Azure: Gunner

“Good afternoon Lost Angels! This is the Voice of the People, coming to you live here on K-RAD LA! Listen up, ‘cause I just got a hot new single here! This song is so fucking fresh I don’t even know the name of the band – it just showed up in the Wasted mail! All I can tell you is that it kicks some serious ass, so without further ado, I present The Left Hand!”

(music begins)

(one minute, thirty-two seconds later)

BANG!

(music cuts off abruptly)

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF SACRED FUCKITY FUCK?! Shitballs! Gonna need a second here, everyone…”

(heavy, fast breaths, gradually slowing)

“OKOK, what in the motherfucking hells just happened?! Seriously, I have no words! My friends, we’re not gonna be able to finish that song anytime soon – it’s fucking gone!

“Yeah, that loud noise you all probably heard was the Wasted door getting blown right off its hinges! Someone just waltzed right in and snatched the song crystal and fucked off again! Wow! They were moving so fast it was all a blur!

“I guess they loved it so much they wanted the only known copy for themselves?! Hahaha! Hahah… Hah. Yeah, that’s obviously what happened!

“For real, though, if you’ve got any idea who wrote The Left Hand, I need to know. Gimme!”

- DJ Demophon Kerner, on K-RAD LA, August 23rd, System Year 453

Kiara sat behind her huge, neatly arranged desk, hands resting on the arms of her comfortable chair. She was certain to present the perfect picture of a relaxed, composed, and powerful woman in complete control as she signaled Wilson to admit her guest.

The door immediately slammed open with a bang, and the Black Razor stalked in, anger radiating off of the dangerous Tier 4. The Head Instructor of the DGA refused to acknowledge his poor manners, merely gesturing to one of the far less comfortable guest chairs in front of her. The seemingly-polite gesture was turned viciously mocking by the fact that they were both entirely unsuitable for someone with a tail as well as being too high-backed to comfortably flip around and sit in while reversed.

The ‘hero’ of legend and song looked at her, then at the chair, then back at her one more time. Without a word, he stepped forward. There was a glint, a flash of steel, and the back of one of the chairs toppled off, landing on the thick carpet with a muted thud. Mason sat on the now-stool with a tightly controlled expression, and only Kiara’s iron self-control prevented a reaction. He’d moved so fast that even the Level 42 woman had barely been able to track the motion. The complete lack of sound was almost equally unnerving – she hadn’t even heard his sword cut the air as it moved, let alone the thick wood of the chair.

“That was childish,” she observed, attempting to retain control of a conversation she was suddenly less certain of than she had been a few minutes before.

The Black Razor grunted, the sound clearly conveying the sentiment that he agreed and didn’t give a fuck.

“The Guildmaster is making a horrible mistake, entrusting this mission to you,” she continued. “Why he thinks you are the right person to be entrusted with the most vital diplomatic mission in recent Guild history, I’ll never understand.”

“Your understanding is irrelevant to the success of the mission. Your cooperation is only marginally more important,” Mason finally spoke, and Thompson felt her control slipping as heat flooded her veins.

“How dare you?” she hissed. “It’s only because of me that we’re in a position to seize this opportunity in the first place!”

“Because you singled out a team and threw them into an exceptionally dangerous dungeon configuration without the full course of training? Then repeated the process until the Dungeoneer died from the strain, collapsing the dungeon around them? Those students were under your care, Kiara. They are future Delvers, not political playthings!”

Mason’s voice cracked like a whip, without rising in volume even a hair.

“You will address me as Head Instructor, Delver Mason,” she shot back, and he laughed in her face.

“Head Instructor of what?” he asked contemptuously. “A school that you failed to defend? A school that’s suffered not one, but two major monster attacks in the last several months, leading to casualties among the students and instructors, not to mention the decimated guards? What makes you think your position is secure?”

“Fuck you, Mason! Your ‘righteous’ act is asinine! You’re the one who let Azure and her friends go into an anomalous dungeon before they’d even arrived at this Academy!”

“At their insistence!” Mason barked, though Kiara was sure she’d struck a nerve. “I respected their choice!”

“A choice!” Kiara laughed with genuine mirth. “There are precious few real choices in this world, Mason. We both know better than that. Those above make the decisions for those below, as it always has been and always will be. Squad Hard Limit will serve the Guild in a far more vital role now than they ever could have without my intervention.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Spoken like someone who’s not been recently reminded that no matter how high you rise, your choices come with consequences,” Mason growled.

Kiara’s hands tightened until the wooden arm rests of her chair creaked with the strain.

“Are you threatening me?” she hissed, her rage threatening to break free. “No one threatens me in my office!”

Mason’s bright, snake-like eyes tightened, and she heard the sound of his clawed toes slicing into the carpet, further stoking her anger.

“Oh, Kiara,” he said softly. “Somehow we’ve rarely crossed paths over the years, a fact for which I grow more grateful every time it happens. Are you so delusional in your little empire, out here in the wilderness, that you truly don't know who I am?”

Thompson met his chilling gaze with a sneer.

“Hah! Like you’d let anyone forget it! The ‘mighty’ Black Razor comes, and all quail before him!” she mocked. Her tone was dismissive, but on the inside she was balanced on a blade’s edge, ready to Summon Trite in an instant.

This brute thinks he can just run me over, here in my domain?!

“Cowering in fear might significantly increase your life expectancy right now, Head Instructor!”

