Azure: Gunner

#13: When a dragon bit the Black Razor in half, he strangled it to death with his own entrails. Other dragons got the message and have stayed away from Earth before and since.

#26: The Black Razor decides when the System gets to Level Up.

#54: The Black Razor can sharpen a sword by looking at it.

#72: A Witch once tried to lay a curse on the Black Razor. The curse fled for its life.

- Excerpts from “100 Amazing Black Razor Facts”, author unknown, presumed juvenile

Mason hated crawling. No, it was more accurate to say he loathed it. He’d never used to mind, back in the old days. His body just wasn’t made for it anymore. Even when he spread his legs wide to compensate for their unusual shape, his fucking tail stuck up despite his best efforts to flatten it out behind him.

Still, exceptions had to be made, and hunting a Tier 4 monster larger than some buildings was one of those times. He carefully maneuvered his bulk to edge out past the side of the boulder, then summoned his binoculars from his Inventory. He had decent Perception for a melee specialist, but even the best vision was significantly improved with a quality pair of Tinker-made lenses.

Bringing the binoculars to his face, the far side of the valley leapt into focus. It was roughly five miles away, but the weather was clear and with the powerful optics he could easily make out the cave opening that Point had located.

<Target located,> he reported over the Comms. <No movement outside.>

<Look inside,> Point told him unnecessarily. Mason ignored the Hunter and adjusted the zoom on the binoculars. Once the cave opening filled his vision, he trickled a bit of mana into the night-vision enchantment. A moment later, the shadowed floor of the cave brightened, revealing that what looked like irregular rocks were actually sleeping terrordactyls.

Mason grunted softly over the Comms, continuing to scan the cave for several minutes before carefully making his way back to cover. He looked over the rest of the team for a moment as he considered the options.

There was Point – short for Point of Aim – a rather annoying moniker for an otherwise competent Hunter. The wiry medium-height brunette was the one who’d led them here. She’d been teaching at the Academy when the attack happened, and had used a Skill to track the terrordactyl when it fled. As the only Tier 3 on the team, most of her work was now done, though he knew better than to expect her to sit out the coming fight. The dead instructor had been a friend of hers, after all.

Next to her was Medhi, a Tier 4 Earth Mage that Mason had worked with before, many years ago. His small frame – barely taller than Point – belied the impressive magical power at his disposal. Mason had kept an eye on his career from afar recently. After all, there were few Classes in his Tier that he considered more of a threat to himself personally than a strong Earth Mage.

Phyx was someone Mason kept a close eye on for other reasons – and it wasn’t her formidable beauty. Instead, he was grimly certain that anyone who chose the callsign ‘Asphyxia’ for herself had to be a little bit off their rocker. More than most Delvers, anyway. The stunning dark-skinned brunette filled out her tight leather armor in a way that Mason would have once found distracting. He was older and wiser now.

The other actual member of their team was off rendezvousing with their other two melee fighters and Healer. A Tier 4 Archer who went by the unnecessarily ominous callsign of ‘Night’, he was currently waiting several dozen miles away for the last three members of their team – Shieldbreaker, Haldred, and Espinosa. That would give him a team of seven Tier 4s, one Tier 3, and one… Bard.

Mason’s lip curled slightly as he examined the last member of the group. He had no idea what the elf’s actual name was, or if they actually remembered themselves. Tall, slim, and androgynously, arrogantly beautiful like most of their kind, they were casually lounging against the boulder as if merely out for a casual stroll.

Mason knew them by their old Delver's Guild callsign – The Red Rhyme. If you believed their claims, they were valued members of practically every Guild – and Syndicate – in Lost Angels, including many that would never permit cross-membership. Mason knew them far too well to believe even half of what they said, but which half was outright lies was often impossible to discern.

You didn’t earn a callsign like The Red Rhyme by chance, after all. He doubted anyone other than Rhyme knew their true Class, but they were indisputably one of the top masters of Sound Magic in Lost Angels. They were also well-known to be more than capable with Illusion and living under a dozen aliases – or more – at any given time.

<Medhi, dig the team a hidey-hole, then we’ll go get you into range of the cave. Point, keep watch and be ready to guide the others in when they arrive,> Mason ordered briskly.

<And what about me, darling?> Phyx asked, stretching sinuously and deliberately.

<What about us, darling?> Rhyme added in a rich baritone, playfully leaning against Phyx. The elf deftly avoided the sharp elbow she tried to jab into their gut, dancing nimbly away with a feminine chuckle.

Mason found Rhyme exhausting to deal with. The elf expected you to use pronouns according to whatever voice they were speaking with – then proceeded to constantly change the way they sounded. Mason steadfastly ignored their preferences, despite constant threats of retaliation.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He had a reputation of his own, after all. Rhyme might be the most dangerous person in this group, but Mason would never bet against himself. Not unless the Guildmaster was involved.

<Stay out of trouble, both of you,> he replied drily.

Medhi was already at work, mana whispering around him as a stairway melted into the rock face next to the boulder. In moments the small man was out of sight, descending into the darkness as he shaped the rock into a secure shelter.

