Cautious in our approach, fully expecting a trap to spring and blast us to Tridor Plaza, not a one of us says a word or even breathes too loudly, the air thick with anticipation. Ensuring that the veranda at least, is free of suspicious junk and bloody glyphs, I organise our positions with wordless gestures, such that Windy and Jade are at the front, followed by me, Henna and Miss Leovoldt a little further back, while Jupiter and Angelus stay far away.

Creeping close to the door, Jade inspects the door frame slowly, then puts her eye up to the lock for a good half a minute. Apparently satisfied, she stands up and raises three fingers over her head, counting down. Jade reaches forward and very slowly opens the right door with a gentle twist of the handle, just a crack, then looks through the small gap up and down for any triggers.

Finding none, she nudges the door open wide with a push from her boot. Inside, though it's a little tricky to see with the difference in light, the common area of the Pioneers' Alliance is lifeless and empty, save for a pair of bloodless bodies swinging from nooses attached to the central candelabra, who I believe to be two of the Receptionists. From the state of their bodies, they've been up there since at least noon, around about the time we killed The Scavenger, but I can hardly consider myself an expert on forensics, so who's to say for certain.

Aside from that is a much larger glyph than the ones encountered so far that takes up much of the centre of the room. If I had to guess, the poor saps hanging from the noose were put there so as to drain them in order to draw it.

"Not an exploding one, I don't think," Jade mutters, taking a better look at it from a distance than she perhaps could through the keyhole, "Different design. Any idea, Tour Guide?"

"If it's not an explosive trap, it could be a summoning circle," I hypothesise, "Based on Geronil's Class, that would be the most likely guess."

Maybe he was looking to create a new lieutenant to make up for the loss of The Scavenger, but he gave up when he realised that the rest of his primary minions were getting taken out? Or this is still a trap. I have no idea.

Breathing deeply, I give the order, "Windy, test the waters, please."

"On it, boss," Windy acquiesces without a word of complaint or protest, raising her shield and stepping into the building proper, hunched down, boots barely leaving the floor and making little sound. Two steps in, the glyph sparks, and Windy freezes, the dark red lines emitting a soft blue glow.

The hanging corpses twitch and vibrate, before falling still, the light of the ritual circle dissipating abruptly. Tense, Windy takes another step, completely focused upon those gently swinging bodies, but they do not move, nor does it appear that anything else is going to happen.

"Feels like the spell just...fizzled out..." Angelus observes, "I don't think this trap is finished yet."

"Getting the same impression," Jupiter concurs, strolling right on in, "I don't think that whatever this is supposed to do had enough juice in the tank to do whatever it is it's supposed to be doing."

Hearing the two magic users' assessments, I choose to agree, "Odds are he was still working on it up until The Birdcage and Brand were destroyed. Then he realised he was screwed and gave up on it. Check upstairs first Windy, if he's still here his office will be the most likely place for him to be holing up."

Fleeing back to the proverbial nest, as it were. After more than a decade and a half as Arevas' primary agent, he's probably picked up a few bird-like mannerisms besides the unnatural urge to hoard valuables.

"Kinda feels like the bodies are staring at me," Miss Leovoldt shivers.

"Their souls are probably trapped inside to power the ritual," I consider, following Windy, "So you might not be wrong."

"Grrreeeeeat..."

"Creepy, but cool," Jupiter critiques, unphased, "A little disappointing that their heads don't turn to follow us, that would be so much better."

"...Jupiter, have a little respect for the innocent dead," Angelus sighs mournfully.

"Yeah, but how innocent were they really?" Jupiter points out, "I mean, they did kinda work for the big bad. Slave magic tramp stamp aside, they've probably seen some shit."

Angelus considers it as we hop the counter, "Point taken, I suppose. Still, it's not what I'd call appropriate behaviour."

"This's sounding like more of a 'you' problem, dude. I'm not big on empathy for total strangers that were probably evil, or like, diet under-duress evil," Jupiter clambers over the wooden counter gracelessly, "Having a metaphorical gun to your head can only excuse so much, and this guy's been doing evil moustache-twirling bad guy stuff for like a decade now. Right?"

He looks to Henna for support, but she seems a little lost and nods hesitantly just to keep the wizard happy.

"I hate to interrupt your moral philosophy debate, but can we please just save it until after we've strung Gerry's corpse up by his scrote outside the city?" Jade interjects.

"Gerry?" Windy questions, "Did you forget his name already?"

"Never even met the guy, you expect me to give a shit?" Jade scoffs, "Please. As far as I care, he's a money pinata."

"Focus, please," I rub my forehead in consternation, "Keep moving, Windy."

Alighting the staircase, The hallway is absolutely packed with glyphs, at the centre of which stands an elderly Kon and a pair of weedy looking administrators flanking him on either side.

"So, it's you. And the girl," Lamnon releases a long, pained sigh, "You really shouldn't have come here, you know. In fact, if I realised how far you'd get, I'd have killed you then and there as a mercy."

