"It is… not time…"
Ranni reminds me of a drugged-out homeless bum on the street. Take a noble off their self-care products, and they look like the rest of us greasy bastards, who would've thought.
I never liked her character. And I especially don't like her now. She's infused with a tree for reasons unknown, spouting cryptic nonsense upon my arrival.
She really should be dead. I guess this strange ritual of becoming a tree grants some form of immortality. Ranni isn't why I came; she's nothing more than an annoying but ultimately inconsequential unknown.
Her relationship with Darrow always irked me. Complete devotion, bordering obsession. Darrow did not reciprocate such profound emotion. He more or less used her as a ladder-climbing tool, all while racking up affair after affair with other women.
This appears to be the ultimate conclusion to her character; defying death, just to linger over his final resting place.
I spit on the ground and move forward to the stone coffin.
My hand graces the coffin's dusty lid. It's cold. It's heavy. The weight of everything hits me on the top of my painkiller-infested mind.
This is the body of the most important man in history.
And I'm about to do this in front of his wife.
…
Didn't come all this way to chicken out. Seems like my hatred might have its limits. Grit my teeth and get it done.
THUNK…
I angrily shove the stone slab off the coffin. The reverberations echo in my mind until eventually, all noises cease. Quiet as the dead.
"Stop…!" Ranni cries out in the near distance. "You mustn't disturb him…"
She seems a bit lucid. Nothing more than an annoying tick. Her lucidity will make this even more messed up.
But for some odd reason, I dare not look down into the rectangular darkness below me. Not yet.
"Why not?" I reply, my words bouncing around the empty room.
Ranni looks up, wide-eyed. Staring. Like I've just slapped her in the face.
"You…" A newfound luster fills her once dull eyes. "Who are you?"
"Alexander Landeskog," I reply in earnest. "Heir to King Henrik Landeskog of the Free Empire."
"Liar," she spits. "You're impure. Imperfect. I can smell the rot of the Sullied on you, foul creature."
"Quite hurtful of you," I feign lighthearted languish. "King Henrik has opened up race relations in your absence."
"Lies."
"Oh no. The Landeskogs were the first to break the seal. All nobility race-mix now."
Ranni doesn't even entertain my attempt to fool her. A silent look of pure enmity is her only reply. Hate. Pure hatred. It instinctively fuels my own.
There's no one more racist than a pureblooded noble. Leviticus doesn't even hold a candle to this woman.
My heart sank when she called me Sullied; thankfully, it's only because Ranni happens to be the only person in the universe who can forcibly view the status of other Favored. I lack personal experience with Favored S-Rank or over; it would be very troublesome if all of them could tell my race at a glance.
"Leave this place," she commands.
"No."
"How have you found this place?" She uncontrollably quivers, in fear or fury. "Who the Hells are you, 'Auren' The Sullied? What are you doing? Do you know who you're messing with?"
"I'd kill myself if I were married to you." Darrow already did, for the most part.
Speaking of, I look down at dear old Darrow.
…
My heart sinks.
Another heart beats.
This is not a dead man.
He's alive. Shallow, infrequent breaths
Despite his comatose state, Darrow's skin glistens. His golden hair is lush. His bright blue eyes are shut. He looks tranquil, in a pained way.
Darrow is perfection incarnate, even in his atrophied, seemingly feeble attempt at cheating death.
I place my hand to his withered chest.
THUMP.....
THUMP.....
Alive. Truly alive.
"You fucking subhuman hellspawn slave!" Ranni all but foams at the mouth in anger. "Do not fucking touch him!"
"Or what?" I sneer. "You're a glorified housewife. Now you're a tree. Do something about it, whore."
Ranni flails viciously like a dog on a tight leash, shouting obscenities I've never even heard before. Branches slither up her torso, holding her closer to the tree trunk.
Pure euphoria.
I loathe this creature. I truly do.
I'll do anything to ruin her.
With a wide, mocking smile, I extend my Shiv, flamboyantly waving it around, taunting her.
Darrow will die.
Her anger melts into a terrified stupor. Ranni is frozen. Fear. A level of fear I've never known—soul devouring.
"Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stopstopstop…" Tears run down her dusted cheeks like a fountain, leaving behind clean trails along her filthy face. "Why? Whywhywhywhy…."
"Too many reasons to count. Now that he's alive, taking his Shards seems like a good idea."
"Bastard! You'll be hunted. The Landeskogs will kill you for this!"
A complete and utterly pathetic bluff. The Landeskogs don't know this place even exists.
"How dare you use my pteigeist's name in vain!" I jest. "But seriously, did you know that your husband's Imprint is a Hereditary one?"
"Lies! Lies, lies, lies!" she desperately cries. Her mind teeters on the edge of shutting down. "I've seen his status…!"
"Gods, you're retarded." I want to laugh, but she aggravates me far too much. "First, you try to cheat Death. Then you think your Imprint can best the Demon God's gift to Darrow?"
"No… You cannot possibly know these things."
"But I do." Smugness spreads across my face. "Let's not make this about me, though. Let's talk about you…"
I cannot even begin to describe the expression on her face. It's the brutal twisting of every emotion ever conceived, flickering, fading, freezing.
I love it. I want more.
"You do know what a Hereditary Imprint is, right?"
…
"You do."
…
"You know what I'm about to do to him."
"Stop." Ranni barely squeaks.
"Pathetic. Truly pathetic. This is your husband's life for fuck's sake. The Hero's life is on the fucking line."
"Please! Stop this!"
"Louder. From the chest now. How else am I supposed to know you mean it?"
"Please…" She regresses to squeaking again. She's shattered. "PLEASE!"
I trace my Shiv's tip in a circle around Darrow's left breast. Then I go once more, this time putting enough pressure to draw blood. The skin of an SSS-Rank is far tougher than a mere E-Rank Corrupted, but I can still barely pierce it with soulsteel, using all my might, of course. What a great material.
"I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING!" Ranni musters everything. Quite frankly, the sheer volume and desperation in her ear-piercing screech frightens me, but only for a moment.
A potential advantage arises. I'll play along.
"Where is the largest Landeskog Vault?" I ask, deadpan, pretending to be merciful, hoping she forgets all of my prior gloating. "I feel some respect for the Hero. I'm willing to walk away if you tell me the location and the process to enter."
"Underneath the Royal Tower!" She jumps at the thinnest of threads. Fool. "Only the Patriarch holds the key, and it changes every decade. I… I do not know how to enter."
It's all just… so easy. Scamming the elderly is so damn easy.
"Aw. You were so close."
"W-what…?"
"Listen, you fucking neanderthal. I specifically said I needed the location AND the process. You gave me one. The deal is void."
All the hope in Ranni's eyes fades. The regained luster dies. Tears flood. Her head sags down, her uncouth silver hair trying its best to shield her from the sight.
I raise my Shiv high into the air, point down. It shines in the firelight like a beautiful white dove of fury.
…
The crackle of flame drowns out her distant weeping.
That's it. She's what I'm missing.
"Ranni…"
…
"Please. Won't you have the decency to look at your husband?"
…
The silver woman trapped in oak painstakingly raises her head once more. One final act of devotion.
"There it is."
STAB.
My beautiful white dove is doused in crimson.