things right. I will, I will. Please don't let me die…”
Stormhalt looked away. At the same time, Jessica slashed and stabbed at the air using Rusty, her strikes flinging their entire group across a series of prepared dimensional anchors as they shuttled toward Fortress-City Diego.
“Jessica,” Shiv said.
“Three minutes,” she shot back.
“You said two earlier.”
“One of the Dog’s bitches found a checkpoint; had to take a detour. How’s she looking?”
“Like she's gonna croak in half that time. I'm gonna have to risk it.” Shiv let his other bodies go dormant as he drew the fullness of his focus into this vessel, this present form. It would take all of him to ensure no mistakes would be made. The heart was a dynamic organ, and if he caused the cancer to spread in its mass, then Renfri would likely die before the stone curse ever induced a proper heart attack. “Cut faster.”
An annoyed scoff escaped Jessica. "Going as fast as I can. I reach too far, the magic gets too loud. One of their Jump Mages is going to catch on to my frequency. Then Renfri's not gonna have any time at all because we're gonna be fighting a bunch of the fuckers up close and personal.”
“Why can’t this space be bigger again?” Shiv growled.
“Magic! Loud! Told you before, it's like having an asshole, except the more you use the magic, the bigger the asshole gets. A dot in the sky? Hard to notice. Giant gaping hole in the sky, pried open to swallow an entire section of the horizon? Yeah, someone's going to be flying up that chute.”
“You are falling back into bad habits again, Jessica,” Rusty chided.
“I’m stressed, motherfucker, give me a break!”
Shiv swallowed his annoyance and left her to her work. “So, Havel.” He sniffled as he pressed one of his mana hydra’s heads down on Renfri. “It's not really a test, but I do need your help. Consider it a reward too, because if you help me solve all the bullshit that's torn through your house in your absence, I'll approve some leave with you. I'll take you over to Gate Piety after—see if I can convince your daughter to speak with you.”
Strands of lightning burst off Renfri's body as spasms took her. But her gasps and struggles didn't last. Shiv held her in stasis using his Biomancy, forcing her muscles to relax as he seeped his influence into her every sinew. Her heart dissolved in a flash of red and was then recreated bit by bit as he rebuilt the missing sections consumed by spreading stone. In the end, a second heart was re-formed from the first, and Shiv connected its valves and chambers to the surrounding veins and arteries, granting her a few moments longer of life. A few moments longer that were further extended as he reconstructed the traffic inside of her, creating new pathways for blood to flow as the calcification Curse spread through a fourth of her existing vessels.
“Jessica,” Shiv repeated once more.
She ignored him and instead painted a slow cut through the air. Shiv felt the world around him turn to molasses.
A rippling wave of pressure crashed against them, threatening to push them off course. Static bled into their minor plane as a rupture appeared in existence, but Jessica turned and cut. Shiv barely followed the movement—but his Reflexes, also far superior compared to what they were two months ago, granted him enough insight. She didn't just lash once. Rather, her single blow unfolded into a few thousand. Jessica's Swordsmanship skill was beyond anything a Hero could ever dream of, no matter how many centuries they lived. Before, when she dueled him, she did so as a mortal might, as a High Adept enhanced by a Legend’s Physicality. Now, her Legendary Swordsmanship flowed uninhibited, and even so, he only gained fragments of understanding of her true ability.
Through that gap in spatial reality, Shiv saw what waited on the other side of their demi-plane: a dozen enemy Jump Mages, each of them pouring forth waves of crushing mana approaching Legendary output. Behind them was an army, ready to spill over and seize them, hunters dispatched by the Wolf of No Suns to pull them back into the fray of combat to finish this sordid affair and wreak bloody revenge for their god.
All twelve Dimensionalists were cut down within a hundredth of a second. Cut down by a specter formed from Jessica's Skill. Instead of her physical body striking the blow, it was an animated vessel of her Swordsmanship, outlined only by a membrane of dimensional static and comprised of killing intent, that unlatched from her physical form and traced its cuts across space and time.
