There are few weapons more potent than fear, but fear is also to be wielded with care, precision, and careful consideration.
Many terrorists use fear as a cudgel. They break things. They blow things up. They destroy things that they will need later.
Consider the Southern Column’s incompetent invasion of Lone Star while they were briefly weakened following the 143rd Orcish Wave two centuries ago. They managed to breach the outer layer of various border forts held by the Lone Star Kingdom. Then, rather than focusing on consolidating their territory and expanding bit by bit, one of their generals went on a wild rampage, sacking and burning everything and pushing for the capital.
This ended up rallying the Lone Star Kingdom, as they felt like they were fighting on death ground, and ridiculously, the damned orcs also took advantage of the chaos to sell themselves as experienced mercenaries.
Rather than slowly crushing their enemy, the Southern Column managed to achieve a feat that has not been repeated till this very day—they caused Lone Star to briefly ally with the orcs, and in the aftermath, Lone Star ensured the orcs were properly paid—as the warborn race was allowed to rampage unchecked through Southern Column territory.
Comparatively, orcs, they know fear. They use fear very well. An orc’s eventual goal is to kill you. An orc’s eventual goal is to harm you, to torture you slowly, to break you, but it will use any and all means to reach that point, including befriending you, including discovering what you are afraid to lose.
There are multiple instances of orcs kidnapping the loved ones of their Vaketh-Bakals. They will mail dismembered pieces back to the Beloved enemy. They will then heal the kidnapped victim and potentially repeat the process, just to rattle their target of affection.
Orcs know that the core of fear is loss, loss of control, loss of someone or something in your life, and they constantly remind you of that loss without fully concluding it.
Fear is built on hope. Hope that you can still survive the situation, hope that it might end, hope that it might be better. And contrasted with that hope is the possibility of things getting worse.
And so, if your great desire is to inflict fear, to inflict disorder, to let chaos reign, then strike at your enemy’s deepest hopes. Make them bleed, but do not break them, not all at once. Push them, drain them, and let them collapse on their own.
-The Ways of the Unseen: Aviary Training Manual
71 (I)
Terror
Something was wrong. Something was out there. Something…
But Master Psychomancer Moravega couldn't find the enemy. They were out there; a strand of mana had touched him twice. He knew it touched him. He knew it struck his mind, but it was so subtle, so fine that he couldn't react to it in time. And both strikes diverted his focus from pinpointing the rampaging Aviary agent as well.
Someone was helping the Corpse Shedder. Someone kept attacking him over and over as he tried to support the gate’s defense. And that same someone had shattered the minds of his disciples.
The act was done with surgical efficiency. It was nothing like the Jealousy. That Greater Demon was a Psychomantic brute; this was done by a scheming mind. One that eliminated observers and compromised the most vulnerable minds to create openings…
And so Moravega stood within his chamber, clenching two jutting focus crystals that protruded from the ground. Focus crystals that connected him to more focus crystals, and additional Enchantments to amplify his potent Psychomancy. But even with all of this, even with his building empowered by a mana chain connected to the core of the gate itself, he still wasn't sure where the enemy Psychomancer was.
And he needed to be sure. He needed to be sure soon. Otherwise, Confriga…
Moravega shuddered. Confriga had torn one of Moravega's disciples apart in front of him. The poor girl. Her only mistake was voicing how her master needed more time, how she wasn't sure where the Corpse Shedder was. And that was all it took. All it took for the Gate Lord to shift his attention away from Moravega. She might have just saved her master, but it cost her everything.
Her memory fueled the waves of cascading Psychomancy cascading out from Moravega. His Master-Tier Skill Evolution, Panoptical Stalker, was the main reason why Confriga wanted him as Head Psychomancer.
Back on their homeworld, he was a hunter of other people like himself: those who developed the skill of Psychomancy. And he proved good at intercepting information and eliminating enemy mind mages. A little too good.
Such was how he ended up in the Gate Lord’s service, in fact.
Moravega discovered that a High Marshal had stolen a portion of his second in command’s rightful loot after a hard-fought campaign in a far-flung dimension. Among the items was a Master-Tier armor of remarkable value. Moravega tried reporting this, being the dutiful Vulteg that he was.
