by Neven Iliev
Well, it wasn’t all bad. At least she had something special to think about while experimenting with fondling her breasts later.
“Information gathering is the priority,” Boxxy continued. “Do not engage in combat unless absolutely necessary.”
“Understood, Master.”
With a firm grasp on her mission and newfound determination, the stalker regretfully yet hurriedly disentangled herself from Boxxy. She ejected a large amount of white spider silk from her clawed hands and crudely weaved it between her back-mounted scythes. It was an old trick she had picked up from one of her seniors about three centuries ago. Within seconds she was gliding gracefully through the air on her improvised wings. Boxxy slipped into a more compact version of the Sandman disguise with two leathery wings of its own, achieving a similar result.
The two man-eaters gradually drifted further apart as they descended towards opposite ends of the camp. Boxxy reflexively braced itself for impact as it approached the Prismatic Dome’s roof only to fall through unhindered. This made the shapeshifter feel a bit silly. It knew that the illusory bubble could not stop its descent, but that was in theory. Actually confronting the Spell in person had filled it with a bit of anxiety. The worrisome notion that it had no idea what lay behind that magical veil certainly didn’t help its nerves, either.
Once past the Prismatic Dome, the creature was momentarily blinded. This wasn’t an effect of the Spell but a natural reaction as its senses adjusted to the ridiculously bright luminescence of the interior. Numerous torches, bonfires, and lamps lit up every corner of the camp, and the inner side of the illusory barrier reflected much of that light back at the ground. The resulting brightness was akin to four suns having a free-for-all wrestling match in the sky at high noon.
After its eyesight adjusted, the creature got a better view of the camp below. It was surprised to see that not a single one out of twelve thousand soldiers were sleeping. At least that was how it seemed given the sheer amount of people on the ground. Some were sparring, doing drills, checking their equipment, or performing some other productive act. However, more than half of the soldiers behaved as if their standing orders were to party hard. There was dancing, drinking, singing, and all around merriment wherever Boxxy looked, with almost none of the humans wearing arms or armor.
For a moment, the shapeshifter thought it had stumbled onto the wrong place. Rather than a military camp, this looked like some kind of festival. People were celebrating so much that one would think they had already won the war. However, the heraldries and banners scattered around the place were clear signs that the place belonged to the Imperial army. Even those symbols weren’t proudly on display, but hung up sporadically as if an afterthought. Boxxy might have failed to notice them altogether if it wasn’t airborne.
… Oh, crap!
The monster suddenly realized how exposed its position was. It expected the interior to be dimly lit, allowing it to covertly land in some dark corner. This wasn’t the case, and anyone could spot it if they so much as looked up. Thinking quickly, Boxxy retracted its bat-like wings and dove towards a medium-sized tent directly underneath. It deftly sliced open the canvas with a sword-hand and impacted the ground with a heavy thud right in the middle of three very confused soldiers. The unarmed and unarmored men appeared to be in the middle of a heated game of dice, so the cloaked intruder’s sudden arrival left them in stunned silence. The look of pure bewilderment on their faces lasted just long enough for Boxxy’s thick tentacles to wrap around each of their heads.
The surprised men proved their training wasn’t entirely for naught as they instinctively grasped for their swords and blindly sliced at the fleshy appendages currently suffocating them. Although they managed to inflict a few wounds, it only took a few seconds for their skulls to start creaking from the intensity of the monster’s grip. They managed to let out a few muffled screams of pain before their heads caved in and their bodies went limp. Mere moments after their struggles stopped struggling, a pair of off duty soldiers barged into the tent to see what the commotion was about.
They regretted this decision for the remaining two seconds of their lives.
Well, that could’ve gone better, Boxxy grumbled inwardly. I should probably clean the place up a bit.
The monster discretely disposed of all but one of the corpses using its gullet. The last body was used to fuel its Broken Reflection Skill. Within seconds, the shapeshifter completely took on the deceased soldier’s appearance and personality, as well as some short-term memories and final thoughts. Now wearing the skin of Generic Imperial Soldier A, the creature left the quintuple homicide scene with a spring in its step. It didn’t exactly have much to be cheerful about, but its ability had also absorbed a good amount of mirth from its victim.
“Infiltration successful,” it reported telepathically. “Claws, what about you?”
“I landed in what seems to be a pen for Monster Tamers. Had to silence the squire that spotted me, along with a few noisy mounts, but I’m otherwise undetected.”
“Can you hide the bodies?”
“Uh, no. I ate the guy, but these things are a bit big for me.”
It wasn’t that she couldn’t gobble up some horse-sized twin-tailed wolf-beasts, but doing so would take quite a bit of time.
“Hm. Try and clean up any blood and arrange the bodies so it looks like they’re sleeping.”
“I will do my best, Master.”
“Once you’re done with that, seek out the commanding officer’s tent and look for any documents, letters, maps, or any other souvenirs we can bring back to the FIB. We won’t have much time before they realize something is amiss, so hop to it.”
“At once, Master.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll work the crowd and see what I can learn. Arms, move a bit closer to the camp, but don’t enter the perimeter. I need you to be ready in case I need a strategic diversion.”
