"Ow, ouch, no..." Brythan cried as he clumsily wrapped a bandage around his profusely bleeding hand, lost in a world of pain, oblivious to the entire Elite Junior Demon Unit standing a mere two feet behind him, lining the platform's railings along the on-boarding walkway.

  Karma's Gaze revealed the majority of the twentyish mercenaries as level threes and fours, not a single one of them standing out as their leader. They drew their blades, positioning themselves for combat as they saw the corpses littering our devastated lift.

  "Stand down, drop your weapons," Abraci commanded from the center of the platform as Celina held her sword against his throat.

  "He's giving great advice," I said, strolling over to the ramp facing off with the wall of mercs, who all looked to Abraci for a signal.

  "He ripped the Immortal's head off his fucking shoulders," Abraci shouted.

  All the mercenary's eyes flocked to the Immortal's headless corpse. Two seconds later clattering metal echoed throughout the top of the shaft as they dropped their weapons and stood down.

  I walked up the off-ramp and down the walkway past the line of mercenaries toward the exit, glancing over the railing. "Are you all coming?"

  Celina nodded, and sheathed her sword, still cautious of Abraci. He cradled his right hand, complexion pale as sweat drenched his body.

  "Don't worry, he knows better than to try something," I said, and turned toward a level three mercenary standing at the back of the line. "You, help carry him. He's coming with us."

  "Do as he says," Abraci said through clenched teeth.

  I waited by the exit, leaning against the door as the bandits nervously made their way through the gauntlet of mercenaries, with Abraci being carried in the back.

  Aside from some superficial cuts and bruises, I remained in pristine condition. Despite my glowing bill of health, I still faced two major issues. The first being my stamina, which I estimated was around 35%.

  Time Remaining: 17:37:57

  The second glaring problem was the lack of time. Over six hours ago when I decided on rescuing Viessa, I hadn't realized the scope of Black Diamond's operation, nor the colossal size of Anderhorn Spire. Cleveland's misinformation had also shaped the outcome of my decision. Yet, it was far too late for second guessing.

  All I could do was keep moving.

  Once the bandits reached the door, one of the disarmed mercenaries kindly opened the door, unveiling a pristine, straight glass walkway suspended in the open air, connecting to a second keep. Dawn's earliest light danced along its gleaming surface, offering a breathtaking view of the golden horizon and the fog dissipating beneath it.

  "Him in the front," I said, forcing the two mercenaries carrying Abraci along to lead the way. "The rest of you can get lost."

  The mercenaries still looked to Abraci until he confirmed it was indeed OK to leave with a simple head nod. From there, the seven of us strode along the radiant glass floor, headed for a glass door on the other side.

  "I'm bleeding to death. This bandage isn't cutting it," Brythan moaned. "Seriously, Lina, Cyprus, I'm woozy and everything's blurry."

  Sure, his bandage was dripping a few drops of blood along the pristine walkway, but in comparison to Abraci's ravaged right hand that was bleeding like a garden hose, Brythan's wound may as well have been a paper cut.

  "Black Diamond's Premium Member's Plus Health & Restoration Spa isn't far into the Upper Tier," Abraci said with pain buried in his voice.

  "After you take me to Veigan."

  One of the mercenaries helping Abraci along, glanced over his shoulder, eyes glazed over with fear and fury. "But he'll die."

  "Then he dies. Too bad, so sad," I said, wrath boiling in my guts from hearing such a stupid comment. "Do you understand how badly your organization has fucked this night up from the very beginning? How many lives you’re responsible for making me take? A creep told me earlier that incompetence leads to utter ruin, and now I totally get it. I should probably be dead for the way I've been forced to move tonight. But nope, you assholes have thrown your lives away like you can resurrect yourselves. I can't help but imagine a substantially different outcome if Veigan, Barret, or whoever is in charge of this unorganized shit-show sent the captains all at once instead of piecemeal."

  I took a deep breath. "If you want him to live then I suggest you carry him faster."

  My outburst ushered in some much appreciated silence. I wasn't sure why I let my mask slip, but I was glad it did. Venting out loud, undeserved or not, helped release the mounting pressure spurred by the ticking clock.

