Chapter 275 – 11

The mayor of Ricort doesn’t throw parties.  That was the word on the street from Adric’s contacts, Milwep, and even Hexio Curie, as Harmony nosed about in class.

“The man’s a ghost. Zeddiah Bell hasn’t opened the doors to the mayor’s palace since he got his lifetime appointment. He sends lawyers, footmen, and guards to make sure everything is run properly. I know you’re the golden keyholder and su-primus, but don’t wonder when you’ll get an invitation from him out loud, or people will think you’re daft. Now grab that curse and see if you can pull out the body-type only around it.”

Wrist deep inside the prisoner’s gut. [Claim the Remains of Power] knitted with [Renew Spirit] and a web of [Disintegrate] that transitioned into [Manipulate Dead], so she could touch that side of the man through the dead cells. Kill just enough to influence his soul better.  This curse was slippery spiritually, with nothing to lock it in place. Harmony missed the twins' needles to pin the rotting disasters down, and Jasper’s the temporal magic to slow their speed.

Houte was no help. He’d barely spoken to her since she forced him to return even after all the attention she’d stirred up. He tackled his materialized curse, arms strangling a twelve-limbed fuzzy spider half his size, following Curie’s instructions to more fully bring it to their level of reality.

Calling on the monster inside the man’s body type in an isolated manner wasn’t as easy as the hexio implied. The moment she tugged on one bit of it, the man’s skin started to turn metallic as the call of his body type spread to his whole body. “Gentle,” Harmony muttered through gritted teeth, pushing the other parts to transform back as her fingers touched the curse.

And the elusive thing slid away straight into the man’s throat to start choking him to death as Harmony gripped a pile of metal shards in her fist from the partial transformation.

Curie tsked at the failure, and Harmony brought out the sickle to open up the new location, even as the rest of the man’s body started to fail. Another day, another dead body. But she’d learn as much as she could before that happened. The throat was smaller than the gut, so after she cut around the curse, marring the container and soul to prevent easy escape. She ripped the man’s throat out, encasing it in partially transformed flesh that she tossed into a sample jar before she applied [Mend], while listening for Curie’s next target.  

 The question was why Bantz had been so certain she’d get an invitation. It certainly wasn’t so she’d ask around and look like, what had Curie said? “Daft.”  But the more days passed with no invitation, the more she felt that way.

Prisoner 655321 died.

Hexologist Curie took her samples, including the barrel holding Houte’s captured spider, and left Harmony with Houte to dispose of the body. This time the third-year primus lingered, even taking up a mop and bucket for the splatter. Normally the jerk left her to clean up alone, which was good if you wanted to collect samples.  As he moved the mop, it mostly smeared the gore around more. The maid inside Harmony recoiled at the sloppy technique.

“Did you get the letter as well?” Houte asked, his voice low. The first words he’d spoken directly to her since she had Hyacinth sat on him. Likely, her becoming su-primus personally offended the man.

“About Mayor Bell?” Harmony asked casually, because it was the only new topic of today’s class.

“Yes.” Houte hissed. “The renewed interest in my keyholder status has been problematic. I can’t believe you did that to me. I’ve turned down two dozen party invitations. When women threw themselves at me for being a champion duelist, I didn’t mind, but those key girls are crazy. But that letter under my pillow about accepting the mayor’s invitation or else was creepy.”

Hers didn’t have an “or else” component. “I did get a message about a forthcoming invitation, but I’m still new to town and didn’t realize how unusual that would be.”

“Curie isn’t wrong about Mayor Bell. He took the appointment and shuttered the mansion, welding metal plates over the windows. With the former mayor getting the curse dip for corruption, the replacement sealing up the symbol of his greed made sense. Not a shut-in, but Bell doesn’t show his face, relying on others to do his work. He quickly cleaned up the city. Homelessness, corruption, rust polished away as he made this town the gleaming example it now is. Notices pushing the fact that the static nature of our dungeon wasn’t a good reason for things falling apart, not when we were the first dungeon.“

“So do you think the message is a joke on us?” Harmony asked.

“Until you mentioned him, I’d been considering it,” Houte admitted.

Harmony opened up the furnace and shoved the corpse into it, using a thin coat of [Cold Touch] to keep the blast of heat away from herself as the body was consumed. Bantz seemed like the man who could deliver a message under a person’s pillow, or have someone owe him a favor who could.  “I think it’s happening.”

“You’re really ruining my life,” Houte complained.

Could the boy be any more unlikable? [Poise and Bearing] kept Harmony politically polite, as she tugged the mop out of Houte's hand to properly mop the floor. “It’s only an invitation.”

“Maybe to someone like you, with your heritage.”  He shot back.

As convenient as that cover was, this was annoying. Harmony lifted the end of the blood-soaked mop and pointed it at him with her right hand while her left held her sickle. Transferring the tool’s violent intent into her voice, with a touch of authority, Harmony made herself as threatening as she could with her posture, leaning into those dramatic sequences she’d seen on the stage as a child. “Don’t you dare talk about my family.”

“Whatever,” Houte answered, trying not to look slapped, as he retreated up the stairs.

Three heroes, holders of the keys— iron, silver, and gold. To think she’d have to work with Houte Waxer, iron keyholder, sloppy mopper, and the man with the attitude of stinky privates.  He’d probably piss her off enough to kill him, and she hadn’t killed Kevin.

