Kernoel77
patreon
Chapter 157: Party Crashing
🕑 Added 2023-08-12 03:43:00 +0000 UTCChapter 157: Party Crashing
Berthorn found himself panicked.
Now, to be fair, there was not much special about that. He tended to panic fairly quickly.
Despite that, he felt his heart rate spike once again. It had beat faster when his sister engaged the scion. He had imagined scenarios in which she would fail, he would lose face, and that was that. The reputation of their family could swiftly be squashed.
There had also been a chance of someone else intervening, stopping the fight. Perhaps his own parents getting into the way, or an elder of the Bluewing clan, or anything of the like.
None of that had happened. However, now, something was happening. Was there an issue with the spells? Was there-
“Hey. Ber. Look at me. Look. At me. I want another,” his sister said, grabbing onto his shoulder much more tightly than was strictly necessary. He was unsure if she was just unable to control herself, or threatening him.
Slowly, he drew a shaky breath. “Actually, there might be something coming up you can take care of.”
Immediately, a smile spread over the young girl’s lips, and her wiry neck stretched towards him, the grip on his shoulder winding itself even tighter. “What is it? A surprise? I love surprises. What’s the surprise?”
Berthorn managed a smile through the pain. “Well, sister, if I told you it would hardly be a surprise, would it?”
She stopped, and backed off just a bit, her grip on his shoulder releasing as his bones creaked a little. “Right,” she said, drawing some air in through her teeth. “Yes, of course. Surprises. Have to be surprising.”
Nirandia smiled as though she had given some great revelation, lightly clapped berthorn on the shoulder, then threw herself into one of the seats and began wolfing down treats, dozens at a time. Berthorn breathed a sigh of relief for just a second, massaging where she had gripped him, as he checked the mental connection to the scrying equipment again.
Whoever it detected was coming closer.
He bit down on his nails. According to the spies, his brother was still back in Unbar, that little nation he made. Who else could it be, then? Did his parents have a bastard child? Perhaps there was some residual bloodline that someone of an adjacent family could have triggered by walking here?
Dozens of ideas ran through his mind, including the very real chance that Zyl had just cloned himself, or that his spies were compromised.
Actually, that last one seemed likely.
The beast had found one of them. Why not the others? Perhaps those had been threatened into making normal reports. One of them… did one of them have shapechanging Skills?
He gnawed on his nails some more.
That would mean that this could actually be his brother outside the door. The person he had been forced to threaten, and who he had almost killed. Then attempted to kill his boyfriend.
“Fuck,” he muttered, then began walking out of the ballroom.
Before he had taken two steps, his mother’s eyes lingered on him. “Son, where are you heading?” she asked.
Berthorn bit his lips hard enough to draw blood. “Nowhere in particular, mother. Just going to catch some fresh air.”
“Oh? Is the air in here this bad? I hardly noticed, but that surely would be a poor way to host.”
Despite his best efforts, Berthorn shut his eyes. This was all just a little too much. His schemes had been going so well, so what was happening now? He drew a deep breath to steady himself, then answered. “No mother, of course not. I simply wished for you to be comfortable, which I check to make sure all supplies are stocked again.”
“Tch, you really are his son,” Trinyakorie said, smacking her husband with her elbow. The man didn’t even respond. “I thought I raised you better than to deal with mundane things like that. Get a servant to do it. Stay here.”
“I insist,” Berthorn snarled at her, then halted, surprised at his own tone.
His mother’s eyes, however, were far wider than his, and he capitalized on the moment, bravely retreating.
Soon, he’d pushed past a dozen servants, through two secret doors, and into a circular room. There was a glowing orb in the middle, projecting something like a hologram of the surrounding area.
He called over one of his trusted mages, an old sipisc woman, who ran her fingers gingerly across the orb. The image changed, wavered, then showed a much closer image.
Berthorn grabbed onto his head. “Fuck!” he screamed, slamming a fist into the wall.
Nothing changed.
It was still right there, in front of his eyes, his brother Zyl making his way up the mountains alongside that infernal mopaaw. And they were heading exactly for his mansion.