  Halfway across the Skywalk, the stunning beauty of the expansive panorama finally hit me. The impenetrable fog fleeted, revealing the lake's shimmering surface that shined so bright I wondered if it was damaging my eyes. I gazed north, inspired by the winding forests and distant mountains where Ingcaster lay.

  After reaching the end of the Skywalk, one of the mercenaries slid open a glass door engraved with intricate floral patterns, and the text: Upper Tier. As soon as we stepped inside we were assaulted on all sides by the mouthwatering scents of freshly baked goods.

  We trailed the mercenaries into a space that mirrored an airport food court. Kiosks and counters stretched along the right side while tables, chairs, and lounges lined the left. Several level ones dressed in matching black and white work linens prepared meats, tossed dough, and manned rows of smoking ovens.

  They were all smiles until they saw Abraci’s wounded state, and his weird entourage.

  Massive floor to ceiling windows lined the lounges and dining areas, offering more stunning panoramas. Admittedly, the Skywalk and views from the Upper Tier almost redeemed my terrible opinion of Anderhorn Spire. Still, the tower's layout was more confusing than a sixty story IKEA. I wondered how many people got lost and starved to death in this place on a yearly basis.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The lounge was mostly empty, aside from a few unarmed mercenaries drinking tea in their pajamas. Once they saw Abraci's state they quickly averted their attention.

  "Where's the security?" I asked.

  "The Elite Demon Squad was the security," Abraci said.

  Rojah, the level three Junior Demon Squad member who was helping Abraci walk, gulped. "These people killed them all?"

  "I don't know... The lift crashed."

  "Enough talk, keep moving," I said.

  We passed through another set of glass doors and took a right down a winding corridor with marble tile floors and all white walls.

  "Veigan's in there," Abraci pointed at a door along the hall with an uneasy finger.

  "You first," I insisted, unsure if I could trust a single thing he said.

  For all I knew, we were walking into the captain's break room filled with level tens. Rojah opened the door, leading Abraci in. I followed in close behind, with the Moonsewn Bandits trailing behind me.

  We entered a large carpeted room with the sign "Shoes Off" written on a wooden board stationed beside the entrance. A scrawny young man sat kicked-back on the back two legs of an expensive leather chair with his feet resting atop his shiny stained oak desk. He was nose deep in a book, holding it open only a few inches from his face, completely obscuring his vision.

  Target: Veigan Desmond

  Level: 5

  Karma: -6505

  Additional Data: Twenty years old, born into a family of renowned nobles specializing in arcane research and magic development. His eldest brother Jumanjai made three unsuccessful attempts on his life at the age of 5, 9, and 15. The youngest of Count Earleth Desmond's four children.

  I realized he was the first person I had encountered with a last name, making a mental note as I requested additional data, hoping for an explanation to his steep negative karma rating.

  Bonus Information: Aside from the repeated assassination attempts, he experienced a reasonably enjoyable childhood.

  Useless.

  "Don't tell me you forgot the honey rolls or the four sugars in my tea, Raythieon." Veigan yawned, dressed in a loose fitting azure silk long sleeve shirt and matching pajama pants, even sporting a silk nightcap adorned with a little cotton pom-pom at the tip. "Also, write this down--twice, so you remember. Next time I will ask the Great Veigan the night before if he wants honey rolls in addition to the daily scramble. Understood?"

  I glanced around the room. While the office was connected to another hallway lined with doors, it seemed like Veigan was all alone.

  "I don't hear you writing." Veigan slammed his book shut and finally saw us.

  He crashed backward in his chair, snapping its wooden back post in half. Muttering curses under his breath, he pulled himself up, leaning over the desk, face flush with anger. "I told you numbskulls to capture them and toss them in the Cellar, not bring them here!"

  As Veigan straightened his nightcap he noticed Abraci's dire condition, and that me and the bandits were the only ones armed. "Abracio, what's the meaning of this?" his voice squeaked.

  "I’m Abraci," he seethed. "He killed them, Veigan. The Immortal, Skarvo, and my brother are dead. The whole Elite Demon Unit has been wiped out."

  I subtly readied a throwing knife with my left hand, pinching it between the webbing of my fingers as I watched Veigan, preparing to interrupt a spell cast at a moment's notice.

  "We spoke earlier," I said, and the color instantly flushed from his face.