And Moravega learned the naivety and misunderstanding he had about his own culture. The High Marshals knew each other personally. After centuries of struggle, despite all the bad blood between them, the Vulteg High Marshals held their positions due to a simple reason: solidarity.
Solidarity against even their own god, Lord Scorn.
Thus was how the High Marshals endured, becoming something of a pseudo-shadow council that actually ran the day-to-day of Vulketh. Their world and civilization were supposed to be Lord Scorn's to wield, but their god was distant, uncaring, indifferent. The only thing he truly wanted from his Vultegs was for them to serve him for random wars and tests from time to time. That, and for them to keep his old enemies from bothering him.
And thus, Moravega was rewarded for his service with a field promotion, a promotion into the most unwanted post for any proper soldier. He was drafted into Lesser Marshal Confriga's command, a command known to be fatal, dangerous, and ultimately miserable, due to the Lesser Marshal's wretched personality and casual willingness to butcher his own.
And so, Moravega spent every bit of his power, every bit of his focus, reaching and searching. His Psychomancy blasted out in waves, his mana layered and pulsing. It made him intermittently strong and weak when it came to power, but also hard to predict—and even harder to see coming. The effects of the Panopticonic Pulse never lasted long, its constant edge of surprise making him so dangerous against another Psychomancer.
But still, Moravega progressed with caution. He was not confused about his position in the world. He tried, briefly, to match the Jealousy a year ago. Moravega was a fool to do so. The creature noticed his pulse, allowed him to reach into its mind, and then showed him its memories. Memories of just how many Psychomancers it had consumed—greater Psychomancers than he.
Moravega nearly broke from the knowledge alone.
If he was facing another Heroic-Tier Psychomancer—
Just then, a rush of secondhand pain crashed into the Master Psychomancer’s mind. Moravega cried out as he felt two of his disciples die about ten floors below him. He responded immediately, turning his complete power downward. He didn’t hesitate as he pushed into the mind of the dimensional meant to guard the two disciples that just—
Moravega gasped as he found himself staring out from the badly butchered body of a flame dimensional. The dimensional had been split clean in half, and from its eyes, he saw a room drenched in blood and death. His disciples lay in pieces. Other dimensionals were splattered against the walls, and one looked like it had been cut into so many pieces he couldn’t tell what it had been.
Then, Moravega saw it. The shape leaving the room. The faint outline of a large humanoid figure. It turned the corner, but he cast his Psychomancy field at the hidden enemy. If this butcher thought—
Something speared into Moravega’s mind. It cut deep. He cried out and pushed back with his Psychomancy. The attacker retreated from the angle they just struck, but stabbed in a dozen other places. His memories fractured. A splitting pain passed through Moravega as his skull felt like it was shattering from within. He unleashed a broad burst of Psychomancy that sent the foe scurrying, but then they were gone again.
As he cast out his waves of mind magic, he detected nothing.
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Nothing again. They were taunting him…
That attack… The coordination… There must be a cell of Psychomancers working together. It wasn’t strong enough to be Heroic. Maybe Low Master—but the sequences of attacks… I am facing an entire cadre of enemy magi. I must be.
Moravega clenched his teeth as he considered how to respond. "To all disciples," his mind echoed telepathically through his tower. He would have his disciples provide him with defensive measures, and focus entirely on finding the invisible—
He couldn’t feel any of his disciples.
Worse, he felt he was only one of two thinking beings left in his entire building. Moravega’s blood ran cold. How? There were over thirty guards here—one was Master-Tier! And his disciples numbered ten as well. How could—He pushed these thoughts away as he directed a magical attack at the physical target. It would be enough to hollow an undefended mind—to stun someone with Master-Tier Magical Resistance.
Yet, the second that he did, the hostile group of Psychomancers slashed at his mind again.
