Suchi. Central City. An alchemy lab smelling of ingredients and reagents. 3 hours until the assassination; 4.4 until the deadline.

Master Ete, the lab's Head Alchemist, was picking at a crusty stain on his shirt in boredom while an apprentice was grinding herbs.

Once the leaves had been pulverised, the apprentice scattered the resulting dust into a bubbling cauldron. With a pop, a pungent smoke curled out of the mixture and incinerated the apprentice’s moustache.

“The mortar is contaminated with Grundfoldflesh ,” said Master Ete. “Clean your instruments better.”

As the apprentice lowered his head, Master Ete moved down the line to the next. This one’s ingredients were laid out on the bench in preparation: Orc Snout, honey from a Plains Swarmer, a desiccated Deepocean Jelly...

Master Ete raised his hand to stop the apprentice. “No need. The Iceberries are immature. If you can’t source better, congramulify three petals of Magmabell with 2.36 grams of Gyrehorn Antlers.”

Moving onto the next, Master Ete released a small sigh in his heart. At this rate, he would die a failure.

“Master.”

A nervous voice called out to him, coming from a middle-aged apprentice, someone slightly less hopeless than the rest of the sad lot.

The apprentice was nervous.

“What is it, Journeyman Anan?”

“Master Brady is here,” replied the man quietly.

A hush ran across the lab.

“I’m sorry,” Ete’s face puckered up as though a bowl of sliced lemons had been dumped on his head, “who did you say is here?”

“M-Master Brady, master, he’s in your office.”

Master Ete screamed, "back to the benches, everyone!”

As he stormed over to his office, a vial containing a urine-coloured liquid materialised in his hand.

Kicking open the door, he got a view of a familiar Offworlder with night-black skin reclining in his guest chair.

“Hey man, it’s been a—“ The guest’s eyes glowed buttercup-yellow as, moving with supernatural speed, his head ducked the projectile.

The vial, smashing against a bookshelf behind him, perfumed the office with the stench of ammonia – it’d actually been a vial of camel pee.

Although stinking up his office should have enraged Master Ete further, his anger was put on hold.

“. You finally picked up a Martial class. Does that mean you’re back for the potion?”

Master Ete’s life goal was to concoct the Lightning Antelope Potion, one of the unsolved Trials of Nerin. A sip of it had given the God’s sickliest goat the energy to run the 600 or so kilometre journey from Suchi to Sokgyemant in half a day without rest. (Author's note: For a refresher and an update, Suchi is only the starting zone in the greater region of Kanaru. Kanaru is a loose confederation of city-states that have near identical cultures and political systems, with the same religion, castes, laws, and even slums. Suchi is the area's largest state, having 8.5 million of the region’s total population of 50. Here’s a rough political map of the area with the major states labelled: https://imgur.com/EPDNKO7).

However, Master Ete had been blocked by an insurmountable hurdle with processing one of the potion’s ingredients, the unshelling of a fertilised Likuliku Wasp Queen egg. Beyond the technical difficulty of the task, the Alchemist had to put themselves in mortal danger by unshelling the egg inside the hive within seconds of fertilisation. Master Ete'd predicted this step to have a survival rate of less than 1.2% - a risk he could never impose on his crew.

Thus, he'd given up on the potion.

That was until the arrival of the Offworlders. Being unbound from The Cycle and effectively immortal, they were perfect for tackling such life-threatening tasks. He’d scoured their numbers for one with the skill to carry out the processing, and he’d thought he’d uncovered that person in this black-skinned Offworlder, only to have the lazy son of a sloth ditch one day with a weak excuse.

“Nope,” replied Master ‘Brady’. “I told you I don’t have the skill for it.”

“You indolent sack of potatoes! Why can’t you just spend a few weeks practising? I’ve dedicated decades!” Enraged, the Alchemist summoned another vial of camel urine.

“Chill," said the guest, preparing to dodge again. “I don’t have the skill for it, but...” he pulled out a Memory Sphere and tossed it to the infuriated Alchemist, “but that guy does.”

Master Ete, the weaponised pee still in his grasp ready to be flung, activated the Memory Sphere. He drew along the item's surface with a finger, each movement leaving a glowing trail in its wake. When the glowing lines had formed into a sketch of a balance scale, the opaque surface of the Memory Sphere turned translucent. Inside of it, wisps of smoke gradually congealed into a scene.

