Compassion is not in the least unique to humanity. Most of the fully sentient creatures display similar behaviours to us for just as complex reasons. Still, just because they have a capacity for compassion does not mean they will treat you kindly since, more often than not, our fellow kin have mistreated them and left them a sour taste of humanity as a whole.

Suko Ryo - Interspeciel Expert - Humanity and the Other Races

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The pressure bore down on Silas’s shoulders, crushing his chest and forcing his breaths into rapid gasps. No matter how hard he pushed, no matter how frantically he stamped or slapped, the door refused him the right to leave. The tension only thickened as he recalled the hundred-plus aliens that could return at any moment, armed to the teeth and ready to let loose on intruders such as himself. Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard thumping footsteps from the throne room, heading to the princess’s bedroom as if by clockwork.

“Fuck, fuck, shit,” he swore, his nerves singing a song shriller than a dog’s whistle. From the heavy footfall, it sounded like a group of shaerd were coming straight for him. By now, it was clear something had gone wrong on Clio’s end, but there was no time to consider what with the enemy closing in on him. Silas clenched his fists around his spear’s shaft and dashed to a massive bust of a shaerd, hiding behind the sculpture as he readied for the violence that was about to ensue.

The door to throne room slid open with a soft whistle and the clatter of shifting armour carried itself to his ears. He didn’t dare peek at the entrants, instead using his ears to time the right moment to strike. However, his plan was not to be as one of the entrants called him out. “We know of your presence, so walk into the open at once if you value your lowly life.” From its clipped, arrogant tone, he figured it was royalty and therefore Princess Amara’s voice. Despite her threat, however, he hesitated in revealing himself as he sensed a blazing, spluttering aura beside her, no doubt that of Laerdya, her Royal Protector.

“I don’t want this to come to violence,” followed a softer voice, like that of a husky woman’s. “I’ve heard you’re just as much a victim in Clio’s plot as we are.”

Silas clenched his jaw, breathing slow and deep through his nose. Could he trust them? Hell no. But was there any point in hiding here anymore when they already knew of his position? Also no. It made more sense to scrutinise their appearances and take guesses at their weaknesses in the meantime while they postured. Heart lurching, he stepped around the corner and levelled his spear, eyes narrowed and muscles bunched.

The group of shaerd remained idle at his reveal, crowding near the entrance, but then again they didn’t need to rush him or fear his attacks with the foremost shaerd blocking his way; it was her presence he feared the most in the fort, so it was just his luck that she had turned up now. Muscled and gigantic, Laerdya was a dark blue shaerd equipped in thick, metallic armour and wielding a fearsome halberd. Although she held the weapon loosely in one hand and kept to a relaxed posture, he wasn’t enough of a fool to think she couldn’t strike in a flash the second he tried anything. She had three floppy horns on her head, and her facial features were typical of shaerd with a circular head, lack of nose, and a curved, lip-less mouth. She made no effort to hide that she was sizing him up, her wide, white-less eyes roving across his body.

Behind Laerdya stood Amara, her skin a brilliant purple with four completely limp horns on her head. In fact, they no longer even resembled horns but rather hair as the four thick columns rose slightly before plummeting down, spreading across her head to give the appearance of a dark pixie cut. Her skin was silky-smooth with no imperfections to it as it seemed to flow over the flesh underneath. She wore a single-cut knee-length dress, its pure white providing dazzling contrast with her skin. Although unarmed, she regarded Silas with a contemptuous gaze all the same.

Around her guarded a handful of other guards, but the only other figure of note stood directly beside her: a short, brown shaerd with cracked skin. Pale lines crisscrossed his skin like a severe case of dry skin, breaking it into countless fragments. He wore slacks and an open shirt, revealing his skinny torso, and there was a nub of horn on his head. His aura was the same as on the artwork and sculptures in the room but stronger, making Silas equally delighted and frightened of this obscene creature’s ability at tinkering with his mind. This was Nicon, the Tempter, and he offered the Duellist a kind, understanding smile.

Silas gulped and spoke up to keep the shaerd distracted, “You said something about Clio.” Meanwhile, his eyes surreptitiously scanned the room for any items he could use to escape with.

Amara snorted with a face of intense disgust. “A toy who got too full of herself, imagining we truly thought something of her.”

“May I take over for you on this matter, my princess?” Nicon asked, seemingly humbling himself. Yet it was clear he knew her answer already.

“Of course, darling,” Amara said, undertaking an abrupt shift as she beamed now at the lowly cracked, lovingly rubbing her head against his shoulder.

“Well met, Silas,” the Tempter said, gracing him with another lip-less smile. “I’m Nicon, the princess’s cicisbeo but only as of recent. You see, Clio used to have a relationship with Her Grace but it fell apart after Her Grace grew bored with her. Understandably, Clio couldn’t get over Her Grace and let her jealousy for my position take over, putting together a horrific plan in which you were just another pawn.”

“So you knew about it all along,” Silas said, half asking, half accusing. He needed more time as although he had already considered half a dozen plans to fight out of here by now, none of them came out with a serviceable rate of success because of the dark blue giantess in front of him.

“Laerdya, if you would,” Nicon said.

The Royal Protector showed no sign she had heard his words as she continued to study Silas with clear interest.

