Bast stood under invisibility along with the rest of the primary raid crew, waiting for the go-ahead to come, once Her Lady of Beauty Samantha was good and ready. She had her own nasty villain to deal with, who was probably rubbing his hands together as he dreamed of what torture he’d inflict on the poor young lass diligently holding tough and waiting for their rescue inside.

You’re a jewel, Eremina. A true representative of your goddess. Hold tight, Daddy is coming! Haha. He had every intention of being the one to sweep her up and out of there, physically. It was kind of a dream of his and he was fantasizing about how dashing he’d be. He knew just the smile to wear, too.

Orswyth, Tashome, several of Orswyth’s priestly disciples, that guy Steve with the axe, and many other warriors were there with him, behind a wall that was right across the street from the manor. It was perhaps unsurprising that Zephyr clandestinely had one of his people owning property right next to the important estate.

The other group with Galynth, the Crusader Remus, Dart, Constance, and most of the other Servitors was on the backside. This was where the tie-down/distraction group would focus, pulling the protective gargoyles that would activate and immediately go after any intruder, attacking if deemed hostile. They were not fooled by illusions, so it made stealth bloody impossible.

Galynth’s group would go over the wall and draw them, Zephyr’s specialist would marr the spirit-blocking rune of the wall behind them while that was happening, and soon the Servitors would come in like the calvary. Meanwhile, once the gargoyles were suitably distracted, Orswyth and the rest would go over on the west wing and burst right through the house’s walls to make their entrance, making hard for Eremina in the basement.

Hopefully, they won’t have much time to consider this an extraction, but a shrewd soul might. It is what it is. Hard targets like this are no fun. Well. Hopefully still fun, despite the situation.

Constance had certainly had fun last night and was the equivalent of Drunkenly Satisfied at that point in time. He could feel her in his mind, such was his closeness and her supreme openness. In fact, he’d kind of had fun too, thanks to that openness and the observation therein… while also being a bit maddening that he was missing out on the direct experience.

On the plus side, he’d gotten a literal fertility and sex goddess to promise him ‘a proper physical thank you for his understanding and blessing’ once it could be arranged.

Worth it, indeed! In addition, the bit of teased frustration was perfect for a bout of overwhelming violence and destruction — channeled to a good cause, naturally.

Bast turned and studied his friend, Tashome. It seemed like he grew darker every day, even as his crazy experiments bore more and more fruit. The price for them was exacted mentally as well as physically. He’d gotten almost gaunt, and his eyes seemed lodged deeper in the sockets, with discernable signs of insomnia. There was a tiny burn mark on his cheek, from something splashing it.

The wand in Tashome’s hand drew Bast’s eyes. It was no longer recognizable as the thing he took from Samantha. The sphere was gone, or rather had been transmuted into the rest of the object, making for some strange, black, half-glass, half-wood, gnarled substance. At the end, the framing that had held the orb had turned into a claw…

That claw could extend as far as a whip, making defense against being touched by the dread thing difficult. And the ‘curse’ had been turned into a ‘link’ with him, which Bast was sure had caused the worst of the changes. It had made the wand into some sort of alchemical artifact, deadlier than before, in the hands of a man who was already deadly enough.

If he doesn’t kill himself in the bloody process. He’d tried talking some caution back into the man, but it was no use. ‘We don’t have the luxury of being careful or safe for the job in front of us,’ was his dismissive response.

Through the ‘realmspeak’ channel provided by Samantha’s Resemblants, Bast sent to Tashome mentally, “So… you’re actually going to use that on people.”

Tashome turned his head to regard Bast levelly, eyebrow raising slightly. “Why not? You’ll blow people’s faces off, won’t you? And others will stab for the heart. It is all the same for putting a man in the grave.”

“Whatever anything other than that does, it doesn’t exact a nasty price on our souls.”

“This is what you don’t get, Sebastion. Every killing exacts a price. This simply makes it more obvious. In truth, it’s cleaner, it’s fairer. It lies less. I’ll take anything with less lies, my friend. I have enough, and with every step, we walk into more.”

“You’re right: I don’t get it. But I’ll say what I’ve said before, hmm? I’m worried about you.”

“I know.”

Bast waited for more, but there was just silence. He frowned. “So… Can you just ease up on this self-destruction? A little bit? Please?”

Tashome stared at him, then looked away, taking a deep breath. “I respect you too much to give you platitudes, Bast. The answer is no. Because I know what I am doing. Every time I give a little more portion of myself I yield ten times the product and there’s always more. Enough, anyway. And… I’ve realized something…”

A chime went through the realm, signaling the southern group to move, and Orswyth and Bast’s group to prepare. The mission was on.

Tashome finished with, “I’m the one that never heals. The one to bleed and suffer for the wisdom obtained that everyone else forsakes. I was the only one to keep looking, to eat the pain and be nourished even as I starved… and I will remain the one to remind us all of what we lost and sacrificed. I will preserve the truth. I will endure.”

Buffs began to drop and Orswyth’s spell — a massive hard light platform — lifted them up and over two walls, all cloaked from the natural sight of enemies. Tashome quaffed his rare and specially prepared potion, something quite frightening with his skillset: Enduring Invisibility, which would hold even after he attacked.

Wait- Did he just pun? Ha.