Harmony mopped up the blood the old-fashioned way. [Manipulate Dead] could have handled the mess, but this gave her time to think as she avoided too much use of her necromancy. All the extra attention meant that outside of her private research room, she needed to be more careful about lifting and flinging blood about. That way questions wouldn’t be asked.  She danced with the mop using a touch of [Style and Grace], allowing her to smoothly clean Houte’s terrible attempt in the advantageous way that using a maid skill on a maid task caused the ability to shine.

Marching up the stairs, Harmony decided that the Tournament of Future Worthy would be a nice straightforward break from all this social politicking. Rounds of fighting to pseudo-death against other powerful beings with the one simple goal of winning. She just had to make it there without messing anything up, like murdering Houte Waxer or getting kicked out of school.

The city guardsman waiting outside the building had her almost missing a beat, as it was the wrong time in her thoughts for one to appear.  “Lady Harmony White, an invitation from Mayor Zeddiah Antna Bell.”   The guard presented her with the engraved metal plate.

“This is tonight.” Who invited people to a party with less than a day’s notice?

“A response to the invitation is expected with haste via a personal token for acceptance or a verbal rejection.” The guard stated.

The metal invitation was sturdy. Harmony crumpled it up into a ball as easily as she would a piece of paper. Everyone knew she’d ripped apart a metal table, so the letter was nothing. [Disintegrate] and [Mend] broke it down and built it back together until it was a single solid ball with the mark of a toad and her initials, H.W. Her eraser magic would linger for the day, confirming her identity if it was to be used to mark guests.  She handed it back to the slightly spooked guardsman as her token.

“Tell him I accept.”

Taking the response, the man dashed away.

Fairfax Manor was full of activity. Many of her fellow Immortalist council members received invitations. “I can’t believe I received this.” Milwep gasped at his invitation as she passed by.

One golden key, and a man came out of the shadows. Why now and not earlier? Bantz's advice that this would be beneficial and informative better be true, so little time to prepare.  Harmony got to work assessing the clothing she had. Might be too soon to repurpose the dress she’d made for Adric. Her school uniform would announce her position, but this wasn’t an Academy function.

Showing up fashionably late would be a good way to send a message. That gave her time to get dressed, a shimmering yellow luster for the key? Changing her skin tone for any color scheme was easy. Maybe a more subtle approach, one where she could show up as Harmony White, but her looks could be masked in a way that she wouldn't be recognized.  

Gathering information would be more important than attention. Too bad so many Immortalists were going, who would be happy to point her out.  Harmony studied her reflection, half dressed in a mismatch of a blue top and thigh-high metal mesh skirt. A little [Beautician] and [Manipulate Dead] made a patch of her hair into golden curls. Adric, for all his beauty, was less than helpful in helping her pick outfits and looks. Ambrosia’s subtle hints were better.  There was still time before the doors opened.

Chronostasis kicked in mid-contemplation on one of the automatic triggers she’d set up with [Recall] for emergencies. [Stride Before the Fall] tensed up, ready to activate. Fire, magic, a sharp blade cutting triggers were still— nothing had breached her room or approached her skin. Hyacinth would have warned of an ambush.  The twist in her gut was the start of motion sickness. Translocation. But this wasn’t being pulled through the shadows. A magical circle was commonly used when she’d hopped across borders to get here. Could this be Von Trell? He’d have the apes grab her.  

Where was she going? The cost of teleportation magic made distance somewhat limiting. Slowly, under the effect of increased processing speed, she shifted out of her room. Reinforcing the control of reality around her wasn’t interrupting it. Moving someone usually required their permission or strong magic, and a living body's innate defenses meant it wouldn’t directly harm her. Indirect danger was an option. They needed something of hers to pull her away, but how would they get through the city’s wards that were a bane of her personal travel?

Unfamiliar walls snapped into place as Harmony arrived from her sitting position, now half crouched and unbalanced; [Style and Grace] barely kept her butt from hitting the ground, relying on her body’s unusual strength to twist upright, ready to fight or run.

Two others occupied the room with her, familiar, yet shouldn’t be together even as they were linked. Bantz, looking less like the ruler of the slums, stood in finery, fancy clothes, and a tailored jacket not too far off from what she’d seen the male immortalists wearing as they were getting ready. Beside him was a crystal cylinder filled with blue liquid, holding a guest who couldn't care less about the lack of air because it didn’t need to breathe. That beautiful metal doll closely resembled personal golems seen about Ricort, but not— for inside it was intimately familiar magic, marred by her blood, and packing hand-crafted creations feeding a being of insanity.  Marci Winters gave her an overly active wave from her new place, the silver gnome horn still attached to her head.

“It’s time to call in that favor, Necromancer White,” Bantz announced with a cheerful voice.

Run? Hyacinth? Harmony checked [Familiar Bond]; her partner hadn’t been brought with her.  Fight? Getting a read on Bantz had always been harder than most, but now his power shone, four evolutions at least. Bloody seals hiding power.  Talk?

Rather than slump in defeat. Harmony used her magic to correct the experimental mess that was her hair, skin, nails, and outfit, trusting [Beautician]. A waste of mana if she wanted to fight, but this wasn’t going to be a physical conflict, and it was time to get her hands even dirtier than they had been earlier today— but with something worse than blood— politics.  

“What do you want?” Harmony asked with death in her voice.