The Tempter stroked at the princess, and Amara awoke from her reverie, speaking with impatience. “Laerdya, answer him!”

“Of course, princess,” Laerdya said, finally complying. “From the moment Clio started spouting her inanity around the fort, I had several moles join her group to keep a track of her. So, yes, we were aware of her plans from the start.”

“And you still let her carry it out,” Silas said. He felt a growing dread and not just from the hopelessness of this situation but also from the fact that this situation had been engineered from the start: they had intended for him to get trapped in here, whatever their purpose may be.

“Even if senseless, her ploys had been harmless until now. It is only of very recent that she gained an inordinate amount of confidence in her latest plan, so it was natural to want to inspect the figure that inspired her so,” Laerdya said, nodding approvingly at him. “I see the Knowing Spirit gifted her with an apt boon that she wasted all the same.”

“Come on, Laerdya: do you really need to provoke him?” Nicon asked with genuine concern, although the Royal Protector showed no signs of having heard him once again. “Still, you must have had your reasons for humouring Clio as you did, Silas, so I must ask you, why are you trying to kill me?”

“If you knew all about her plans, then you know my reasons as well,” Silas spat back, remembering that this figure treating him so gently was also the one that had shackled Ethan to this hellhole. The entire rescue mission was now fucked because of Silas’s stupidity and willingness to blindly trust Clio’s words. Had he truly been so desperate for a quick fix to Ethan’s situation that he had grasped the first one offered without even taking a moment to critically look into it? Silas knew the answer, and it disgusted him so, in fact, more so as he felt anger bubbling and popping inside of him at the fact that everyone had strung him along like a marionette.

The Tempter softly frowned. “I heard of it from second-hand tellings, sure, but I would rather hear it from your own mouth.”

His fear and pleasure at Nicon’s presence boiled over into something far nastier. “Don’t act like you give a shit about my reasons, you fucking bastard.” He hadn’t let his fury out in months, but the tension of the situation and the acknowledged folly of his own actions finally cracked him. Why was he the one getting strung along like a retarded child? Did they think he had no bite, that he was simply a powerless wimp with nothing backing him up? Perhaps that was once true but he had since changed: Idroa had given him the tools to fit his skill set, and he was willing to show it off now.

“Watch your mouth when you speak to our darling, you baseborn ape,” snapped back Amara, her expression growing severe.

“Did it sound like I was talking to you, dumbass cunt? I’m going to take pleasure in ripping you all apart, even you —” he said, pointing his gaze at Laerdya and activating Weakness Vision, “— you big bitch.”

Even as Amara’s expression turned to one of abject shock, her Royal Protector’s smile simply widened into an ugly grin. It was Nicon who defused the situation a heartbeat before the Duellist lunged. “Please now, Silas, I don’t want this to come to violence,” he pleaded, repeating his very first words. “I didn’t know one of the affected was a person close to you. Tell me their name, and I’ll fix it all now.”

Silas backed up against the wall, stepping slowly and rhythmically. He wondered if he should answer, then decided what the hell, it was worth a shot. Although his anger had reared its ugly head for a long moment, he still understood deep down that certain death faced him the second he took on Laerdya and all her fellow guards at once, which is why he had already hesitated for so long. “Ethan, Ethan Wycliffe.”

“Princess, if you would,” Nicon said hastily. Amara glared at Silas, but her darling’s plea cut through her judgment. She flicked her finger a few times in the air and spoke, “There, it is done. That ape is no longer one of mine, so gather him and begone.”

The Duellist stopped in sheer disbelief. Although he had no way to verify her words, he didn’t think she was lying either. “Why have you chained humans to your village if you don’t even care about them?”

“What is a princess without her subjects?” Amara snarled, shooing him off with a violent gesture. The doors to the balcony snapped open behind him. “Now begone, you baseborn ape, begone, before I change my mind. My dearest has already pleaded too much for your pitiful case. Begone, I say!”

Although Silas had spoken big, the prospect of surviving another day was too great a temptation to resist, and as such he shot out as quick as a banshee’s wail. If it turned out Amara had lied about freeing Ethan, then he would simply stop pulling his punches and do everything in his power to bring over Riverside’s or New Derby’s armies to crush Valrun’s Keep. He was a figure of great influence, so it was about time he started using said authority.

Clambering down the walls, he noted with bone-chilling fear that the crossbows from before were now manned by shaerd who had no doubt been hiding on his way up. All the same, they made no attempt to shoot at him as he descended. He reached the cliffside with record speed and glanced back one last time, wondering if the events of today had all been one sick nightmare after all. Nicon gazed down from the balcony with kind eyes, waving goodbye, and the sight made Silas bite down in a mess of emotions he no longer recognised, let alone understood.

Peering down from the cliff and spotting Mia’s rousing figure, he leapt down with a carrying yell, trusting her enough to catch him before he splattered to an unseemly death.

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Although violence is, without doubt, the vehicle that drives us along this apocalyptic road, not everyone is fond of violence, nor regularly subscribe to it. Of these, the powerful ones are those who choose non-combat classes that allow them unmatched influence over others, especially over those who, ironically, have a massive capacity for violence.`

Wilfrid Pember - Historian- The Start of the Apocalypse