  Jaw dropped, his nightcap slid off the side of his head. "Wait, what?"

  I waltzed into the room and helped myself to a fruit basket on the table, opting for an amber pear shaped fruit while Veigan thoroughly digested the information. I took a bite into the spongy textured pear, tasting pine scented cleaning solution. Facing an overwhelming revolution initiated by my taste buds, I spat the half chewed fruit onto the table, tainted saliva dribbling down my chin as I hacked, shuddering with revulsion.

  It wasn't the most threatening first impression I could've made. The Moonsewn Bandits seemed embarrassed on my behalf, even Brythan was subtly shaking his head. In an effort to redeem myself, I flipped the table across the room and towered over Veigan's desk.

  "What was it you said earlier? Something about all the pain and despair I'd be feeling?" I asked, rolling the throwing knife along my left palm, hovering over him like a shark.

  "Wait, no! That was simply a miscommunication. I was directing that at my subordinate and I must have accidentally said it with my Vocal Migration spell. My greatest apologies," Veigan bowed and when he raised his head back up he had tears dripping out of the corner of his eyes.

  "From Galdir's graces a great hero has finally ascended the tower to liberate me from this oppression. These no good--evil Black Diamond bastards kidnapped me as a young boy, dragging me into their organization forcing me to work long hours without pay or benefits," Veigan said. "I've suffered great duress under their awful rule for far too long."

  "Hey, Captain Veigan, I got you the honey rolls, tea with four sugars, and an extra scrambler, and you won't believe what Chef Markiaus has on the lunch menu! I heard from one of the waiters that it's 10 gold an ounce wild trout with aged horseradish truffle butter. I also checked on the Grand Recreation Hall and can confirm the new water slide is open," Raythieon said as he gleefully entered the office, pushing the door open with his back on account of having his hands full with an incredibly stacked breakfast spread.

  Veigan coughed loudly, his tear ducts suddenly dry, and Raythieon turned around, nearly bumping into Celina who shoved him out of her personal space, sending him and his food trays tumbling.

  "I'm disappointed. You're not even going to put up a fight? Just spout off bullshit?" I asked.

  "Heaven's no. I abide by a strict moral code. Fighting is--uncouth, and killing is reprehensible," Veigan said. "It's why I decided years ago to specialize in utility magic. My genius is unrivaled in communication and detection spells, along with other esoteric incantations."

  I stared at his status, unable to get over his insane -6505 karma deficit. Something was seriously wrong with the karma system as a whole and I was still missing a key piece of the puzzle or Veigan was not only a pathological liar, but also a prolific killer to be able to rack up such a terrible karma rating at his age.

  After developing a triple digit body count of mercenaries within the past 24 hours, it seemed statistically improbable that one of them wasn't a total bad guy. Was an individual's karma influenced directly by the company they kept?

  The young mage slowly backed away from his desk, putting his back against a soaring chestnut bookcase packed with weighty tomes and texts. "I'm much more valuable alive than I am dead. I'll do whatever you ask of me."

  I kept flicking the throwing knife in my palm, spinning it faster and faster until it was a blur. "I'll ask this question once. Where's my healer?"

  Veigan squinted up at the ceiling, presumably thinking hard, then raised a pointed finger in the air. "Will you please elaborate?"

  "Your organization trespassed on my property, attacked me, and abducted my healer. Everyone's given me the run-around, but that stops here. Where are they?"

  "Yes, we negotiated a substantial contract with Pearl Banner for your capture. And, yes, we dispatched multiple squads after receiving the newsletter, knowing others would be chasing the bounty." Veigan paused, reached for a silver pitcher, poured himself a glass of water and took a long sip before saying, "I admit I signed off on the contract. I sign hundreds of similar contracts each week. However, nothing in your contract mentioned anything about a healer."

  He took an anxious breath as he sorted through a stack of papers on his desk.

  "Here it is." Veigan held up a sheet of parchment. "The prisoner intake list."

  I snatched the parchment from his hand and he recoiled back, surprised by my speed.

  For being such a long sheet of paper, there were only two names neatly written beneath what I assumed was today's date.

  Monolith 15, Day 175

  Bashfell

  Gideon (Moonsewn Bandit Leader?)

  "I’ll swear on any god you like. We don't have your healer."