What should he do?
Clearly, and spies or assassins hardly meant anything to the mopaaw. He’d underestimated it before, but he wouldn’t again. Not all problems could be solved with numbers.
He was also unwilling to just send Nir out at them. If she encountered Zylnareth, the results could vary heavily. Maybe half this place would end up in shambles, maybe the two of them would just talk, it all depended on just how much his brother had recovered.
Berthorn bit his nails more, his teeth breaking them. He needed to stop them. Delay them, anything.
But how?!
If his brother had his powers back, then none of his servants stood a chance. They were trained in tracking, following, watching, replacing, and assassinating. None of them could eleven remotely compare to that monster in a straightforward fight.
He shuddered from just the thought. How much could he risk? At what point would his brother just say it was enough? Barge in and tear everything down like that walking disaster did every godsdamn time?!
Berthorn took a deep breath.
This wasn’t helping.
There was little use in thinking things over too much.
He was needed in the ballroom. For his plans to bear fruit, he had to be there.
Additionally, he couldn’t stop his brother. Whether he was weakened or not suddenly no longer mattered. There was simply no way that when everything up until now had failed, an assassin or twenty would have taken them out.
Maybe… he should just wait. Patiently.
Let the two arrive here.
His sister would get her fight. His mother would be shocked. Perhaps his father would actually move for once, though admittedly, that was unlikely.
Taking another deep breath, Berthorn finally calmed his racing heart. He listened to his Skills as he thought about his current plan, and none of them rang warning bells. At the very least, it meant he would most likely survive.
Finally, Berthorn relented, and decided to simply let things run their course.
How bad could it possibly be?
- - - - - -
This truly couldn’t get any worse.
Nir hated these meetings on principle. Sure, she usually got to beat some snob’s face in, but there was no joy in that. They could hardly even fight back. It was like kicking a sandcastle, completely incomparable to real walls.
Sure, maybe compared to most people these scions were powerful, but they were just big fish in a small pond. Being talented meant being strong compared to other people your age. Being a genius was being strong compared to talented people, or those older than you.
But being a prodigy?
That transcended age.
Some of the old bastards in the hall were eyeing Nir suspiciously, but she didn’t return their gazes. Regardless of how much she wanted to fight, if she started anything without her brother’s permission, she would mess everything up, and mother would get quite mad at her indeed.
She never quite understood those two. Her father at least made sense, he just wanted to laze about. But Ber and mother? They played strange games with each other. Trading servants, and sneaky little words. Not that Nir cared enough to listen.
Instead, her reptilian eyes simply watched the ballroom, hoping for something, anything fun to happen. Brother Ber eventually came back from having disappeared and talked with her mother. She didn’t bother to listen.
Servants came by and offered her things. She just reached out and ate from their trays. She didn’t bother to listen to them either.
Some of the other dragons were chatting, some probably about her given the occasional glances. Again, she didn’t bother to listen.
All of this was background noise. A constant droning of the inferior, of those that couldn’t hold a candle to her, of the geniuses and talents who weren’t prodigies. The only one to ever keep up with her growth had been brother Zyl, and he was no longer a brother at all.
Thinking of that made her sigh, but at least it kept her thoughts occupied. This ball was dreadfully boring, and she was already not looking forward to when they would need to dance.
The door swung open.
Just when she’d thought things were getting boring, the main door of the hall swung open. But no announcement came, no name being spoken for a few moments. She slowly sat up, and gazed at the intruders.
Within moments, she caught a glimpse of white fur, interspersed with night sky purple, as well as a second person, wearing a white suit with flaming red hair.
The beast she didn’t know, but if there was one person she would recognize anywhere, it was her brother. Nir rose from her seat.
- - - - - -
“Mercury, I told you that we really shouldn’t go in there.”
“Yes, Zyl. And I value your opinion. So, I’m sure you’ll value mine when I say that I think we need to make a point and go in there.”
“Please, just listen to me. Some of the most powerful dragons in this world are in there.”
“No, you listen to me for a second. We need to make a statement. Make it very clear that these dummies don’t mess with us. So. You’re gonna open that door, and we’re gonna start causing some havoc,” Mercury said.