"It wouldn't have stuck," I stare at each pattern in turn, noting a similarity with the explosive runes. It doesn't appear to be proximity-based, however, but considering Lamnon's presence here, I think I can guess their purpose.

"I assume that these are set to trigger once you either die or leave the area," I voice my conjecture, receiving a slow nod in turn.

"We're to prevent intruders from interrupting him. I recommend that you leave, or we'll all perish," He pleads, "I...don't want to die. Nor do I want to fight my old friend's daughter to the death."

"Fuck off with that," Henna growls, brandishing her zweihander, "Y'ain't worthy to even remember him, ya traitorous slug."

"At this point it does me little good to deny it," He admits sadly, "Regardless of what you may think of me, I truly don't want you to come to harm. That much at least, I owe him."

"You wanna do right by us?" Henna spits, "Don't make me vomit, coward. Yer a broken mutt only fit to warm his master's toes come midwinter. I'm not here to listen to your self-pitying drivel, I'm here to take down the bastard that ruined my life and took my da."

"Then you'd be better served...going underground..." The lanky man on the left - Klint, the go-between for Farmer's Folly and Geronil's right-hand man if memory serves - mutters through grit teeth, the mark flaring up beneath his shirt collar, "Leave...us..."

He collapses to one knee, clutching at himself all over, heat radiating off his body. This one at least, seems to still have some backbone left. I can respect that, after a fashion, since neither of the other two sentries so much as bat an eyelid out of concern or any other potentially redeeming actions. Klint is ultimately still complicit in the majority of Geronil's crimes, at the end of the day, so that respect is short-lived.

"Henna," I pat her shoulder, "Come on, the Empire can deal with this mess later."

Roiling with emotions, Henna is reluctant to comply, "One moment."

Sheathing her sword, she cracks her knuckles and walks purposefully towards the old Kon mage, delivering an extremely brutal jab to his unmoving face, launching him several feet backwards down the corridor with a flattened, profusely bleeding nose. Choking a little on the blood leaking back into his throat and spitting a brackish wad of the stuff out onto the floor, he unsteadily stands back up, "I deserved that, I admit."

Henna snorts, "I'll do more than that once yer out of here. Just you fucking wait."

"The Empire will deal with me in it's own way," Lamnon says blandly, healing his nose with a Minor Rejuvenatic Touch, snapping the bone back into alignment with a sharp tug, "Once they dispel all this. I don't advise crossing them for the sake of revenge, girl. Move on with your life."

Her clenched fist shakes, hearing my advice echoed and coming out of Lamnon's mouth evidently rubbing her entirely the wrong way.

"Henna," I call out, "Come on. There's nothing to be gained from quarrelling with him. If anything, you're only feeding into his guilt and ego."

Hearing my voice, some of the agitation drains from Henna's body, "Alright."

Turning around, Henna rejoins the rest of us, her eyes a little reddened and damp, "Do you need a minute?"

"No need," Henna wipes her bloodied knuckles off on her trouser leg, "Feeling better already."

---

 

Basement 1F, Pioneers' Alliance, Meteo City

The first-floor basement is a massive, open area with rows and rows of workbenches, tool stations and other crafting related paraphernalia. The room is well-lit by a grid of softly glowing white tiles, giving the area a strangely sterile, quasi-futuristic look that was popular in old sci-fi media. In contrast is the huge, 20ft wide glyph taking up the majority of the floorspace, the scent of herbs, blood and iron heavy in the air.

Stood with bloodied gloves on the opposite side in the midst of drawing the complicated diagram out is the man of the hour, Geronil Uvstine, looking far less pompous and put-together than our last meeting, his clothes stained and caked with blood, and heavy black bags beneath his eyes, appearing for all the world like he's about to collapse from exhaustion at any second. Hearing us enter the room, his head snaps to regard us, completely unblinking.

"Ah, the crass Silva bumpkin and the stupid little girl holding his leash," He doesn't appear surprised to see us, "How unfortunate I didn't take proper care of you personally sooner. I fear I was too soft and contented. But, well, I guess a man never truly stops learning. Hm."

"You going to make this difficult?" I unsheathe my sword, drawing his fascinated gaze.

"Such an...interesting weapon you have. It feels similar to my benefactor, almost, but muddied like the blood of those mangy animals you brought with you," Geronil sneers, "A pale imitation of the splendour of the real thing. How insulting."

"I could care less about your opinions, bastard," Henna stomps forward, drawing her weapon, "I'd much rather hear you scream."

Geronil scoffs, "You think an ill-educated peasant like you is capable of such a thing? Laughable. Your association with those abominable creatures must be to blame for such idiocy."

"Henna, don't take another step," I caution, "He's not as defenceless as he appears."

Trusting me over her urge to sate her need for retribution and justice, Henna pauses, to Geronil's disappointment, "Or is it the Silva mongrel who holds the leash, I wonder? Such a waste."

Ignoring him, I give the order, "Jade, Jupiter, just shoot him please."