“So,” Kora considered those orders, “does that mean I should get ready to skull-fuck me some pansies?”
“Uh… sure, I guess.”
“Neat!”
“What about me, Master?” asked Xera expectantly.
“Start flying back to the city. We have a lot of ground to cover on the way back and I’d rather not leave Keira’s bunk empty for longer than I have to.”
“Of course, Master. But what about the matter of my lonely pussy?”
“I’ll handle your urges when I get the chance.”
“Mmmnhmm hmm,” she moaned merrily. “I’ll be looking forward to it then! Please don’t make me wait too long, okay?”
The succubus crawled out of the bear den she was holed up in and took flight, gliding gracefully through the night. Unlike the first trip, however, she was in a much better mood. At one point, she even began humming pleasantly out of anticipation. It wasn’t the best idea considering the covert nature of her Master’s ongoing operation, but realistically speaking she wasn’t in real danger of anyone noticing her presence from the ground.
Well, except for the hapless Imperial scout who had a drop or two of Xera’s ‘anticipation’ land on his face, but luckily he chose not to question the origin of that clear, sticky fluid.
Part Seven
The Empire’s soldiers wasted no time playing games, sharing stories, and downing drinks as they actively blew off steam before the upcoming battle. Though their bodies felt full of energy despite several days of non-stop marching and manual labor, their minds were exhausted and stressed. Field officers fully understood that entering combat in such a state inevitably lead to mistakes, most likely of the fatal variety. Thus, the ongoing lack of discipline was not only tolerated, but also encouraged. The leadership felt this forward camp was secure enough to afford an evening of entertainment to boost morale before the imminent attack on New Whitehall.
Five of the men were seated around a small campfire, heavily drunk, while one of them regaled the others with a tale of the time he lost his wedding ring.
“So wh
en I finally woke up, I realized that the thing I locked in the cellar wasn’t an angry bear, but my pissed off wife!”
The group shared in a brief but hearty round of laughter as the man wrapped up the anecdote.
“But yeah, as I was saying,” the man continued, “that’s why you wanna be careful when marrying a Druid.”
“I always thought Druids would make great mothers, though,” chimed in one of the others. “I mean, what with their nurturing nature and soothing personalities and whatnot?”
“Oh yeah, great mothers for sure. Even better wives… so long as they’re not a feral one like mine.”
“Feral? What?”
“That’s what they call some of ‘em,” someone else in the group chimed in. “Druids what change into beasties rather than waving them pretty lights around.”
“Huh. Well, how about that? First I hear that those tree-huggers can- Wait, hold up. So, Ed’s wife was a literal bear at the time?!”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?!” exclaimed the troubled husband. “Well, more of a half-bear thing, but close enough for my drunken ass to not tell the difference.”
“Ed, I do not envy you.”
“Eh, it’s not all bad. True, she has a bit of a temper. And her sense of humor flew south for the winter… and pretty much the rest of the year… Still! She’s the finest woman I know. Really wild in the sack, too!”
“Oy, lads! Stop that thing!”
A sudden shout from one of the soldiers got the drunkards’ attention. They turned their eyes in the direction he pointed, revealing a wagon loaded with wooden crates rolling down an inclined path between the rows of tents and shacks. It rapidly gained speed as it hurtled towards the temporary shelters with white-and-blue stripes, which stood out amidst the sea of beige canvas used by the grunts. The five men around the campfire rushed to intercept the runaway vehicle. Three of them grabbed it from the sides while the other two pushed it back from the front. It was heavy and had built up a fair bit of speed, yet the soldiers managed to stop it before it ploughed into the officers’ tents.
“Phew, that was close,” one of them stated the obvious.
“I’ll say. That took a lot more effort than I was expecting.”
“Yeah no wonder,” a third one joined in. “This thing’s so overloaded with stuff the brake’s snapped clean in half.”
He patted the side of the wagon where the lever-operated mechanism meant to keep the wheels from turning was clearly broken.
“Those idiots from logistics again? Why I ought to-”
“You ought to what, Private?!”
The men instantly formed an orderly line and snapped to attention at the sound of the familiar, commanding yell. A slightly older soldier with a large fissure-like scar on his bald head menacingly paced towards them. He looked over the stiff troops, the formerly-runaway vehicle, and the trio of extra-large tents before he turned his attention back to the men.
“Not bad, maggots,” he said in a calm but stern voice. “Good to see you’re not completely unaware of your surroundings. Now get that wagon out of here and find the one responsible for securing it. On the double!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
While the hard-ass Sergeant organized a swift and efficient cleanup of the almost-disaster, Drea was busy rooting through the striped tents. The stalker had been the one who sabotaged the wagon as a distraction so she could slip into the officers’ quarters unnoticed. Their tents were in the middle of open, well-lit ground with people watching out for anyone wandering in or out of them. A direct approach was too risky, even for the stalker. Her solution was to discreetly and carefully prepare the over-burdened wagon, sabotage its brakes, and send it careening down hill while she clung to its undercarriage. The guards would leap to stop it, providing an opening to slip under them.