The footage showed a huge-headed Offworlder concocting a potion with elegance and speed.

“I recognise this one,” said Master Ete. “The Empire’s talons have already dug deep in him.”

Since the rise of the Slum Empire, the stream of talent entering the Central City, already paltry, had dwindled to an unremarkable trickle. Master Ete wasn’t alone in suffering; all the Central City organisations were desperate for fresh blood.

“For now,” said the guest. “There are ways to correct that. In exchange, though, I’m going to need everyone in the lab to make an hour-long trip to The Slums.”

“When?”

“Starting in approximately 194 minutes.”

Putting aside the odd specificity of the timing, Master Ete shook his head. “We can’t. Cardinal Sejuk has barred us from leaving Central until Princess Indah’s Chondrolepropathy has been treated.”

The guest, having prepared for this, produced a few sheets of paper and jotted down a recipe.

After Master Ete took it and began to read, he became quiet, a dance of facial tics coinciding with his mental validity checks of each step. Reading one item, he bit his lip and frowned. “The scent of herbs on you is faint, so I assume you’ve produced this through theory. By what method did you derive demortifying a calcified Necrobuzzard’s air sac?”

The guest shrugged. “A trade secret. Quick, have Anan and the others brew a batch. We’ve got more important matters to discuss.”

After wrapping up his conversation with Master Ete, Henry left the lab quietly, booking into a nearby hotel to shake off anyone tracking him.

From his room, he entered a secret passageway that he was aware of because the hotel was his property. Hidden away, he transformed again, this time into an NPC with snow-white skin and green eyes with epicanthic folds - the physical characteristics of the Gu people.

Adorning the local dress style, he adopted an expression like a blank canvas on which would be painted whatever the other person speaking desired. Then, he ventured back out into the streets of Central City.

Central City was obviously nicer than The Slums.

Tastefully-placed plant features, high-rise clay buildings, and not a scrap of litter made the visitor feel they were in a fusion of modern Singapore and ancient Timbuktu. Even though it was night, families of red-skinned Ibangua felt safe enough to stroll about without guards, all dressed in their modest, loose-fitting cloth attire.

It was a minor tragedy that few players spawning in the zone would experience this half of the land’s culture.

Henry arrived at a chapel surrounded by hundreds of statues of Gods. Into the cups the statues were holding, Ibangua were pouring water from flasks, their choice in God reflecting the blessing they desired for the week.

Entering, he passed under a twenty-foot curtain of glass beads into an interior decorated with ornate frescos and meticulous mosaics. If he’d had malevolent intentions, the curtain would’ve suffocated him to death.

Inside, a procession of night worshippers were gathered before a stage listening to a sermon. The speaker was an old woman with a shaved head in a sky-blue friar’s frock that had hundreds of Gods' names inscribed on it. Behind her were a dozen other figures dressed similarly.

These were the Ibanpita, the 'people of the sky', the religious and political leaders of Suchi.

Amongst them, a young man of 22 was scanning the crowd. Noticing a figure at the back signing a message, he nodded, before making a discreet exit from the stage.

Henry met up with the young Ibanpita on the ground level. The latter led him silently to the rectory attached to the chapel where the religious folk lived, then through the building’s narrow corridors. The church guards they passed bowed to his companion with genuine reverence.

The young Ibanpita leading him was one of his puppet leaders.

One of the identities Henry still stored in The Ring of a Thousand Souls was for an old NPC from the Republic of Gu. Using this disguise, he'd searched the globe for impoverished children from former noble families with certain personality traits, raised them together, then installed them into key positions around Saana's kingdoms once they'd matured. NPCs aged a year for every real-life month, so most of them were young adults now.

This puppet network was a secret cornerstone of his guild’s strength, allowing them to ‘miraculously’ smooth over and defuse disputes with the NPC factions that other guilds could not. Its existence was known to only four people including himself.

The young Ibanpita brought Henry to a claustrophobic living chamber. The trimmings were bare aside from a couple religious texts, a hammock, and a coffee table with two plain cushions.

After closing the door, he activated an item that made the air feel thicker, as though they were breathing in oil. A bubble had enclosed them that would prevent light and sound from leaking, while also alerting them if any other living beings entered the space.

