Dungeon Sniper

I would rather skip the embarrassingly uncomfortable scene where Alstair held me by the leash and marched across the beautifully lit streets to the Deltaris Complex. The gist of the whole walk of shame was that no one—no Elf—batted an eye when they walked by us. There was a Human male, dressed in rags, handcuffed, chained to a collar, dragged like some animal in the middle of the road, but everything was perfectly normal. Nothing to see here, coming through. When we were crossing the pristine white bridge leading to the artificial island where Castle Deltaris stood, one Elf lady approached and said, "He looks like a biter. Next time you better muzzle him too." I almost snapped there. But other than that, aside from my disintegrating dignity and increasingly unstable sanity, everything was perfectly normal, sure.

"We're almost there. Please be patient," said Alstair under his breath. The only good news was that he did not seem to enjoy the parade either.

"I thought the collar thing was an overkill, but now I see it was the b.a.r.e minimum. Muzzles? Really, Alstair?"

"It wasn't like this in the beginning."

"No, I'm pretty sure the Humans were born with chain collars around their necks."

"A few months after the war, some Humans attacked the Elves in the public. Since then, the council has come up with the law that requires the Humans to be chained and repressed in the vicinity of the Elves."

"This is humiliating. I don't know what's worse, that I'm dressed like a livestock headed for the butcher shop or that everyone's acting like this is perfectly normal," I cursed, feeling like biting the head off of every Elf that passed by. Hey, if someone called me a biter, then I would be happy to carry out the role.

"Some Elves have protested against the practice, calling it barbaric and drastic—"

"Well, they haven't protested enough then. You know what, Al? Walking down the street with a chain on my neck has really broadened my perspective. Makes you think that Mosez is right, that these Elves don't want to see the truth and rather live in the comfort with Humans slaving for them forever."

"Mosez wishes that were the case, because she wants another war."

"And I don't blame her. Keep me chained for any longer, I swear I'll be leading the charge when the war breaks out."

"We're here," said Alstair. We were at the entrance to the Deltaris Complex, and, through the wide open entrance gate, we saw Castle Deltaris.

It looked more like one of those European parliamentary buildings than a traditional castle with signature, pointy-roofed towers. Instead of a tower, a tall monument sprouted in the center of the luxurious garden, and on top of it waved a flag with a shape that looked like two triangles inverted on top of each other. All in all, it was an impressive sight, a true palace for the victors. And just like everywhere else in the city, the Deltaris Complex was lit up brightly by lights and lamps as if the night never came.

"Do you remember the plan?" asked Alstair as he led me to the entrance to the castle.

I sighed. The plan. Remarkably simple, but all the more effective because it was so.

"I'm the new janitor the castle desperately needs because of the short supply of able-bodied Humans left in the city," I said monotonously.

"No, you're a 'smart' janitor who would clean for a stable job and a decent food provided by the ric.h.e.s.t, most powerful Elves in the city. Make sure you emphasize that."

"I don't think I can sell 'smart.' I'm the one with the collar, not a monocle."

"What's a monocle?"

"Not now, Alstair."

We passed by a handful of busy-looking Elves heading in the other direction, probably getting off work and going home to probably enjoy some foot massage by their Human slaves.

Two guards stood at the entrance to the castle. One of them stopped us.

"The government's closed. Come back in the morning," said the guard in the forward imperatively. The other guard yawned and watched us disinterestedly.

"Alstair, the leader of the Runnels. I'm here to see the Head Councilor," said Alstair with a friendly-enough smile.

"Do you have an appointment?" the guard did not budge.

"I'm a Runnel. I don't need an appointment. You, in the back, Dahnte, was it? You know who I am."

Dahnte, the lazy-looking Elf guard, frowned and came forward.

"I know who you are," said Dahnte grudgingly.

"Good," beamed Alstair.

"And I can't let you in."

"Why not?"

"Because the Head Councilor specifically told us not to."

"Not to—"

"Let you, Alstair, the leader of the Runnels, in."

"There must be a mistake then. Oren couldn't have said that. We're good friends."

"Not since the last time you were in here," Dahnte looked uncomfortable.

"Well, could you check with him again, at least?" Alstair was persistent, naturally.