Obliging, Geronil makes no attempt to dodge, instead, a pair of holographic glyphs appear at the struck areas, and both ranged attackers gasp in pain. The Demon Contractor chuckles darkly, "You think to assail your better? But such futility will only serve to harm yourselves for even thinking to try. Put such thoughts our of your primitive minds, squatter filth."

"Fucker reflected half the damage back," Jade hisses, "I hate these kinds of enemies."

"Ditto," Jupiter grunts, "Wow, is that what I've been doing to people? I'm more awesome than I thought I was."

Well, that's certainly obnoxious. But not without methods of dealing with it, besides just healing through the damage.

"Miss Leovoldt, grapple him, please," I try option b instead, "Don't harm him, just restrain him. Windy, get her close enough."

"Um, sure, I'll try," The Ravager blinks, "Grapples aren't really my strong suit, though."

"Don't worry, I'll help," Windy offers, running forward. Multiple glyphs appear at odd angles in the air, detonating as she closes the distance. If Henna had taken any further steps, she'd have encountered this ephemeral minefield herself, and without the benefit of the glut of Resilience that Windy possesses which allows her to just bull her way through the damage with moderate healing from an Inspired Healing enhanced Angelus.

Not to be idle, I follow along behind them alongside Henna. Feeling threatened, Geronil frowns deeply, his body shudders, several lines of arcane script bleeding light through his raggedy clothing. Finally reaching the racist mage, Windy prepares to move aside and let Miss Leovoldt take over, only to be taken off guard by a right hook thrown by Geronil into her shield that sends her flying backwards with a flip, detonating more airborne glyphs as she goes. It appears that she's alive, somehow, but I expect that it was a near thing.

If it could only be that simple, huh? It bears repeating, but I really hate fighting Trappers.

"That I must sully my hands to deal with you cretins...Very well," Geronil adjusts his collar, faint magical aura gathering around his fists, "You should have just let my traps kill you. At least they would have been swift, as I confess that I am somewhat out of practice."

Next, his attention turns to Miss Leovoldt, aiming a fairly dismissive backhanded blow at her midsection. Unfortunately for him, she's a hand-to-hand specialist, so even if his attacks carry an unexpected amount of power, the lazy attack is easily dodged, earning him a roundhouse kick the neck for his trouble, staggering him for barely half a second before he goes back on the offensive with vigour, throwing punch after punch in quick succession, missing each time by narrow margins, her mobility restricted by the invisible minefield presumed to be all around us.

Joining the fray, me and Henna both attack with a strangely adept level of unspoken coordination, like she's reading my mind and coming up with the best follow-up for the situation before I even attack. Geronil exhibits the same laziness as when he was targeted by Jade and Jupiter, letting our blades find him in order to gain an opportunity to strike back, utilising a level of physical toughness directly comparable to Desperate Embrace. Braced for impact with Reaver's Tenacity against the rusty fist of the middle-aged trapper I lose three-quarters of my health instantly, a fist-shaped dent left in my breastplate, but I hold my ground, if barely.

His strength is truly absurd, but I don't believe that he can maintain it indefinitely. I'm convinced that it's just borrowed power, tied to the scrawlings tattooed to his flesh. If we can interfere with the spell formation we can interrupt the buff effect.

"Henna, swing high!" I order, aiming a Brutal strike at his legs on a hunch. Forced to block the helmsplitter strike from Henna, he can't respond in time to my follow-through, chopping into his right thigh, drawing a small amount of blood compared to nothing at all from his arms, "The rest of his body is unarmoured!"

I yank the horrorblade back, tearing the wound open further. Irritated, Geronil grabs Henna's zweihander before she can pull her own sword back, and tugs with greater strength, forcing the smith towards him where his other fist is moving to greet her. Alarmed, since Henna is unarmoured and lacking the same enhancements as Geronil himself, I initiate a Bull Rush to ram her out of the way of the incoming punch, fully prepared to take her place when Windy arrives with Interceptor to deflect it with an upwards bash of her shield at the last second.

"Got you boss!" Windy cries, stabbing her Reprisal-empowered shortsword into his gut and twisting, both of his fists come down in a haymaker, only to be interrupted a second time by Miss Leovoldt vaulting off my shoulders and kicking out with a magical claw projection raking across his face as he screams with rage.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" Geronil roars, reeling backwards from the pain clutching at his ruined face, "SAVAGE BEAST!"

Launching herself at the Demon Contractor while he's distracted, Henna damn near impales him, only for the blade to be caught just before the tip can penetrate his side and be snapped off, "DIE!"

Lancing out with the broken-off blade tip, Geronil aims for Henna's eye. Raising her hand to intercept, the metal shard instead punctures through her palm, her fingers clutching around his fist and pulling him towards her, the broken zweihander finishing the rest of the journey into Geronil's ribcage, "No. I've got a life to live."

Powered by inhuman rage and demonic magic, even the loss of his heart doesn't seem to be enough to slow him down, and he does his damnedest to push back against Henna as the rest of us hack away at him, until he finally, at long last, loses all strength and collapses.

Congratulations, your party has slain Geronil Uvstine, The Magpie Demon's Beak!

Awarding 25000 experience.