The white-haired, cold-eyed woman’s eyes widened in shock for only the briefest of moments. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to her like this, and she had no intention of letting this barbarian walk out of her office under a mistaken impression of who was in charge around here! With a flicker of thought, she Summoned Trite, the Level 40 Skill ripping away a huge chunk of her mana. She’d been increasing her Focus for many Levels, however, and she didn’t flinch at the intense drain.

The massive spiderwolf appeared behind Mason in between blinks, not even a whisper of displaced air marking their arrival. She was confident her beloved pet could stand up to the so-called Black Razor, if not kill him outright, with the element of surprise on their side. Trite, in constant contact with her through their bond, was already poised to bite, central mouth wide open and fangs gleaming, dripping with a vicious toxin that would cripple a Tier 3 with ease. At the same time, a magical shield sprang up in front of her desk.

Trite’s jaws snapped shut on empty air, and Thompson’s mind reeled in shock as a steel-hard arm snaked around her neck from behind. It moved at a speed that was precisely calculated to slide through her barrier without triggering it while still being too fast for her to have a chance to react to. The higher Level one became, the faster something had to move to trigger a barrier. Kiara knew this well, as it was part of the curriculum covered with students.

The evolution made sense, as it took progressively more force to injure someone of a higher Tier. Why waste your barrier on attacks too weak to hurt you? With part of her Stats shifted through her bond to Bolster Trite, Thompson was relatively weak and slow – for a Tier 4. She was still a Tier 4, however, and she’d never expected that Mason could so casually bypass her defenses and place her body between him and Trite, who had frozen in place, unsure what to do.

By the time her conscious mind had caught up with what had just happened, it was too late. Mason’s left arm was locked around her neck in a textbook figure four choke, fingers gripping his right bicep. Her Endurance meant that she was in no danger of passing out anytime soon, but the constriction of her neck wasn’t the real problem.

Mason’s right hand was directly in front of her face, and a night-black blade, no more than a half-dozen inches long, was sliding through her barrier with chilling precision. The Head Instructor’s brain shut down and she froze in fear for the first time in decades. The point of the knife came to a stop just barely touching her eyeball, blade vertical. If she blinked, she was sure her eyelid would part around the blade.

“I had quite an interesting conversation with the Guildmaster about this mission,” Mason said, his voice coldly precise. A killer’s voice. She would have shivered, if even the tiniest movement wasn’t at risk of slicing her eye open like a ripe fruit.

“It may interest you to know that at no point did he forbid me from dealing with you as I see fit,” he added.

The blood would have long since drained from her face, if it wasn’t prevented from doing so by the Delver's rock-solid grip on her neck.

“I should note that he normally makes it quite clear when someone is off-limits. Congratulations on not making the cut, Kiara, which means I am free to cut you as I see fit. Now, show me that you understand what I mean. Blink once.”

Thompson considered herself a tough woman. She’d fought through dozens of dungeons in her career, not to mention countless battles in the wilderness, and even an assassination attempt or two. Yet it had been years since she’d truly felt pain, other than as an echo from Trite. Even during the matriarch attack, she’d only directly engaged monsters of Tier 2 and below, letting her pet and the other instructors deal with the more serious threats.

Now she hesitated, even with the knowledge that she had plenty of healing potions in her Inventory. Her left eye flickered shut briefly, but the right eyelid didn’t budge.

Mason’s grip tightened another fraction of an inch, and Thompson realized he was probably strong enough to simply snap her neck if he wanted. A severed spinal cord would paralyze a Tier 4 just like anyone else, preventing her from reaching a healing potion even if Mason released her.

“I said blink,” he growled. “Both eyes! NOW!”

The tough wood of her chair cracked under the pressure of her grip as she complied. The blade was so sharp she didn’t even feel the cut at first, then the pain ripped through her as blood flooded her right eye.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, the satisfaction clear in his voice.

Thompson’s mind was blank, a raging storm of anger, hate, and embarrassment. The knife had never even twitched.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking now, oh mighty Head Instructor,” Mason continued, back to the icy calm tone he’d used a moment before. “You’re thinking that you’ll stop at nothing to repay me for this little demonstration, but we both know you’re full of shit. Far better than you have tried to get rid of me, and precious few of them are still around.

“So, we’re going to come to a little agreement here. You’re going to disappear quietly into retirement, off somewhere where I never have to see your fucking face again. And if you don’t, if you somehow gather the courage to come after me – or Az, her siblings, or any of her friends – I promise you, it will take days for Trite to die. And you’ll be sitting there watching the entire fucking thing, with your eyelids nailed open.

“The Bards call me the Black Razor, but since that doesn’t seem to impress you, let’s try again. I’m sure you’re well-connected enough to recognize my other callsign. One that you’ll take to the grave with you, or you’ll die wishing you had.

“From today on, you’re one of the very, very few among the living who knows my true position in the Guild. I am the Left Hand. The Left Hand wears the white glove, as the ancient saying goes.”

An instant later, the door banged open and closed. Thompson’s stunned brain processed the noise before it realized that the steel-hard arm around her neck and the blade at her eye had both disappeared. The prideful, secure, confident Head Instructor that had existed just ten minutes before was nowhere to be found. What remained was a rattled woman whose world had just been turned upside down, blood streaming down the right side of her face.

The Left Hand! Impossible!

It didn’t help her mood in the slightest when Trite bowled over the guest chairs and helpfully started licking the blood off her stunned face. As a precaution, she downed one of her strongest antidote potions alongside a healing potion. If Mason really was the Left fucking Hand, she wasn’t taking any chances.