"Look, Alstair. I was there when you called Oren 'someone whose leftover of a brain shrunk even more when it came out of a Goblin's anus.' And it was during an official meeting with a hundred others."

"Oh, he's the one who said that? Awesome," the other guard chuckled.

"Oren also told us to put you into jail the next time you showed your face. He even motioned for a bill, but that law never passed. You should consider yourself lucky the name 'Runnels' still carries some meaning among the elders," said Dahnte.

"I know I said some hurtful words to the Head Councilor. And that's why I'm here, to apologize to an old friend. With a gift, too."

Alstair raised the hand with the leash, and the Elf guards turned their heads toward me.

"That's your gift?" frowned Dahnte.

One would think I would get used to being treated as stuff, and sometimes less than stuff, like rocks and meat. But no, it still hurt.

"I heard the castle was short-handed with some janitorial duties," said Alstair calmly.

"You heard right. Humans these days, they either run or die. I knew they were weak, but really, at this rate, we may as well replace them with Goblin labor," grumbled the other guard.

"Because the Humans mess up the simplest tasks that even the Goblins can pull off. True that," said Alstair agreeably, much to my angst.

"Exactly. And if you ask me, I don't think there's much of a difference anyway. The smell, the language, the thoughts they have—"

"The skin color's different, at least," said Dahnte casually.

"Yeah, well, they both look ugly to me, so."

That was it. I felt as if a vein in my head popped.

"Looks like a certain Goblin's asshole is packed with Elf brains around here, right? You should put that in the criteria when you hire your Goblin slaves. Wanted: spacious anus, for storage purposes."

The Elf guards blinked at me with hung mouths, but not for long because Alstair slapped me across the face that left my jaw hanging, almost unhinged even.

"You insolent beast. Keep your mouth shut while you're in the presence of the superior race," hissed Alstair.

"Did he just say—" frowned Dahnte in disbelief.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. He's a little," Alstair wagged his finger around the temple, "damaged."

"Well. Seems today all we've got left are either dead, hiding, or broken."

"He's healthy enough to mop around and sweep the dust off floor," said Alstair.

"I'm just concerned that he may be mopping the floor with his tongue. I mean, look at his pathetic face," Dahnte clicked his tongue, with a mixture of disgust and pity.

This time I could feel several veins in my head popped and burst, but Alstair glanced at me sideways and mouthed 'soon,' silently. He then smiled at the guards and snapped his finger.

"I have a solution. A muzzle."

Oh, no, you did not just say that, Alstair.

"Yes! That's what was missing! I kept looking at him and got really uncomfortable until now. Wait here. I think I've got a spare by the reception desk."

Dahnte stood in his place, still eyeing me pathetically as his colleague came back with a leather muzzle in his hand and handed it to Alstair.

"I'm going to kill you," I growled with gritted teeth as Alstair fastened the muzzle over my mouth.

"Make sure that stays on. Not just for our sake, but for his sake," said Dahnte as he stepped aside to let us into the castle, but not without a final look of pity that drove me crazy more than anything.

We walked through the empty lobby in a deafening silence.

"I'm so sorry, Beta," said Alstair almost tearfully as soon as we were out of the earshot of the guards.

"You owe me a slap."

"Yes, I do. You can even put the muzzle on me after all this is over."

No, I did not want to put a muzzle on a handsome male Elf. That felt wrong in so many ways possible.

"Or I'll just slap you with it."

That did not feel right either.

"That works too," Alstair kept nodding apologetically as he led me up the stairs.

We reached the fourth floor, and after making sure no on was around, Alstair loosened the handcuff and I tore away the collar with vehemence.

"We're in. You know what to do," said Alstair.

"How much do we have until the 'Dark Meeting?'"

"A couple of hours. Find the room, gear up, and get in position. Remember. The haughty Elf sitting on my left is Oren. That's your mark," Alstair grabbed my arms firmly and looked into my eyes resolutely.

"Or I'll just kill everyone at the table," I shrugged.

"I do like your confidence, Beta," Alstair let go of his arm and turned to leave, only to stop and face me once again.

"By everyone, you mean, excluding me, right?" smiled Alstair nervously.