The gap closed. Shiv had only caught a glimpse, only a fragment of Jessica's true skill, but that was enough—both to leave him awed and thirsting with envy.
His Toughness Skill overshadowed hers. He had Unique skills she would never possess. He had a Physicality Skill that warded against mana of both mortal and divine make, his tides that constantly compounded and drank in physical force capable of wrestling with gods. On paper, he should have been an overwhelming adversary for her. In function, they were not even equals. She would leave him scarred and rooted in place, and even if she couldn't finish him easily, she would see him bested. There was a gulf between them still, and though he'd grown substantially since first facing her, he saw her as truer than ever before, and he realized that he would have to rely on breadth if he ever wished to bring her down in direct combat.
Their claim that it would take a full century to fashion a proper swordsman out of him was not an insult, but a simple statement of truth, and that was only because he had any talent at all.
“One minute,” Jessica said. A faint note of derision and lingering frustration ebbed from her voice and heart. Shiv could see her empathetic core, annoyed but impressed. Her heart was numb and dull compared to Stormhalt’s. The man was still affected by every loss, took the responsibility deep, and refused to let go. She was more than battered and used to the pain. Losing a few Heroes to cripple an army for a month or two was more than a worthwhile trade, and such was the entire point of Shiv, after all. With the Unforgiven, she could operate at her zenith, striking and slaughtering without being held back—and thanks to Shiv's deathlessness, she wouldn't be the sole survivor for all these engagements. “Heart?”
“Remade the organ,” Shiv answered. He'd strained his Legion of Self, but rather than spreading it across all his bodies, he channeled his evolved Parallel Thinking skill across his mana hydra, weaving and shifting blood in the stead of Renfri’s failing architecture. “Really glad I kept taking medic classes.”
Renfri wheezed weakly, her breath coming quick and desperate, her strawberry-blond hair fluttering as she tried to twist her neck, to shake her head, to beg Shiv. He kept her still. Parts of her lungs were now turning solid, but he felt it now: she was going to live. Barely, but still, she was going to live. One minute. He could keep her alive for one minute. He could.
“You're gonna be fine, Renfri,” Shiv said. “Might need to see a mind-mender about the trauma, and you won't be breathing right for a while, but you're gonna be fine.”
Two pitched notes slipped out of her. She looked up at him and nodded. He could see gratitude in her eyes and feel the relief spilling forth from her heart. All that was offered to him, all that warmth, all that unrivaled hope.
How different it was a mere month ago when he first recruited her. She'd cursed him. She'd loathed him, and that caustic flame she carried against him nearly compromised a dozen missions prior. Yet the acid of that burning wrath died down with every encounter they survived, for there was nothing more bonding than mutual struggle against a common foe under the circumstances and penalties of death. Even those you loathed became trusted. Perhaps there wasn't companionship, but there was something harder than mere affability. There was a bond, a reliance. It was the feeling of family to some extent, though you could hate someone you knew, that there was something between you, a certain history. You wouldn't be here without them, and they without you.
That was the worst thing about leading the Unforgiven: Shiv grew to like his disposables. They were all wretched people: murderers, defilers, betrayers, and even slavers. Everyone had a story, a justification, a reason, a tale, a family. Some of them were even charming. Personable Renfri was one who possessed such charisma. Once the fever of her hate broke, as she opened up more to Shiv, things grew better and worse at the same time.
She seemed like a person to him. He hated that. He enjoyed that.
The same truth applied to Stormhalt. The Butcher of Blackedge. The traitor of Yellowstone. A man who laid hands upon Adam, who did everything he could to stop Shiv's escape from the Rubix Well. Now one of Shiv’s most reliable companions in the field.
“Stormhalt is not the only one here who is playing the stoic,” the Harbinger lamented. “Things would have been simpler if you had allowed him to die two months ago. Things would be easier in certain ways if he simply expired. Now, you can't help it. Despite everything he's done, on a personal level, he is like iron, and we respect that. He is a Pathbearer. He is simply ruined by his own resentment, his jealousy, his envy, his old grievance. He is not so different from Jessica. He simply expressed it in a more vile way while she surrendered herself to use by another and apathy.”
