And he would, too.
That cold bastard would slaughter his own children if he thought it would further his goals. Trace had seen it play out in the tower, when he’d watched the man decapitate a woman he’d called his closest friend. And for what? So he could solidify his rule? It was madness of a sort Trace wanted nothing to do with. Yet, he’d stuck around in Easton, largely because, so long as he acted according to Roman’s will, he got to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
And since the world ended, that was all he cared about.
There had been a time, and not so long ago, that he’d have put his life on the line for family and friends. In fact, he’d done just that right after the world had changed. He was good at it, too, and for a while, he had been successful. But then Marly had died, killed by some sort of humanoid tree monster that had taken Trace nearly an hour to hack apart.
She was the first, but she’d been far from the last. One by one, everyone he’d ever loved had been taken from him until he was the only one left. That’s when he broke, when he had chosen to give up on the idea of being a hero. Of protecting people. Of looking out for anything but his own best interests.
Since then, he’d descended down a spiral of hedonism, theft, and murder, only surfacing when his benefactor gave him a task. Nearby, two of his girls – cute little slips of femininity – waited, watching for his signal. He couldn’t see them, much to his dismay. Like him, they were equipped with potent stealth skills, so no one that wasn’t at least ten levels their senior would be capable of detecting them. Unlike him, though, they were both gorgeous. It was practically a crime, covering that up with a skill. They were also oh-so-pliable.
Trace had taken advantage of that last trait on more than one occasion. They were broken, too. But instead of throwing caution to the wind and truly committing to the pursuit of pleasure in all its varied forms, they’d simply given up. Most of the time, they didn’t even say anything – which was fine by him. The last thing he wanted was to waste time listening to a teenage girl’s inane chatter.
However, they’d also been trained well, so the pair were effective enough that he would have kept them around, even if they didn’t satisfy his other, much more depraved requirements.
In any case, Trace didn’t have to worry about them, so he kept his attention squarely on the two figures in the middle of what looked like a paddock. The area was surrounded by a low fence, and it featured hard-packed dirt that spoke of many hours of trampling feet. The two people within its bounds were interesting enough that Trace barely noticed their surroundings, though.
One was a boy with dark hair and a tan complexion, while the other was a tall, slim man who looked like he’d stepped off the set of an old cowboy movie. However, instead of a six-shooter, he wielded a katana with a gleaming blade and a worn hilt. Next to him, the boy looked even smaller than he truly was. But given his parentage, Miguel Rodriguez was bound to end up on the short side.
Of course, Trace recognized the cowboy as well, and in truth, he had nothing against Colt Marsters. By all accounts, the man did his job and kept to himself. The only thing that annoyed Trace about him was his propensity to play the hero. The man had never met a dangerous situation he wouldn’t throw himself against, which Trace found naïve, performative, and a little sad. It was as if the man was trying to prove to everyone how competent and heroic he was.
It made Trace a little nauseous.
The pair clashed, their practice blades clacking as they went through a series of measured drills. For his part, Trace found the entire thing pointless. He’d never practiced his bladework, but he’d done just fine for himself. After all, it wasn’t so difficult to understand that the pointy end went into the other man. That was one lesson Trace had learned well, and he’d put it into practice more times than he could count.
Still, he could at least appreciate the dedication involved, especially considering he’d seen Marsters in action. Even if he was nauseatingly heroic, the cowboy certainly knew his way around a fight, and he’d proven his prowess on enough occasions that nobody who wanted to live would underestimate him.
Trace looked past the two faux combatants and into the town beyond. All of the buildings were made of rough-hewn timber, giving them the appearance of log cabins. It cast the entire settlement in a rustic light that put Trace in mind of the vacations he’d once taken with his family. Those had been good times, and he remembered them fondly. Yet, it also came with the same heart wrenching pain that accompanied any memory of the past. So, he quickly pushed past it.
His true target was in the largest building, probably forging armor for the enemies of Easton. Trace didn’t care so much about a petty rebellion because he knew precisely how unsuccessful any attempt would be. Roman wasn’t untouchable – not quite – but so long as he stayed inside those walls, he might as well have been. Trace had found himself the target of the man’s ire on enough occasions that he no longer held any interest in challenging him.
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In any case, armor or not, anyone who chose to attack Easton was going to get a rude awakening. So, Trace wasn’t entirely certain why he was even there. He could have assassinated her on the road. Or in her sleep. And he already knew where to find the warband with whom the rebels had made an alliance. Watching Carmen was pointless.
Yet, he was there, doing as he’d been told, like a kept dog.
It was infuriating.