Zyl only gave a long, exasperated sigh at the mopaaw’s antics. They’d stood outside the hall for quite some time now, discussing quietly. He was still quite clearly against going in. The decision was a horrifically dumb one, and it was one that Mercury seemed completely unable to let go of.
So, he would have to bear with it.
Somewhat tired, and hoping to get it all over with soon, Zyl opened up the door.
Within a moment, hundreds of pairs of eyes faced him and his lover, and Zyl could feel his consciousness, the embarrassment boiling up in his chest.
Zyl felt his cheeks heathen up as he grew a bit red and slowly stepped into the hall, his boyfriend right by his side. The mopaaw’s furry frame was pushed up against his legs close enough that he could feel the warmth. It almost made him smile.
Half a second later, his sister appeared before him, swinging her fist in a punch that Zyl quickly ducked under.
“Brother!” she said excitedly, already swinging again, and forcing the man to take a few steps back. Mercury did no such courtesy, and instead seemed to gather his rijn.
“I’m not your brother any longer, Nir,” Zyl hissed, clutching at his aching chest.
For a moment, Nirandia’s face fell, and she took a step back. The moment she did so, Mercury created a platform underneath her with rijn, causing one of her feet to land much higher than the other and causing her to stumble.
“This may just be intuition, but I’m pretty sure you’ve had too much to drink,” Mercury mocked. “Who are you, girly?”
Once again, Nir took a step back, almost landing her ass on the floor as her balance shifted uncomfortably again. Her eyes dilated and she stared at the little beast. “You talk.”
“Yes, I do, lady. Who are you and why’d you try and smack my boyfriend?”
At that, the room erupted into more chatter.
“You’re my brother’s boyfriend?!”
“I am not your brother,” Zyl growled.
Nir flinched at that, taking a third step back.
“But-”
“Lady, can you like wind it back by a couple moments? We just came in here and immediately-”
Mercury didn’t get to finish the sentence, before a blast of fire exploded at his feet, forcing him to jump back.
“Zylnareth Friaminth,” a new voice commented. It was a woman with fiery red hair, equally red scales covering her cheeks and arms, and a dress that seemed lit ablaze whenever she moved. “So you have come.”
“I have indeed, Trinyakorie,” Zyl ground out in between his teeth. Mercury could already see the fire in his eyes boiling high. “Where is Thorythenior?”
“Here,” a voice rumbled from the room, coming from what seemed to be a vaguely humanoid shape draped over a couch. A hand of it was raised, pointing at them, but Mercury couldn’t even see the person’s face.
“Husband, get over here this instant and teach your son a lesson!” Trinya commanded.
“No,” the couch potato rumbled. There was no elaboration.
Before another word fell, Nir punched at Zyl again. The swings were slow, and childish, almost like a kid.
“Fight me. Brother,” she said.
“I am not your brother!” Zyl roared in reply, snapping forth a punch far faster than Mercury had ever seen and sending the wiry girl flying with a crash.
At that, the room erupted in noise, that of dozens of drawn weapons, and hostile intent.
“Hey. Hey, Trin-something. Firelady. Down here,” Mercury said.
Slowly, Zyl’s mother turned to face the cat. “What is it, beast?”
“You’re a real shitty parent.”
At that, Trinyakorie growled and stepped forward in a threat of violence. “Say that again if you wish to lose your life.”
“Anyone who harms Mercury will face me, first,” Zyl said.
There was a cough at the back of the room, coming from the wiry girl who Mercury noted had to be Nirandia. She dug herself out from a pile of rubble and splinters, her laughter echoing as a dry rasp. “Zyl. Wonderful. Marvellous.”
Mercury saw the girl vanish from where she was and reappear in between her mother and the dragon he loved.
“Come on. Hit me again.”
Zyl just grimaced at her instead. “Use my full name, Nirandia. We are not family.”
The girl froze for a few seconds, the smile on her lips fading, rows of fangs once again hidden. “Zylnareth,” she said quietly. “I missed you.”