They waited in silence for a minute for anyone stealthed who might’ve followed them in to run out of Stamina.

This young man had been the son of a prominent Merchant family from the Kingdom of Sagua in southern Kanaru. The King there, coveting his family's wealth, had hired bandits to ambush them during a trading trip. They were killed, but the boy survived. After being found and raised by Henry, he’d been adopted into a new Suchi clan, and, from there, he’d entered the Ibanpita church and gradually climbed their ranks. Relative to the puppets in other zones, his progress had been slow, as the Ibanpita had strict advancement requirements to safeguard a priceless secret known only by the top brass. Presently, he was just an archdeacon.

Archdeacon Mohon flashed his teeth, returning a little to the optimistic manner of the kid he'd been not so long ago.

“So what’s the latest from the old man?”

Henry’s face remained blank. “An operative has discovered a secret about Ramiro that has escaped the notice of the church...”

Outside the bubble, a blowfly who hadn’t entered fast enough span around in a tornado of frustration.

When the conspiring pair finally re-emerged, the fly decided to follow the Archdeacon, while tagging the curious Offworlder with a tracking pheromone.

The Slums. Near Montana Village. 1.6 hours until the assassination; 3 until the deadline.

An Accompanist and Proximicanist were strolling hand-in-hand through the moonlit streets. Their stomachs were swollen with grilled gecko, ostrich, and zebra from a barbecue hosted by Salt Lake City Village. Red droplets speckled their clothes from a gang of muggers that'd dared to accost them, mistaking them for newbies.

“Whoa,” said the Accompanist, “what's that?”

To their surprise, a brand-spanking new building had popped up with a sign outside saying “Lupi’s Emporium! Open for business soon!” When the pair had passed through here an hour and a half earlier, this had been a block of twenty NPC stalls. All of those were gone now, replaced by this single, giant store.

“That’s my shop!”

A tiny man was riding behind them on top of a donkey with a colourful horse rug and a sombrero.

“I’m Lupi!”

This NPC was a Maranya pygmy from the rainforests of Northern Yamalai.

“You’re a Merchant?” observed the Proximicanist with mild confusion. “Strange choice of trade for a Maranya.”

In Maranya culture, one was obligated to hand over a possession if asked for it by a tribe member. The custom prevented individuals from amassing excessive wealth and kept their society egalitarian. A byproduct, though, was that they were strongly disincentivised from starting businesses.

“That’s why I left!” answered the pygmy. “If you meet anyone similar, don’t tell them I’m here! Unless she’s a beauty!”

With a wink, the pygmy patted the donkey, prompting it to continue trotting along, a rickety wagon bouncing behind them stacked with lumber.

While they were entering the gates of the emporium, the donkey brayed in complaint.

The pygmy rolled his eyes.“By what criteria are they supposed to recognise a beautiful donkey? Handle your own love life!”

A dingy alleyway in The Kingdom of South America, Ramiro’s home area. 22 minutes until the assassination; 1.8 hours until the deadline.

An Offworlder with a hood drawn over his head was attending a pot simmering over a small fire. As he cooked, he took care that the ash from his burning cigarillo didn’t spill into the food.

Around him, a group of young street urchins were squatting, using Chimichurri bread to spoon up chunks of pancetta and chorizo from a delicious Locro stew. In between bites, they peeked at the cook with excitement.

One group of kids shoved a member out of their circle.

“Go on, Large Lips. Ask him.”

The ejected street urchin hesitated.

Another kid sneered. “Are you a man or a bat? Squeak, squeak!”

“I’m a man!”

The street urchin marched up to the cook and presented an empty bowl.

“Can I have a second helping, Saviour?”

“Saviour?” Henry gave the boy a soft, ironic glance. “I’m definitely not him, but sure.”

Bending down to ladle out an extra large serving, he allowed his hood to peel back, exposing a chubby face with a goatee.

The Habitat. 22 minutes until the assassination; 1.8 hours until the deadline.

The number of cages had grown into the thousands.

A cheetah sprinted into The Habitat, speeding through the sickbeds to reach an Earthfriend with sparkling skin. When the scout shapeshifted back into a human, he looked with despair upon his exhausted comrades. They were not prepared.