Moravega growled—but this time, his enemy didn’t move away in time. This time, he caught onto them—
Only for him to realize the true nature of his adversary. There were hundreds of mana strands crashing against his mana, injecting bursts of damaging telepathy into his consciousness. It was like being stung from every direction at once. Following the strands, he found his enemy well over five kilometers away. To engage him at this range, they had to be a Hero after all. Moravega’s stomach dropped.
Then, they materialized before him, creating a psionic projection of themselves. In a dense haze of Psychomancy, an Umbral stood before him. Her hair was short, and her features were sharp and hard—as if shaped from discipline and unrelenting focus. Her eyes gleamed a particular dark shade of blue, and her armor—Moravega did a double take. He had seen that armor worn by one of Oldsmith’s “guards.” Was she some kind of Inquisitor as well? An Umbral Inquisitor?
“You are quite skilled,” she said. Her voice was low and husky, but her gaze was hard and cold. “A remarkable Skill Evolution. A shame. I wish I could take you alive and dedicate you to Elaboration.”
“Who… are you?” Moravega growled. Mustering his courage, he prepared himself for a duel against a Heroic-Tier Psychomancer—
Then suddenly, Moravega gasped. A Stellarite blade punched clean through his chest, and Moravega felt himself casually lifted into the air. With a final exertion of will, he craned his neck and stared. He stared at what seemed to be a translucent outline. And he saw the Dimensionals guarding his doorway in pieces on the ground. His door had been cut clean through. The butcher that killed his disciples chuckled as he faced them. “M-monster,” Moravega whimpered.
“Corpse,” the unseen adversary replied. And then they dragged the blade up through Moravega’s chest and cleaved his head in twain. A flash of pain, then heat, coldness, and slowly, the fingers of death clamped the Vulteg, pulling him away bit by bit, until there was nothing left.
***
Deepest Edge > 59
Silhouette > 58
Practical Metabiology > 29
Woundeater > 69
Dread Aura > 73
Shiv looked down at the dead Psychomancer with a moment’s consideration. “You know something, Uva? I really enjoy having a good Stealth Skill.”
“Quite useful, isn’t it?” she replied.
He hummed with amusement. “People are a lot more vulnerable when they can’t really track where you are. Makes killing easier. Well. I think we’re done here. Got all the dimensionals, guards, and Psychomancers. No alarms raised. Good work.”
“To you as well. Now. Let’s go do it again. I think I’ve found another Psychomancer for us to eliminate.”
"Just cutting down all the competition, huh?" Shiv asked.
"Absolutely," Uva replied. "I want to have free rein over this gate. And we will start by removing the only guardians capable of intercepting and contending with me."
And between the two of them, a slightly vicious thrill was born. It was rather fun to be hunting prey with someone you cared for. And it was slightly intoxicating to discover that they enjoyed the act as much as you did. Together, they had cleared out Moravega’s personal tower with clinical efficiency.
Whatever Uva couldn't break immediately with her mind magic, Shiv killed with his Biomancy or kukri. Together, they could avoid anyone raising any alarms until they wanted them to. Once someone entered the silent tower, they would find one of Shiv’s corpses waiting for them as a taunt.
"So, where to next?" Shiv said as he slipped out of the front door. The dimmed mana core was once again digging its frigid fingers into the world, and the air was humid. He would need to watch out so his breath wouldn't alert anyone to his presence. His outline was barely perceptible, and he slipped below two hovering air dimensionals who didn't even notice that he was there.
Uva tugged on his mind with a mana strand, and he followed along, walking beneath the mana core’s cold rays without any discomfort. The low temperature coated all windows around them in condensation, and a thick mist hung in the air as Shiv strolled through the cobblestone streets, following Uva's mana strands and observing the movement patterns of his enemies. They were on edge. He could tell that from their body language, from the whispering mental interference Uva picked up for him, offering him snippets of detail and warning him of what was to come.
They were scared. Scared of the Corpse Shedder getting them next. Scared that Confriga would butcher them in a fit of rage. Scared. His passive Dread Aura made everything worse for them. Some dimensionals and guards looked ready to explode from the stress, and Shiv looked forward to pushing them more.
