Collide Gamer

It was always a terribly difficult undertaking, to constrain powerful Abyssals. Truly, building a prison that could hold those that could crumble stone with their bare hands like balls of mud was a luxury. The Order had not come to its current policy on retributive execution due to a cynic disregard for human life. Rather, it was the regrettable concession to the wickedness in man’s heart and the power of the villains of the Earth. Every sinner allowed redemption was a coin toss and the lives at stake were not those of the Order, for the Order of the Golden Rose was the Lady’s armament.

It was the life of the innocent that was gambled with. Was it proper to cut short a life that could be turned around, if failure to walk in Her light would cause the deaths of individuals, of dozens, of hundreds? Of course not. Mercy for the wicked was to sow horror for the innocent. Though executions stained her hands and soured her mood, the Shield Warden would sooner steep her hands in blood and gore than to cast upon her soul the filth of naivety.

In the end, there was no such thing as an innocent villain. To earn the moniker, one must have had basked themselves in wrongdoing. To offer them life was a mercy to oneself only. It was to postpone a difficult decision, because one could not stomach its outcomes. To make mercy one’s guiding light was to surrender to the weak will of inaction.

Those that exploited would find no forgiveness in Moira’s heart.

The Order had become more ruthless than other organizations, Moira was willing to concede this. The reason for this was, once again, well-founded. They did not deal with pickpockets or embezzlers, not the petty crimes of finance or drunken violence. Their domain was hunting the witch, the warlock, the necromancer and all other kinds of abominable twisting of the blessed existence.

Through their seers, the Order peered into the abyss of the soul – and blinded the gaze that peered back with their radiant faith.

Moira knew all of this.

Her heart burned bright with her righteousness.

Her gaze was cold.

These men and women were lucky that they had the luxury of a prison. At other times, with less facilities, they would simply have been hanged in an Illusion Barrier, their corpses looted and then disappeared without burial or rites.

The Royal Habsburg Prison was located within the bounds of mundane Vienna, but outside the reach of the Abyssal city. Urban sprawl had swallowed what once had been a remote residence. The old landscape was still alive within the Illusion Barrier. Old trees surrounded a singular manour that served as the entrance to the greater prison.

Moira and Lorelei had been guided down steps poured by an earth mage. The complex was surrounded by layers of security. An artificial lake around the estate served as both moat and fuel. The will of one earth mage could, at any time, break down the dividing wall between the sole way into the underground complex and the water, flooding the complex below. It would be a death sentence to the weaker prisoners and serve to disorient and delay the rest.

The rest of the complex was layer upon layer of security. Trap enchantments, bars of elementally enriched metals, holding cells for different kinds of abilities, labyrinthian corridors, kill zones, funnels, open spaces, all of it crammed into the underground complex.

Moira listened to their guide drone on proudly and occasionally responded with a curt, short, “I see,” or similar phrase. In truth, she was unimpressed. Expressed in the convenient scale of her… future husband… this facility could very well hold people of the level ranges 25 to perhaps 75, at the utmost. Beyond that, even the specialized cells would fall short. Moira herself would tear through this place like it was made out of toothpicks.

The Order had less cumbersome constructions that could hold sinners of a higher order. Driving stakes through the forearms of necromancers to twice-fasten the mana draining shackles was the proper way of restriction.

“We are holding the rebels here,” the guide finally said and stepped aside. The uniformed woman watched them as they passed, mustering them with barely hidden disdain. Was she jealous of their power, perhaps? Many ugly emotions wormed beneath the surface of so many people. “I advise against stepping in.”

“Noted and dismissed.” Moira wielded her voice like a spear, pointing the tip at any uncertainty that could be found. “Remain here, if that is according to protocol.”

“It is,” she responded plainly. “Further, the policy is not to aid you until we can gather a crushing amount of force, in case they grab you.”

“Noted,” Moira gave another curtly response, then gestured at the cell door between them and the occupied sector. A heavy key turned in a heavy lock. Enchantments loosened with a subtle whistle that lesser ears would miss. Bolts retreated. The door swung open. Lorelei and Moira stepped through, then it was closed harshly behind them. The prison guard now watched them through the bars.

They advanced into the sub-section of the prison. 29 people were kept within it, each a violent thug that had attacked a keeper of order in these lands. Though the kingdoms of Europe were imperfect, they were good enough for their task. To react to their presence with immediate violence spoke to an undeveloped mind.

Moira’s nose rankled when a mixture of familiar scents hit her nose. Cold sweat, blood and seed, a triad of smells that combined into something that unwelcomely stuck to the back of her throat.

“What do you make of her?” Moira asked, regarding the prison guard.

“Discontent with our presence, cloaking what she would like to do to us beneath a layer of discipline.” Lorelei’s response was as even as her steps. The seer was, like Moira, in her official clothes. An ashen dress clad her curves modestly, the wrapped and ornately frayed cloth rimmed with red and gold thread, the emblem of the rose stitched atop her chest. A circlet of ornately shaped metals sat around her head, covering eyes that saw so much more in their blindness.

“A resentful prison guard, then,” Moira stated bluntly. Those unshielded by the Lady’s guidance all too often cracked due to consistent exposure to humanity’s darkest.

The immediate area behind the bars was empty. This sub-complex was, as far as prisons were concerned, incredibly gracious. There was space to walk, space to sleep, space to clean oneself and even space to retreat to privacy.

“Maximillian hopes they may be integrated into his order,” Lorelei whispered her theory. “They have only been guilty of naïve violence so far. Perhaps they can still be shown the path?”

“Perhaps.” Moira did not agree. Ahead of them, down a flight of stairs, the origin of the scents made itself known via grunting and the violent smacking of flesh.