Throughout their extraction, Stormhalt's eyes glowed, misted with emotion, unshed tears. It had been months since he'd seen his own daughter, and the mistake was his. The transgression against his nation came with consequence, and she knew what he'd done. She didn't speak of him. She gave herself to work, committed herself to Piety's developments. She spent time with real heroes: Adam, Rose, and Roland. She spoke of nothing with regard to her own family, least of all her father. There was a wound there, a wound that would never fully heal. Perhaps she would acknowledge him as her progenitor at some point, but with what he had done, and with the people she associated with now, things would never be the same.
“Things never stay the same, regardless,” the Harbinger responded. “How long and how much must one person pay for their sin before it is enough? Can it ever be enough?”
Georges flashed into Shiv's mind.
A mixed cocktail of dull hate and acceptance burned at the center of Shiv's chest. I don't know. I don't know at all. But I think it’s time for me to find out.
***
They emerged in a special teleportation anchor buried in the depths of Fortress-City Diego. The half-sphere-shaped anchor was 500 meters wide, and the pressure washing over them, created by the tightness of their demi-planar space, vanished in an instant. Spreading out as they were returned to the natural state of the world, Biomancers on standby were teleported in, and they took Renfri from Shiv's care as he rattled off her condition and its cause.
Aegis of Assimilation 277 > 279
Atlas of the Flesh Scryer 193 > 196
As Biomancers poured healing spells into her flesh, Geomancers were teleported in subsequently to remove the effects of the Curse. With that, Shiv ceased to regard her as his problem.
Though not completely, he had to admit. He wanted Renfri back amongst the Unforgiven, but by this point, he wondered if he would allow her to return to her House as a forgiven noble for the service rendered after she recovered.
After all, Stormhalt's sin was far greater, yet here Shiv was striking a bargain with him—one equal part motivated by pragmatic and personal reasons.
“Why now? Why am I getting clemency now?” Stormhalt hid his hope well, but it was there, and he knew Shiv could tell. He didn't twist the dagger, however. He decided to be honest. He was tired, exhausted from keeping Renfri alive, spent of focus, and coming down from the high of battle and bloodshed.
They would be back out into the fray soon. At least he and Jessica would be: one true clone standing alongside the Giantsbane to continue sabotaging the Southern Gods before they could organize under a single banner as a cohesive force.
Shiv had another use for Stormhalt now—a social battlefield in his own household.
“Wasn’t really something I was planning in advance,” Shiv said. “Just came out while we were out in the field. I’ve been having talks with Councilwoman Chandler, and she decided to put me in charge of settling an inheritance dispute in House Stormhalt.”
Havel’s mood shifted from hope to pure dread in an instant. Whenever Veronica played her games, people suffered—Houses died.
“Ah, fuck,” Jessica muttered, giving a dry voice to Stormhalt’s pale-faced worry. “What’s she playing at now?”
“Honestly? I think she’s training me on one hand and actively trying to bind me deeper to the cultural fabric of the Republic using the other, or something.” Shiv snorted. “I was at the theater a few moments ago. In one of my other bodies. Talked a bit about Montez and the whole cultural shaping thing, but I’m also dealing with some new esoteric social-stealth bullshit I don’t know how to handle myself. Faceless Queen’s starting to use me something bad, and I want a solution for that.”
“So you struck a bargain with the strongest Social Legend you knew.” Jessica nodded. “Yeah. That’s how she gets you. No one else like her; no one else who can solve your problems. But House Stormhalt—”
“You already own me,” Havel said casually. “Becoming shadow patriarch through me or using me is simply the natural next step. And once this is settled and you get a taste for controlling a noble household, she likely hopes that you will cling to the pleasure of having this influence and position.”