“Everyone fears differently,” Uva said, studying the gate’s population more vividly than Shiv did. “That is a darkly beautiful thing to discover when you gaze into someone’s mind. The unique ways they think. The unique ways they fear. It keeps you aware that you’re killing a person sometimes.”
“Does it bother you?”
Shiv asked. “The killing. The breaking of their minds.”The Umbral Psychomancer paused as she considered that. “Not truly. As I told you before, a Psychomancer learns to control their own mind first. But there is also something else for me. The understanding of my adversary allows me to make a decision whether to spare or break. The ones we kill now would not offer mercy in return to us, nor would they care. And ultimately, mercy is the purview of the powerful. And I am but a recent Hero, in a land surrounded by enemies. I will choose the most effective, practical action every time, because I am responsible for more than just myself.”
She paused. “If my misplaced softness killed me, I will not be punished. Death is not a punishment for the dead, I suspect, but a trauma imposed upon the living. Like you. Like my team, my city, or all the people I could have helped or saved in the future. Duty comes first.”
Shiv listened to Uva’s words as he drew closer to the target destination. “This might just be the first mortality conversation we ever had.”
A brief note of surprise came from Uva. “Yes, it appears so. Well. What do you think? Do you find yourself affected by the killing?”
“No. And I don’t really think about it that much. The ones who try to kill me have it coming. The ones who hurt people have it coming. I could spare some of them. But a lot of them could have lived better lives if they wanted to. There’s choice in all of this. We’re Pathbearers. I think…. I think I agree with Adam in a sense. If we’re going to be more than mortal, we should behave better. Be more controlled. Seek strength and do what’s good for the most people we can.”
“A great many people cannot overcome the trials life pits against them,” Uva offered as a counterpoint. “It might be natural for you to stand tall and struggle. But for some others, the instinct or the urge is altogether absent.”
“Maybe,” Shiv said. “Maybe I should think more about this thing. But I can only be myself for now. I can only decide what I do. And I know one thing: There’s no life in which I become a slaver. There’s no life where I just… turn into that. Everyone can choose to do the right thing, even if the System demands conflict. We’re not animals. We can live long. We know what we’re doing, and we have magic. We have power.”
Shiv looked over the edge of the bridge he was crossing and spotted an unmoving slave lying on a bridge further below, frozen stiff. There were no life signs from the body. The Umbral’s heart had stopped hours ago. “I’m not very versed in philosophy. That might be more Can Hu’s thing. But I remember what it’s like to be hurt. I remember the feeling of a boot breaking my bones. I remember understanding something after that. That I needed to fight. That I needed to be my own warrior, and hurt the bastards that came for me and other people like me, no matter what.”
“As retribution?” Uva asked, curious.
“As necessity,” Shiv said. “Like you said: Mercy is for the strong. I might be stronger than most here, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to take this gate at a disadvantage. And if we fail and Confriga slaughters us all, there will be no lessons learned. No one will care about our nobility. Our deaths would probably just result in a few skill levels for the bastard, and in Vicar Sullain getting the Animancy Core and obliterating Blackedge.”
“Indeed. But from that perspective, can’t you tell why someone might become like one of them?” Uva was speaking of the guards, the slavers, the mercenaries.
“Sure,” Shiv said. “But we’re not that. They just happen to have skills. They’re not truly walking a Path. We’re going somewhere, pain and struggle be damned. Only reason we might stop is if we’re killed.”
“Ah. Quite a bit of dehumanization.” Uva hummed. “I suppose that helps.”
“You don’t approve?” Shiv asked.
“I would not say that. I just focus on a different reason. The outcome is ultimately the same. The act of killing and harming does not cling to us. Not like it does an actual murderer who does it for true pleasure. Or Adam, whose mind boils with regret. He thinks about the people he kills a lot.”
Shiv paused. He was almost at his new target. “I didn’t know that. Yeah. Adam is a… pretty decent guy, ultimately. His killing is mostly because he has to, but he doesn’t like harming people at all. Probably why he didn’t want to join in our little hunt.”
“He didn’t join in because it is no hunt to him at all,” she replied. “We are orchestrating a slaughter. We should be honest with ourselves about that.”