Mason and Point remained alert while he worked, doing their best to tune out the petty squabbling between the two Mages. Between Night’s and Rhyme’s abilities, they’d largely avoided fighting on their trek up into the Eastern Range. Mason normally preferred to thin out dangerous creatures wherever possible, but he had no desire to warn their prey that something even more deadly than it approached.

The Mage needed less than thirty minutes to set up their shelter for the night, having done it countless times before. Mason idly wondered how many of Medhi’s shelters remained, scattered around the LA area. Some were probably decades old by this point. The Mage built to last, as most Earth Mages tended to. Once he’d finished, Mason left Phyx in charge – he would have preferred it be Point, but he knew the Air Mage would be insufferable if a Tier 3 had been elevated over her.

Mason led the Earth Mage downslope, staying below the ridgeline and out of view of the cave. As he’d half-hoped, half-feared, Rhyme tagged along uninvited. They continued for about a mile before Mason identified a thickly wooded gap and slipped through, beginning their descent into the valley. He moved carefully, quietly, and the disciplined Earth Mage followed his lead.

Then a tense melody rang out all around them, and Mason whirled on Rhyme with an instinctive hiss of disbelief. He summoned his sword, the razor-sharp edge slicing through the air and stopping dramatically just an inch away from the tanned elf’s throat. Mason noted the way their throat bobbed as they swallowed in false distress, raising their hands and letting the sound die away. He was particularly impressed by the way he could see the pulse beating faintly beneath the skin.

It was a damned convincing illusion, perhaps the best he’d ever seen, but it couldn’t fool the Black Razor. The shadows knew. They always knew, and he could feel the elf’s shadow a full two yards to the left of where he appeared to be. Not that he was going to let the Wasted elf figure that out, not unless it came to real blows. Until then, he pretended to be content with having seemingly cowed the irritating Bard.

It had been three days of aggravating behavior and Mason knew full well Rhyme wanted him to react. He was fine giving them an excuse to think they’d gotten one over on him. What was important now was that the elf put their formidable talents to the task at hand. Once the matriarch was dealt with, he could go back to pulling his usual pranks and provocations for all Mason cared.

<Put your Skills to good use for once, Rhyme,> he growled. <Silence us.>

“The fuck do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?” the elf retorted cheerfully, not bothering to use the Comms.

Mason grunted and continued carefully making his way through the old growth forest. With Rhyme’s sound barrier in place, they moved quickly and quietly. He casually cut down the few monsters that sniffed them out. The mana here in the valley was upper Tier 2, but he could feel it getting higher as they approached the other side. They covered the five or so miles to the midway point of the valley in about an hour. Finally, Medhi signaled for a stop.

“Good enough,” the man breathed.

Mason nodded and eyed the perimeter of the small clearing while the Mage got to work. The lightly-armored Mage knelt and removed a glove. Placing his bare hand on the rock at his feet, he activated one of his Skills. There was a barely perceptible tremor, and the earth rippled. The outline of a slithering serpent made of rock appeared briefly, then disappeared, swimming into the depths. Medhi’s Summon Familiar was a highly versatile ability.

It was only a few minutes later when he reported his familiar had reached the cave. Then he began the laborious process of mapping out the cave system, searching for alternate paths that would lead back to the surface eventually. That took nearly an hour, during which he was vulnerable, his mind far away seeing through his familiar’s senses. Mason had no trouble with the few monsters that disturbed them, piling the corpses in a small heap.

When Medhi finally completed his scouting, he rose and stretched. Then the pile of monster corpses suddenly sank into the ground, covered up by rock and dirt. The precaution would avoid a concentration of scavengers which might hint that there were intruders in the valley. An hour later, they were safely back in the artificial cave Medhi had hollowed out for them.

Phyx had been hard at work decorating. There were folding camp chairs and soft Light Spells dancing along the ceiling. She’d even sculpted herself a seat from solid rock and thrown a thick furred monster hide over it. The Air Mage was lounging idly on her throne when they returned, sipping from a glass of what smelled like a fine whiskey.

Mason pointedly ignored the way she shifted to present her cleavage to him and stalked over to one of the folding chairs, threading his tail between the seat and back rest instinctively as he sat. Point had brought up the rear as they descended, and the team took the rest of the seats. He could feel their eagerness in the cool underground air, kept fresh by Phyx’s Spells.

Mason looked at the Earth Mage, who showed no signs of fatigue despite the strain of holding his familiar active for a full hour while riding its senses. <Report,> he ordered calmly.

The Earth Mage flashed a quick, satisfied smile.

<There are no other major exits,> he stated confidently. <I’ve constricted the minor ones as much as possible without detection. We’re ready to go.>

<Excellent,> Mason replied as Phyx and Point returned Medhi’s smile. He bared his own fangs briefly. <Assuming our teammates are on-time, we’ll proceed as planned tomorrow at noon.>

Phyx, Air Mage

Medhi, Earth Mage

The Red Rhyme