"I'll try not to get carried away. Or think too much about the pain on my swollen cheek with your handprint on it."

"I told you I'm sorry—"

"I'm joking! Go. Bring the herd out."

I watched Alstair walking downstairs. I recalled the floor plan from memory—courtesy of Vivid Memory Perk—and located the janitor's room where the Reflux had hidden the weapon stash was earlier in the day.

I found the room, and in the duty corner underneath the garb and cleaning tools was a simple wooden box.

Acquired:

Black Mask

Black Garment

Black Pants

Black Shoes with Rubber Soles

Crossbow

Bolt Case - 10 bolts

Kitty the Kitchen Knife

Kitty was the only small enough item I could sneak inside my ragged slave clothes.

"Why do you carry a kitchen knife with you anyway?" Elysia had asked with her usual disapproving frown.

"It's not just a kitchen knife. It saved my life, and her name is Kitty. Go on, say hi."

If Elysia had not looked at me as if I were crazy—crazier—before, she certainly did then.

I placed Kitty inside the bolt case safely, and finally took out the crossbow. It was hefty, but the weight felt good, reliable, and deathly. I had shot with a crossbow before, in the aforementioned distant uncle's cabin in the countryside. The one I had practiced with was a modern crossbow with a scope with the compound bow mechanic, a thing of beauty. Now, I did not know much about crossbows, but the one I had with me had a built-in lever that could be pulled back, a design I recalled as being called the Goat's Foot. Handy and rudimentary, albeit considerably less powerful than the more clunky ones that required separate 'pulleys' to pull the wires back to firing position, but it fit the job at hand. I pulled the lever back and forth and felt the pressure of the wire—it would do more than a decent damage within a hundred feet at least. The only problem was the time it required to pull the lever and reload the bolt. I simulated and practiced for a while, but the fastest I could do was two seconds. And that was with the Miner's Shoulders Perk being activated.

Two seconds between each shot was not the ideal reloading delay when I had a dozen Elves to snipe down without being caught. But it was the best I could do at the moment, and I was beginning to realize that taking out Oren was not just the best option but the only available option in this mission.

Oh, and I named the Crossbow, as was the tradition. His name was Ross.

.

.

.

The building was mostly empty, save the members of the city council preparing for their end-of-the-day session, the Dark Meeting. Alstair, the original and honorary member of the council, would join the meeting as was his right as the leader of the Runnels despite after years of absence and neglect. His agenda for the night was simple: to lure Oren out. The Meeting would take place in the large hall on the fourth floor, where the ceiling was open and extended to the fifth, un-staired floor accessible only through climbing from the outside balcony. The plan was for me to perch on one of the n.a.k.e.d ceiling rafters and shoot vertically down at the top of Oren's head. The 'skeleton' looks of the interior that the Elves had thought they were so sophisticated and avant garde when they built this place would be their demise. Or just Oren's.

After the job was done, I would exit the same way I entered the position, through the outside balcony, fifty feet above the ground, by sliding down the rope. I checked the itinerary and the sliding rope was in place, hidden between the creases of the decorative wall, just as planned. I wanted a test slide, as I had never slid down a rope before. Instead, I went back to the janitor's room and tore the ragged slave clothes I had left there to make temporary gloves that would prevent my palms from burning as I went down the rope. The Thick Skin Perk would have saved the burn, but I was just being thorough.

The overall inspection and preparation took more than an hour, and I did not exactly how much more time I had until the Dark Meeting. So I hid in the shadows, resting my body precariously on one of the ceiling rafters and placing my foot steadily against one of the joists.

I waited, looking down at the round, polished wooden table in the middle of the hall, and my b.u.t.t started to ache like no joke.

That was when the door to the empty hall opened, and entered an Elf.

A bloodied, bruised, beaten-up Elf.

It was Alstair.

Alstair was then followed by Dahnte and the other Elf guard from the entrance, who had swords placed close against Alstair's back and neck respectively.

I realized we were busted.

Alstair did not lift his head to find me in the ceiling or anything. His head was down, but I could tell he had not given up. Not yet.

Then the entire council entered, led by a particularly pale Elf with a distinguishable fastidious look.