“What’s wrong?” whispered The Duke.

“Your Grace, a raiding party is riding hard upon us from the north.”

“How many? How far away?”

“500. Three minutes.”

A clang of metal could be heard as a helper nearby dropped a pot. “We’re dead! Raiders are coming to slaughter us!”

While the panic began to spread, Duke Franco maintained his composure as he communicated with others in The Empire's military chat channel.

After a few moments, he made a show of slowly spinning around to assess the forces available for the defence. The high-level Earthfriends were comatose or metamorphosised, while the low-level ones were too tired to put up a decent fight. The main fighting force would be two hundred newbie players, a dozen veterans, and a single platoon of NPC guards.

“How close is the nearest patrol?” asked the scout.

“Two are on the way,” answered Duke Franco, his voice booming to reassure the scout and the rest. Of course, one of them, he knew, would be late. The second would be ambushed by a separate platoon of bandits. “Guards, set up a defensive formation around the perimeter! Players prepare; once they’re upon us, we’ll be fighting until reinforcements arrive. Everyone else, transport the sickbed patients to the Community Tree.”

The Community Tree was the tiny tree in the centre of The Habitat that emitted an aura of ancient jungles. In emergencies, it could be activated to protect the area.

One of the Earthfriends, realising the implication of Duke Franco’s orders, screamed, “What about those who’ve transformed? Archfriend Nagy, Friend Elet, Friend Mozga—”

Slap!

Duke Franco lowered the hand he'd struck him with. “How many cages do you think we can move in three minutes? The more you chatter, the more die. Hurry up, everyone! NOW!”

Those with the strength to rushed to transport the patients to safety. The conscious Earthfriends shapeshifted into gorillas and piled several into their hulking arms. Meanwhile, the guard squads, following heavily-practised drills, were setting up their defences. Those with Earth-based magic or a Constructionist secondary-class created barriers and bunkers, while others laid traps or applied stat buffs.

Shortly after the last comatose Earthfriend was moved, everyone was overcome with dread as they heard the clangour of thousands of stampeding hooves.

“Remaining NPC assistants into the protection zone!” commanded Duke Franco. “Players are to hide amongst the cages for an ambush! It's only a level and an item! Fight to the death unless you want to reroll in another zone!”

Duke Franco began to perform a series of spell gestures. With each one, a luminescent dot gathered at the end of a fingertip.

Earthfriends had a unique spell casting system. Firstly, they would build ‘Energy’ charges from one of four types – Flora Energy, for plant-based, typically healing magic, Fauna Energy, for animal-based magic like shapeshifting, Elemental Energy for offensive magic and environmental manipulation, and Celestial Energy for a hybrid of offensive and buffing magic. These charges, amassable up to ten, one for each finger, could then be expended as the Earthfriend wished on spells from the corresponding Energy Class, with more powerful spells consuming more charges. Any combination of Energy types could be selected, and players would alter their choice to fit the circumstances.

By the Community Tree, half a dozen Earthfriends poured green, Flora Energy into its trunk. Its ancient aura intensified, and The Habitat began to groan and shake violently, the Earthfriends having to stabilise themselves by grabbing anything grounded.

Showering everyone in dirt and grass, roots as thick as tree trunks erupted from the earth. Growing higher and higher, they created a dome around The Habitat, sealing all inside.

A Crusader Guard became alarmed when he saw Duke Franco, who’d finished gathering his charges, stepping out from the barrier they’d built. “Your Grace!”

“Hold your position,” he replied. “That’s an order.”

Alone, he walked out to intercept the raiders. From the glow of his fingers, he’d chosen 5 Celestial charges, 2 Fauna, 1 Elemental, and 2 Flora. While focusing on his Celestial specialisation’s strengths, he’d kept some of the others for flexibility.

Over a ridge, five-hundred mounted players rode into view, red names floating above their heads.

Each member had one eye that’d been dyed tar-black. For bandanas, dead sand snakes were tied around the crowns of their helmets.

An Earthfriend peeping through the roots of the Community Tree gripped his antlers in shock.

“The Chibe Sand Devils!”

"Betrayal!"

“The King was too graceful! The gangs should have been purged!”