“Yeah. That about sums it.” A slight cringe wriggled through Shiv. The words were true, but hearing Stormhalt say them felt ugly. I might’ve gone too hard on breaking him down before. Was a little too vicious. Destroyed his identity and self-confidence where it mattered. He barely considers himself his own person anymore. Fuck.
Shiv sighed. “‘Cept I don’t really want to be shadow patriarch of anything. I don’t want to twist or break your household down. Stormhalt… I can’t really hurt anyone in your home. Well, I shouldn’t, because Veronica and I talked about it. But I also don’t want to. I’m tired of breaking people beyond fixing—even if they have it coming. Maybe that’s something else I need to learn here. So. I’m done with my cruelty for a while, and I want you to go home. You take charge of this. You fix the problem; I’ll support you. And after that, let’s see if we can keep this going while I sort out some of my other problems.”
“My daughter, you mean?”
“Your daughter. You and me. You and Roland. You and Blackedge. You and—well, a lot of things.” Shiv eyed Jessica. “Been two months of relative peace for us.”
“Peace?” Stormhalt coughed. “We just killed a few thousand people.”
“That’s why I used the word relative, Havel. But the point I’m getting at is that I think we should all try to resolve whatever grievances we have. And honestly, this isn’t my grievance. This is my family mythology at risk or whatever. It’s yours. And I’ll just be your backup even if Veronica’s playing games.”
A moment of disbelief and confusion kept Stormhalt in a bubble of silence, but when he finally granted Shiv a nod, it carried with it a momentous gratitude. One that caused Jessica to turn away from discomfort.
“Oh, Jessica—got something for you too.”
“Fuck,” she grunted. “Please don’t tell me you need me to go home—”
“Not really, but Uva wants to speak with your grandson. You know why. You promised that you were going to be there for a meeting between them, and she’s been patient long enough.”
A glare came as her first response, but it broke apart against Shiv because they both knew this was coming too.
“Godsdammit.” Jessica sighed. “Really killing the post-raid vibes here, kid. I’m gonna make you pay for this, you know. If I’m doing this, I’ll be putting you through the paces.”
“You say that like it's a punishment for me.”
“It should be, but you’re a freak who’s horny for pain. Why can’t you just pretend?”
“Don’t feel like it.” Shiv yawned without covering his mouth. “Anyway. Housecleaning time: let’s get more of our shit in order so that we’re all as clean as possible.”
“And by clean, you mean you’re cutting away potential things the Faceless Queen might be able to use against us?” Jessica guessed.
“Yeah. Something like that. But more than her.” Shiv grimaced. “Veronica too. And all the other players besides.”
“I miss life when you were dumber,” Jessica mumbled. “What happened to the angry, oversized idiot whose ass I could split without trying? What happened to the guy who was barely literate?”
Shiv frowned. “Well. He died. A lot. And now that people don’t have an easy physical means of killing me anymore, they’ve moved on to magic or, more commonly, talking me to death. And talking to me can be pretty effective if I have unfinished business everywhere, as it turns out. So. Reduce loose ends, and none of me handling other people’s affairs.”
The Giantsbane scoffed. “Yeah. Good luck with that. I know you’re trying to avoid getting pulled deeper into Veronica’s bullshit, but she’ll drag you in. She wants you tied up with House Stormhalt for a reason, and if you think that being the bigger or wiser guy is going to save you, well?” She shot Havel a look. “I’d say you’re already playing into her hands. You’re a vicious shit, Shiv. Wouldn’t want to trade blows with you emotionally or psychologically. But you’re not subtle at all, and not subtle means predictable. For most, that makes you terrifying? For Veronica or someone else in her league, well…”
“Like me trying to fight you head-on, huh?” Shiv finished.
Jessica flicked a small river of blood and gore trapped within Rusty’s manifold dimensions onto the ground. “Maybe. Maybe worse.”
“This is going to be fun, then,” Shiv deadpanned. “Can’t wait to figure out what schemes Veronica’s spinning on her end too.”