"Tell your 'assassin' to come out to the light, Alstair," said the pale Elf.

"That's Oren! Shoot him—" Alstair spat blood out of his mouth and shouted.

But even before Alstair finished his sentence, Dahnte slashed at Alstair's back, making him fall with a smothered grunt. Alstair crumbled helplessly and never got on his feet again.

I still had my finger on the trigger. Ross the Crossbow was as eager to let its bolt fly as much as I was.

I had my eyes on Oren, who squinted his own looking for me in the tall, dark ceiling.

I had the perfect shot. All I had to do was pull the trigger—

Or get away. Right now. My life before others. This was not the time to be noble. This was time to be sensible.

But deep down, I realized that the plan was foiled entirely. That meant the getaway route, the rope and everything, already had Elf guards waiting for me to land right into their open, sword-wielding arms.

"I know you're up there. Let's not stall any longer. The city business is already behind schedule as it is. Look, he's alive, yet. I'm counting to five, and if you don't show yourself, your 'leader' dies for sure this time."

Oren took the sword from Dahnte's hand and placed the blade over Alstair's unmoving head.

I still did not move. Hopefully, they did not know about the rope slide getaway—

"You're trapped. The guards have surrounded the castle. There is no way for you to escape," shouted Oren at the ceiling.

Still, he did not say anything about the rope—

"And we burned the rope."

Oh, shit.

Oren opened his lazy, pretentious mouth again.

"How did you get up there anyway? Was it the balcony? Well, the guards will get to you in no time—"

I fired the bolt. It was half-voluntary, half-involuntary reaction. I shot Oren because that was the plan. I also shot him because I just could not stand his annoying voice any longer.

The seconds' hesitation cost me, however. I swore I was aiming for the head, but the bolt hit the c.h.e.s.t of the Elf—and bounced off with a loud clank.

Of course. The slimy bastard was wearing an armor underneath his fancy coat. I reloaded as fast as possible, but Dahnte the guard had already handed Oren a sturdy looking helmet. Meanwhile, the other councilors murmured and exited the room.

Oren, fallen Alstair, and the two guards were the only ones remaining on the floor.

"A cause worth dying for, and also losing your precious leader? How noble of you," said Oren lazily, his voice slightly muffled inside the closed helmet.

"For the record, I just wanted to shut your face up," I said, my voice echoing around the hollow ceiling.

"Noble and brave. You know, ever since I learned that you are a poor, dumb Human who got swindled into Alstair's stupid plan, I was going to spare you. This place could really use some extra hands, you see. But you just shot me in the c.h.e.s.t, so... you'll have to die for that."

"You have no idea how much I'm regretting having missed that shot to your face."

"Look, my neck's hurting from looking up for the past few minutes, so why don't you come down and join your kind—on the ground."

The door opened again, this time more bloodied, beaten people were thrown inward. The Humans. Mosez and Gart and everyone. Mosez's cropped hair was soaked in her own blood and turned completely red. Gart's face was so swollen that if not for his scarred, balded head, I would not have recognized him. The other Humans were in a similar state—except Ramsis.

Among the writhing and barely breathing Humans on the floor, Ramsis was nowhere to be seen...

And I understood why. I did not think they killed him, as much as I hoped that were the case.

I closed my eyes and cursed under the breath. I did not want to believe it, but there was no other explanation.

"I knew the plan wasn't perfect, but it couldn't have been this of a mess. It's almost like you lured us into it," my voice cracked as I mustered the words.

"Not 'almost.' We did lure you," said Oren, probably smirking under his helmet.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The traitor."

I was shaking in anger, in betrayal.

"Oh, you mean our hero?"

As if on cue, the door opened, and the stoic-faced Human in an all-too familiar gray light armor entered.

"Here comes the most heroic 'servant' of all," laughed Oren, introducing the newcomer with a flourish.

"Ramsis, you son of a bitch."

I was very tempted to fire the bolt the moment I saw his face. But I had to hear it first.

"Why?"

Ramsis looked up, almost finding and locking eyes with me through the dark.

"I'm sorry, Beta."

Wrong answer.

I pulled the trigger, and the bolt fired away.