The Empire’s guards tensed up when they identified the material used in the raiders’ armour. Milky-green with swirls of pearl, it was Kokojuri, a Tier 3-4 Material. The guards being mostly in Tier-2, five or six of them would fall for each raider in favourable conditions, yet they were outnumbered. Without reinforcements, they would be dead in minutes.

Amongst the horsemen, the Bowmen drew their bows and aimed at the starry-skinned figure blocking their path, whose spells would be outranged by their arrows. Before they could let loose, though, they stayed their hands and, along with the other raiders, brought their mounts to a stop.

A command to halt had been given in their group chat rather than being spoken aloud, the standard practice when commanding a group exclusively made of players.

Their leader trotted his horse to the front, a pretty boy Japanese kid. Unlike the armoured raiders around him, he was wearing a flimsy silk robe. This wasn’t negligence, though. Qi Masters used pills to harden their skin in place of armour.

The Qi Master scoffed. “Check out his Energy Configuration. ‘Duke’ Franco wants a 1v1. I guess he plans on stalling us until his dogs arrive.”

A Fighter to his left laughed. “He doesn’t know that they’re already dead!”

“Devils!” screamed an Earthfriend.

“Wretches!”

“You’ll receive The King’s justice soon enough!”

Duke Franco growled, “What do you want, Setsu?”

“A ton of things: a diamond-encrusted e-assistant, a girlfriend with a tiny waist and a tinier chest.” The Qi Master dismounted, summoning a spear and a sword, both Tier 4-2. The latter weapon began to float by his side. “Today, though, I suppose I want to feel my heart race again. I want relief from the boredom that's smothered us ever since you ‘Empire’ cowards took over.”

An Earthfriend spat. “Your blood will drain into the sand!”

The Qi Master grinned at the hippies hiding inside their cute dome. “How bravely the lambs bleat within the safety of their pen. ."

His canines lengthened two inches and the sword floating beside him began to swing around, as if an invisible third arm was testing its weight. Gripping his spear, he broke into a sprint.

Duke Franco tracked the path of the Qi Master closing in on him. The Celestial Energy on one finger trickled down to his palm, in preparation for the first spell.

Suddenly, a Cutthroat formed out of a puff of smoke behind the Duke and smacked him over the head with the butt of his dagger, disabling his spell casting. This Cutthroat then sidestepped around to face his front, while another Cutthroat materialised in the previous spot, drawing a blade across the Duke’s throat, a jet of blood spraying out from the incision.

Unlike a regular wound, this one didn’t heal. The Cutthroat who’d created it was forming a sequence of gestures with his non-dagger hand, and with the completion of each, a new fountain spurted from the Duke’s throat, his health pool plummeting.

Duke Franco struggled to spin around to disrupt the channelling Cutthroat, but the one to his front kept him locked in place.

“Save him!”

A Miracleworker guard cast an emergency shield on the Duke, but the projectile was intercepted by the Cutthroat to his back. The other guards, watching several more spells fail, broke from their positions and charged.

They were far too late.

When the Qi Master reached the Duke, he delivered a twin thrust with the flying sword and his spear into the Duke’s chest.

Just before Duke Franco died, he cracked a wicked smile and gave the Qi Master a wink.

“No!”

“Your Grace!”

From out of the resulting cloud of lights, the Qi Master emerged mockingly coughing and fanning himself as if they were a fart.

Infuriated by the gesture, a Fighter leading the guards unleashed a warcry, “And so I return to the desert!” Activating , her movement speed doubled, causing her to break ahead of her squadmates. A Shaman created an armour of lighting around her, while a Miracleworker shrouded her in a golden forcefield.

The Qi Master put a hand over his heart and sighed with pleasure. “I missed this feeling. .”

His canines retracted, while the flying sword returned to his side to hover in a fixed position. His spear elongated by two metres and the air around him was whipped up into a frenzy, causing his hair to stand on end.

With a gust of wind blowing from behind him, his body vanished.

The next moment, he was above the Fighter, his spear thrusting down out at supersonic speed, puncturing the lightning armour, the forcefield, and the top of her helmet like three thin sheets of tinfoil.

“Maria!”

The Qi Master fell through her soul-light cloud and landed on his feet.

Without any outward signal, the rest of the raiders spurred their mounts forward to mow down the exposed guards.