Unfortunately, it didn’t work out like that since those drunkards unexpectedly intervened. Still, the clumsy way they stopped the rogue wagon kicked up a decent amount of dust and drew a lot of attention. The nimble demon took a chance and made a dash for the tents, using her back-mounted scythes to rip through both the canvas and any enchantments it might have had. Once inside, she glued the horizontal cut shut with a bit of webbing. She was rather surprised she pulled off the maneuver in only two seconds. She wasn’t used to working with the high amount of DEX and AGI of the body Boxxy had conjured for her. The borderline-intoxicating power was, without a doubt, one of the perks of this particular contract.
Another unexpected surprise was how easy it had been for Drea to find this place. She would have to be blind in all eight eyes to not notice the armed guards, the indulgent size of the tents, or the extremely conspicuous coloration of their canvas. It was so painfully obvious that the Empire might as well have put up a massive sign that read, ‘Super important people live here! Please come and murder them!’ In retrospect, the stalker should have expected such foolishness from the conceited humans. Their obsession with pointless pageantry and needless showing off had been a mystery to her ever since she first stepped into the physical realm about five hundred years ago. Even after all those centuries, the human race still hadn’t learned that making their valuable personnel stand out so much only made it easier for assassins like Drea to do their jobs. The only thing the Empire did right was to split up the obvious targets into several enclaves of two-to-four tents each.
The stalker’s point of view was rather flawed. Unlike most professional killers, she was an immortal demon, so her capture or death was at most a minor setback. It was much easier to take bold and risky moves when one didn’t need worry about self-preservation. Even if she failed, she could merely be summoned again to have another try. In the past, Drea was contracted to several masters that kept sending her after the same high-profile target over and over. The idiots would often get upset with her continued failures, completely unaware that their own lack of power was to blame. The arachnid demoness had talent and experience, but these were meaningless when the vessel carrying them was woefully inadequate for the task at hand.
That was why working for Boxxy was so exhilarating. Rather than being constrained by her physical limits, Drea had more Attributes and Skills than she knew what to do with. More importantly, she could utilize them as she saw fit so long as she completed her objectives. Her only complaint was that none of the tasks she had been given were all that challenging. To put it bluntly, she was grossly overqualified for hunting random civilians and information gathering.
Still, she knew it couldn’t last. That chest-brained shapeshifter would surely come up with some dastardly scheme that would put Drea’s deadly skills to the test. Until then, she merely focused on finishing her current assignment with speed and precision. Unfortunately, she wasn’t having much luck with the first tent. There were no documents, maps, memos, letters, or anything else that was important or even relevant to the war effort. The only thing that stood out was the suit of armor hanging from a stand in the back. Since none of the occupant’s other belongings sparked interest, Drea decided to inspect it. The metal was an off-white color reminding her of Fizzy’s mithril hide, though it lacked the golem’s luster. Far more interesting, however, was the strong reaction she got from her Detect Magic Skill.
“Master, I think I’ve found a VIP’s quarters,” she sent a telepathic report. “There is no intel, but there is an enchanted, custom made suit of almost-mithril armor.”
“Almost-mithril?”
“It’s white, but nowhere near as shiny as Fizzy. I’m no expert, but if memory serves human smiths are partial to creating alloys rather than working with pure metal.”
“I see, so they diluted the shiny. That’s a shame. What about the enchantments? Can you tell me what they are?”
“I’ll check right now.”
Verifying the properties of magic items was typically done in one of two ways: through a Scribe’s appraisal, or by putting them on and taking note of what effects they had on the Status. Drea wasn’t a Scribe nor could she
equip the gear due to the huge claws poking out of her hands, feet, and back, but she had her own way of doing things. Stalker demons like her could quite literally taste magic, and Drea’s palate was refined enough to let her differentiate between enchantments by flavor alone.
Thus, she unabashedly slobbered all over those metal plates as she licked them top-to-bottom.
“All the pieces have been bestowed increased toughness,” she announced. “The breastplate has fire resistance and Endurance enchantments. Strength and Wisdom on the right gauntlet, Agility and Intelligence on the left. There’s night vision and MP regeneration on the helmet. The leg plates improve HP regeneration and provide all-purpose magic resistance. The greaves reduce stamina consumption. All of them are quite potent.”
“So it may not be shiny, but it’s definitely tasty, huh? Hmm… Any distinguishing features on the equipment?”
“Quite a few. The helmet, greaves, shoulder pads, and gauntlets are adorned with religious decorations and engravings related to the worship of Teresa.”
Both Kora and Xera felt the urge to make a rude comment upon hearing the Goddess’s name, but they couldn’t since it would violate their orders regarding idle chatter. After all, baseless speculations regarding Teresa’s frigidness and wild theories concerning her supposed need for sexual relief were not exactly mission-critical.
“I see,” mused Boxxy. “Definitely not standard-issue Imperial gear, and only a VIP would be able to afford something ridiculous like that. It would also be highly inconvenient if their personalized equipment suddenly disappeared, wouldn’t it?”