At that, the other dragonlady, the one with scales, who Mercury guessed had to be Zyl mother, grabbed the wiry girl and pushed her aside.
“Pray tell, Zylnareth, what has brought you and your pet here?” the woman asked.
Mercury saw his boyfriend’s jaw clench and his fists tighten. “Hey, old lady,” he interjected. “That’s no way to talk to my boyfriend, is it now?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What would a lesser beast know about etiquette?”
“More than an old power-hungry worthless piece of garbage for a mother,” Mercury spat.
Once again, the murmurs of the other clans grew silent, and the mopaaw could see a distinct shade of rage cross the woman’s mind. For a moment, he could feel the mana moving through her, coalescing into a blast of fire that would surely annihilate him, when a clap and raucous laughter rang through the air.
It came from an old woman with dark skin and greying hair. She wore a turquoise suit, with holes for her wings, and had gray dreadlocks piled up high on her head. “Fehfehfeh,” she laughed, her voice the sound of creaky wooden boards. “What a brave beast! Tell me, mopaaw, what it your name?” she asked.
For a moment, Mercury considered being hostile, but after feeling Zyl’s mother almost send one of his nine lives off to heaven, he had no interest in finding out. “Mercury Rainfall Starlight,” he said. “Better remember it.”
“Feh, I make sure to always remember foolish bravery, young one. Especially in front of the powerful. You have acted admirably, earned to hear my name. Irrithuriel of Harkenler. Always a pleasure to meet a brave one,” she said, then bowed. “Cowards, however, also have their charm…”
With that, Mercury felt <Intuition> ring and activated <Combat Sense> which prompted him to take a step back.
A knife hissed through the air where his head had just been.
“Tsk,” Berthorn clicked his tongue. “When others announce my pres- augh!”
The man didn’t get to finish his sentence before Zyl’s fist slammed into his face.
There was a sharp noise as a second punch almost followed, only to be stopped in the air by Nir’s hands. “Don’t punch Berthorn. Brother Ber is weak.” She walked into the path instead. “Punch me.”
Mercury looked at these people, Berthorn, who had a terrified expression frozen on his somehow unharmed face, Nir, who was trying to get her own brother to beat her up, and Trinya, who seemed disappointed at the lack of havoc.
“Holy hell, are all of you nuts?”
A couple dozen heads snapped to him at one, each and every one silent.
“Hah.” The single sound shook the hall again, coming from whoever was draped over the couch. “Funny.”
It clicked for Mercury then. That dang couch potato was Zyl’s father.
“Shit, right, I was warned of this. You are all nuts!” Mercury yelled exasperatedly.
The very room he was in shook heavily with laughter, the walls vibrating and glass shards raining where windows shattered. “Hah! Hahah!” Thorythenior laughed, the floor quaking from the force.
“Silence, husband!” his wife screeched, stomping her foot on, no, through the ground, leaving a hole in the wooden planks, and the laughter slowly subsided.
Zyl got off Berthorn, but not without delivering another kick to the man’s side, and a stomp to his ribcage.
“Ogh, damn you,” the sleazy dragon wheezed, pushing himself up, still holding the knife he’d slashed at Mercury with.
“Me too!” Nir yelled, pointing at Zyl’s legs.
“Let go of me,” the dragon in question growled, pulling his arm. Yet, he didn’t move an inch. In fact, he almost seemed frozen in time.
If Mercury didn’t see his muscles and veins bulging - and there was a lot of muscle that went taut - he would have been sure that Zyl was entirely stationary. Nir, on the other hand, seemed to exert a similar amount of effort, her wiry frame growing stationary, her feet firmly planted onto the ground.
The blood vessels on Zyl’s forehead expanded like they were trying to escape out through his skin, yet nothing happened. The dragon grit his teeth, and pulled harder, then harder yet, until finally, his head slowly turned to face Mercury.
“Ten minutes,” he mouthed silently.
Then, where was a hiss, as well as a burst of blinding red light, and where before Zyl and Nir had stood, only one of them remained over a crater shaped like a thin girl.
“Oh fuck yes, we’re crashing this party,” Mercury said, grinning.