The man disappeared even to Bast’s eyes. It was enough to make him shiver a bit. He needs to lighten up a little, or he’s going to crack sooner than he thinks. Nearly humorless puns aren’t enough… But okay-okay! Let’s focus and do our job, tonight, Bast, old boy. No gloomy Tashome crap going forward!

Bast dropped one protective buff from [Theurge], then lined up his grand opener. He activated the [Ruinous Charge] power which gave him 2 minutes of amplified offense, penetration boosts of all kinds, and half mana costs, the last of which was perhaps the most important, because [Dynamancer] was super bursty and expensive for its sheer power, which already punched high above its level.

Vaguely seen in the early dawn, the south side was even more lit up with activity as a pack of gargoyles was fighting with Galynth and company, all glowing under their great layer of buffs. Servitors had just spilled over the wall, showing the glyph marring to have been a sterling success. More guards from the manor were already running out toward the focal point of the raid…

He saw Dart and Constance feature prominently — Dart was a huge, black dragon and Constance was a beautiful and terrible bird-like thing spitting lightning bolts, shattering one gargoyle completely.

“That’s my girl!” Bast sent to Constance with triumphant pride. “Blow those bastards straight to hell, you sexy beast!”

“With ease,” Constance sent back cockily, along with the image of a big heart. “You look sexy yourself standing on that platform. My king is conquering.”

“It’s truly what I do, isn’t it? Planting the flag in their arse right… now!”

✦•············•✦•···········•✦

Samantha watched as the carriage came flying down the cobblestone street, her buffs all primed and her Servitor allies ready — namely Athos, Porthos, Gabriel, and Seraphiel, the rest in support, including the Cat Sith duo Saruman and Merlin, who both liked the idea of ‘attacking from a high point’ on the roof. Well, fine — whatever. Some extra curses and such would be welcome, and they’d probably get some experience from it.

Her first move was simple: wreck the carriage by snapping the reins and shaft with an interjected, super-sharp hard light wall. This would clear the innocent horses from harm, who’d just go flying down the road, newly freed from their burden as well as the douchebag driver cracking the whip at them.

The man was either going to be seriously injured or even killed from the momentum alone. Normally, she might just say ‘his fate was his fate,’ but she had a better idea. He was armed and armored and a combatant, blatantly one of the minions of King Douchebag, and therefore her enemy.

She would spare him harm through Alter Fate even though she had him utterly dead to rights in ambush, thus giving her a badly needed recharge for more important matters.

Lucky him that I’m otherwise tapped out until reset. If he wanted to fight, one of her Servitors could deal with him. Otherwise, he could surrender and avoid more pain. Not that he didn’t deserve a little for being an animal abuser…

Hitting a hard light wall probably won’t be fun, even with a get-out-of-wounds-free card.

Regardless, the time for deliberation had ended. She sent the ping signaling the manor team to begin their raid, as she synonymously reached out at the edge of her Create Illusion range and formed the wall, blade-like edge pushing hard into the gap between the driver and the tails of the trailing two horses, snapping the lower shaft between and ripping the lines of rope.

It was quite a precise maneuver with little room for error, but her practiced control and expertise with that particular power were more than up to the task.

Instantly, the carriage smashed into the wall with a terrible crack, breaking hard even as the wall itself shattered, but not before the carriage twisted sideways to slam into another section of wall for good measure. It visibly bounced and toppled sideways with one wooden wheel somehow flying off high speed, making a break for it back in the direction it had originally come.

The horses, freed of their bonds, just kept on running, not much liking the madness behind them, masters and obedience damned by the push of fear and the allure of escape.

Upon impact, she sensed a powerful magical effect flare — level 10, whatever it was, and what she had to assume was some protective spell triggering.

Damn. Well, whatever. To be expected, after all.

The party was already moving in on the carriage under the cloak of illusions — off-hand, Sammy assigned Porthos to deal with the miraculously uninjured driver, who’d been thrown off at the last moment to smash into the wall angled to the far side. Primarily, she wanted him subdued and grappled.

The very first body to the carriage was Sammy’s Mirroring Duplicate, otherwise a copy of her own armored figure if one saw through the cloaking effects. Other hard light figures moved in after this, and for those that would be fooled by illusions, even more men appeared to be arriving…

An explosive fireball flared out emanating from the carriage, incinerating it and catching the first wave of hard light creations. They did not fare well at all, with multiple crystalline figures shattering almost instantly. Porthos was hit as well, but merely thrown and singed, a wound negation saving him.

Meanwhile, the driver was apparently owed no loyalty, caught in the radius and completely immolated with flames. He died screaming, his prior salvation having lasted only seconds.

Sammy was not entirely unprepared for the response, which was why the first wave was mostly made of decoys. She had all of her illusory ‘members’ get immolated and put on a good show of dying horribly, though with a few ‘resistant’ and showing as immediate threats.

The inside radius of the blast had three figures become evident, all of them encased in some sort of protective field like rippling, almost watery magical energy. Two were bodyguards brandishing swords and summoned shields, and they charged at the illusory ‘threats’. The other was a frazzled, angry-looking Nestaire Linateri, whose eyes saw through to the truth — and widened in alarm.

“Illusions, you fools-” he cried — right before a storm of destruction came down on them.

My turn, bitch.