They stepped into a den of debauchery, the kind of which made Moira thankful for her own, comparatively pure living arrangements.

An empty chamber had been turned into a fighting ring, the limited furniture toppled to outline the edge of it. Within, four men were currently fighting, blood running from split lips. In the crowd around them, a few women were enthusiastic centres of sexual attention. They, like the men, were marked by signs of brawling and grinned manically as they moaned. Though degenerating into brutishness was typically the domain of men, Moira had seen her own sex be pulled into similar behaviour often enough not to be surprised. Wanton violence always went hand in hand with beastly mating in these cases.

“Primal instincts, forsaking the gift of sapience,” Moira announced her presence. The prisoners turned to her, a degree of confusion in their eyes.

“They expected another kind of visit,” Lorelei whispered to the Warden.

“Put me down, boys,” the apparent leader of this gaggle stated. She was currently stuck between two male compatriots, held high for easy access to both of her holes. Once she was on the floor, it surprised Moira how short she was. Short and broad, with a toned figure that wasn’t entirely bereft of curves. Naked and filled with false confidence, she strutted up to Moira. “And who are you two? English mercenaries?”

Moira considered her accent typically subtle, though she admittedly did not know how true that was when she was speaking German. “I am Moira Brighton, Shield Warden of the Order of the Golden Rose. With me is Lorelei Varnik, Seer of the Order. We are-“

“Boring me.”

The woman suddenly zapped forwards, her body wreathed in lightning. Her short, black hair was covered by a gaseous trail of blue energy. Her fist swung towards Moira’s midriff.

It was an Upset punch, that much was immediately obvious. Though that did bridge the gap between when it came to the potential to harm one another, it did nothing to overcome the difference in reflexes. Moira simply turned her torso out of the way and backhanded the sinner in the same motion.

Metal crashed into skin. Moira was holding back, but she still did not expect the violent woman to merely stumble back from the impact. “FUCK!” she cussed, rolling her jaw. “That hurt! Nice!” The lightning rose higher as she readied herself for another attack. “How about-“

“Yo, An’!” one of the men shouted. “Stop being a bitch for a second!”

The violent woman glared over at the speaker. The air around her crackled for a moment, then she dismissed her magic entirely. “Fine!” She spat out red-tinged saliva, then glared at Moira. “What do you want, whoever you are?”

“I introduced us,” Moira said.

“Yeah, yeah, Moria and Laurel from the Order of the Golden Sphincte-“

Moira seized the short woman by the throat before she could react. For all to see, the righteous paladin effortlessly lifted the disrespectful wretch up and then slammed her into the ground. The walls shook from the force of the impact.

“Disrespect to the Order…” Lorelei spoke calmly, “…is highly inadvisable. We have come in an effort to save your wayward souls from the darkness of villainy. Make no mistake, however, that the Lady’s mercy is tied to your efforts. Should we make the determination that you are unsalvageable, the blessed Warden has every right to smite you.”

“A literal threat,” Moira added, surrounding her clenched fist with golden light for effect.

It did not have the wanted impact on their audience, though Moira had dealt with crowds such as this too often to be surprised by this. In absence of realization, intimidation sufficed, and in absence of intimidation, begrudging respect of her strength at least enabled a conversation.

“We operate here with the permission of the king of this land, Maximillian of Habsburg.” Lorelei spoke with a herald’s confidence. It was not her primary training, but a seer and inquisitor had to have many talents. “As friend to our beloved, the Saint John Newman the Gamer-“

“Saint the Gamer?” the woman on the floor wheezed. “The fuck kind of tonal whiplash is tha-“

Moira ended the interjection by putting a heel on the woman’s chest and pushing the air out of her lungs.

“The Saint,” Lorelei continued, “is supporting his friend and as such we have ordained to bring to you the chance to cooperate, to begin your journey of redemption by telling us all that could be of use to us. Your rebellion towards this kingdom is as doomed as it is foolish.”

“Okay, and?” one of the men in the crowd asked.

“We’re gonna tell you the same thing we told the last three squads that came down here to grill us!” one of the women, her short hair matted with sweat, her knuckles bloodied, threw in. “We just want a good scrap. We found other people that want a good scrap. Then, we went and had it. That’s it.”

Moira carefully observed Lorelei’s hands. Previously folded in front of her stomach, she raised the left to her chest in an empathetic gesture. It also was a simple code: ‘She omits something inside her truths’.

“You know more,” Moira pressed. “Understand that your sinful tendencies can still be channelled into activities that, while filthy, may be without harm to society at large. Fight clubs and orgy rings can be had without assailing the protectors of the realm.”

The collective prisoners just sneered at them. It was the sound of a crowd for whom controlled violence just wasn’t good enough. It might as well have been the howling of hungry wolves.

“Honoured Warden, I believe we are done here.”

“As you say, seer,” she agreed.

They left the chamber without another word. The sounds of fighting and fornicating resumed before they were even up the stairs. “Pity the mind too small for order,” Lorelei muttered.

“Rare of you to cite from the Texts of Condemnation,” Moira remarked.

“Their souls are condemned by their choices, honoured Warden. They have made their choice to love violence above all.” The seer sadly shook her head. “If I may speculate, perhaps some people that break out of the safety of the mundane have never learned the guardrails for altercations.”

“You are more optimistic than I, a remarkable quality when you can see the depths of their souls with your own eyes.” Moira’s armour rattled with every harsh step she took. “Violence is innate to man. The virtuous will always be tested against the sinner. Such is the trial of life.” They continued for a little bit in silence. “Have you learned anything of value?”

“I saw her power swell subtly when she was struck,” Lorelei reported. “I believe they may be developing a defensive variety of Upset.”

A problematic thing to hear.