So, it wasn’t surprising that his mind quickly turned to a different plan to deal with the uppity blacksmith and her little band of rebels. After all, if he had something she desperately wanted to keep safe, then it wouldn’t be difficult to keep her in line. And Trace remembered his own children well enough to recognize the lengths a mother would go to keep harm from befalling her children.
It took him a while to work himself up to it, but after a couple of hours, Trace had convinced himself that Roman would appreciate his initiative. He may even give him some sort of reward.
No – the plan that had taken root in his mind was a good one. He just needed to make it work, and he’d get whatever he wanted out of Roman. So, he knocked on the tree he’d been hiding behind, which was the signal for the two girls.
After that, he retreated twenty yards into the woods to a prearranged location and canceled Concealment. A moment later, the pair of girls removed their own camouflaging capabilities. They were similar in appearance, though one was dark of hair while the other was blonde. One day, Trace wanted to get a brunette and a redhead to complete the set.
With a slight smirk, he told them his plan, and to their credit, they didn’t argue. They’d long since learned that he wouldn’t react well to any questions. In any case, they listened, and when he’d finished, all three adopted their stealth abilities before setting off for the training grounds. As they had been for hours, Colt and the boy continued to practice.
Trace nimbly climbed over the fence, then padded across the training rounds until he was in perfect position. Then, he drew the Dagger of Sundering from the sheath at his waist and struck, using Armor Pierce.
The blade sliced through the thin protection of the man’s shirt – his duster hung over the fence in the other direction – piercing Colt’s kidney. The cowboy reacted instantly, lashing out with a backhand that took Trace in the cheek and sent him spinning to the ground. Immediately, he embraced Vanish, hiding himself from view. As he did so, he turned his tumble into a dive, and it was just in time, too, because only a moment later, the ground erupted into a cloud of dirt and dust as a dozen invisible blades tore through the earth.
Trace looked back to see that Colt had stumbled. The Dagger of Sundering had done its job, robbing the man of his attributes.
Even as Colt tried to get himself under control, the two girls struck. One high, and the other low.
Their blades bit into the man, but he wasn’t considered one of Easton’s best combatants for nothing. In the blink of an eye, his sword flashed out, and the blonde girl’s head went flying through the air while her body crumpled to the ground. Colt paid no attention to his injuries. Instead, before the other girl could react, he kicked her in the chest, sending her falling backwards toward the ground.
She never made it.
Not in one piece, at least.
Colt once again flicked his sword, activating his ability and she fell to the ground in pieces.
Just like that, Trace was all alone and facing a furious Colt Marsters.
He considered running. He was good at that. Yet, the blood pooling on the ground told Trace that Colt wasn’t in the best shape. So, when he saw how wobbly Colt was, he decided to stick it out, circling around and looking for an opening. He didn’t dare snatch the child, who stupidly hadn’t run away, even when Colt shouted for him to do just that. Instead, Miguel stood his ground, hold his practice sword like it would do any good.
To keep him around, Trace used Intimidate on Miguel. Most of the time, it wouldn’t work on people, but the kid didn’t even have an archetype yet, so he was entirely unprotected. As a result, he dropped his useless weapon, widened his eyes, and went stiff as all rational thought fled before the face of unmitigated terror.
Meanwhile, Trace darted in, stabbing Colt in the stomach. However, the moment his blade made contact, the wounded cowboy reacted with a lightning fast slash that nearly took Trace’s head off. As it was, he bounded away just in time, picking up a gash on his cheek instead.
But Trace knew he’d been caught out in the open – a fact that was confirmed by a twinge from his Danger Sense – so he immediately activated Riposte. It was perfect timing, because Colt used his bread-and-butter attack a second later.
Riposte
For one-and-a-half (1.5) seconds, block any attack and return it to its origin at fifty (50) percent power.
It was the single most important ability Trace had, but it was also an extremely limited one. As such, he’d trained himself to use it at the most opportune moment. In this case, it sent Colt’s attack right back at him. The man never even saw it coming.
Unfortunately, even as it ripped the cowboy to shreds, Trace knew it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. It was enough to send him toppling to the ground in a puddle of his own blood, though. Trace stalked forward, tossing his Dagger of Sundering from one hand to the next as he prepared to finish the job.
Yet, the sudden banging of a door and a shout from within the mining town alerted him that he didn’t have the time. So, he ran forward, grabbing the kid, and throwing him over a shoulder. As he did so, he used Stun to knock him out. Normally, it would only last an instant, which he usually used to give himself an edge in a fight. But with someone who hadn’t even gotten his archetype, the ability was a lot more effective. The kid went out like a light, and Trace sprinted away from the training ground.
After leaping over the fence, he used Light Step to increase his footspeed, leaving any pursuit behind. And just like that, he’d accomplished his goal. Now, he only needed to return to Easton, hand the kid over to Roman, and Carmen would fall into line.