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Chapter 109: The Sucker
🕑 Added 2025-07-30 08:00:59 +0000 UTCThe smell hit Russell first—a nauseating cocktail of rot, stagnant water, and something sickeningly sweet that made his stomach rebel. It was the kind of stench that bypassed the nose entirely and seemed to coat the back of his throat, leaving a film that no amount of swallowing could clear. The [Night's End Banquet] dimension greeted visitors with all the warmth of an open grave.
Above them, perpetual storm clouds churned in slow, hypnotic patterns, occasionally lit from within by flashes of sickly green lightning that never quite reached the ground. The illumination they provided was worse than darkness—revealing twisted landscapes in stuttering glimpses before plunging everything back into gloom. There was no sun here, had never been a sun. Time itself felt diseased, moving in fits and starts like a broken clock.
"The court can't even maintain basic environmental standards." Wade's complaint drifted through the putrid air, one manicured hand dramatically covering his nose and mouth. Even through the muffling, Russell could hear the genuine disgust in his voice. "This is absolutely barbaric. You'd think with all the tax money they squeeze from us, they could at least install some air fresheners."
Russell ignored the theatrics, his attention already cataloging potential threats. The ground beneath their feet was spongy, covered in some kind of fungal growth that released spores with each step. The air was thick—not just with corruption but with magical density that made breathing feel like drowning in slow motion. His enhanced senses, courtesy of Arrogance, picked up movement in the darkness beyond their immediate vicinity. They were being watched.
A group of figures emerged from concealment with practiced ease—the dimension's garrison, moving with the careful precision of people who'd learned that relaxation here meant death. Russell counted six, their formation suggesting military training adapted for supernatural threats. The leader stepped forward, and Russell's magical senses immediately tagged him as gold-level minimum. Power rolled off him in controlled waves, a stark contrast to Wade's lazy wealth.
"Mr. Wade," the garrison leader's tone was exquisitely polite, the kind of courtesy that came from knowing the wrong word could end careers or lives. "Welcome back to Night's End. I see you've brought... company."
The man's eyes flicked to Russell, cataloging and dismissing in the same moment. Unknown quantity, potentially dangerous, but not the immediate concern. Wade commanded his full attention—which told Russell everything he needed to know about the young man's connections.
Wade waved a hand dismissively, the gesture somehow making the corrupt air seem even fouler. "If my father hadn't insisted on this ridiculous tradition, there's no amount of money that could drag me back to this cesspit. I swear the smell gets worse every year. Are you people actively cultivating it?"
"It's not that the court doesn't want to improve conditions," the leader explained with the patience of someone who'd had this conversation before. "But production-site dimensions like this exist in delicate balance. Environmental manipulation could impact material generation. The corruption is, unfortunately, integral to the ecosystem that produces [The Silent End]."
Who is this kid? Russell wondered, watching the interplay. A gold-level cardmaker commanding a military garrison, reduced to apologetic explanations for someone who couldn't be older than twenty. The political calculations were fascinating—and concerning.
"Spare me the ecological lecture," Wade drawled, already sounding bored. "Just give us the maps and point us toward areas that won't make me retch. Preferably zones where the monsters bathe occasionally."
The leader gestured, and one of his subordinates stepped forward with two crystalline tablets. "Updated dimension maps, gentlemen. The red zones indicate recent monster population surges, yellow marks standard density, green shows depleted areas from last month's harvesting. Please remember the conservation requirements—"
"Leave one-third of all monsters alive, maintain ecosystem balance, don't trigger any dimension collapses," Wade recited in a sing-song voice. "Yes, yes, we all took Basic Dimension Theory. Anything actually useful to add?"
Russell accepted his tablet, studying the three-dimensional projection that sprang to life above it. The dimension was larger than he'd expected—roughly circular, twenty kilometers in diameter, with the core production area dead center. Various biomes radiated outward like a corrupted flower, each supporting different monster populations and material types.
"Just one thing," the leader said carefully. "The dimensional anchor has been... unstable lately. Nothing dangerous, but you might experience temporal fluctuations. Minutes stretching or compressing. Try not to rely on chronometers."
As if responding to his words, Wade's expensive watch began spinning backward, the hands moving in impossible directions before stopping entirely. The young man looked at it with disgust and pulled it off, tossing it carelessly to one of the guards.
"Hold that. If it's still broken when I get back, buy me a new one." The casual wealth in that gesture—throwing away what looked like a fifty-thousand-credit timepiece—made Russell reassess. This wasn't just money. This was fuck you money.
The leader's expression suggested this was typical Wade behavior. "Of course, sir. Now, if you'll select your harvesting zones?"
Russell was still examining the map when Wade's voice cut through his concentration. "Russell, you choose first. I insist."
The offer came with too many teeth, too much apparent goodwill. Russell had survived too much to take such gestures at face value, but refusing would reveal suspicion. He made a show of studying the map more carefully, though he'd already identified his target.
"This southern section looks suitable," he said finally, indicating an area with moderate monster density and good terrain. More importantly, it was on the opposite side of the dimension from the core production area. Let Wade think he was being accommodating.
Wade's smile widened fractionally—the expression of someone whose opponent had just moved exactly where expected. "Excellent choice. I'll take..." He made a production of examining the map, though Russell caught his eyes flicking repeatedly to one zone. "This area here."
Directly adjacent to the core. Russell kept his expression neutral, but internally he was already adjusting plans. Wade's "random" selection put him in perfect position to reach [The Silent End] first. The game was becoming clearer.
"Superb selections," the garrison leader said with obviously false enthusiasm. "Shall we discuss the particular matter of [The Silent End]? This year's manifestation completed just yesterday—a particularly fine specimen according to our sensors. However, as you both know, only one forms per cycle..."
He trailed off, clearly hoping someone else would address the elephant in the room. When neither young man spoke, sweat began beading on his forehead despite the dimension's chill.
Wade examined his fingernails with sudden fascination. "I'm sure Russell and I can work something out between ourselves. No need for official intervention." His tone suggested that official intervention would be extremely unwelcome and possibly career-ending.
"Of course, of course." The leader bowed quickly. "We'll withdraw to the garrison station. Standard emergency frequencies are monitored, though response time in the deeper zones can be... delayed. Good hunting, gentlemen."
The garrison retreated with impressive speed, their formation never breaking even in their haste to be elsewhere. Within moments, Russell and Wade stood alone at the dimension's entry point, surrounded by corruption and the weight of unspoken intentions.
Wade stretched luxuriously, like a cat preparing to toy with something small and frightened. "Well then, shall we discuss our arrangement? I'm thinking something civilized. We both clear our respective zones, gather what materials we can, then meet at the core to settle the matter of [The Silent End]. Perhaps a friendly wager?"
Russell studied him carefully. Every instinct screamed trap, but he needed more information. "What kind of wager?"
"Oh, nothing barbaric. A simple duel, perhaps? Winner takes the field material, loser gets... well, the satisfaction of having tried." Wade's grin suggested he found his own joke hilarious. "After all, we're both civilized cardmakers, not common thugs. No need for unseemly scrambling."
He's too confident. Russell could see it in every line of Wade's body—this was someone who'd already won in his mind. The question was whether that confidence came from superior skill or advance planning.
"Agreed," Russell said simply.
Wade blinked, clearly expecting more negotiation. "Just like that? No conditions, no elaborate terms?"
"We fight. Winner takes [The Silent End]. What's to negotiate?"
For the first time since they'd met, Wade looked genuinely intrigued. "You know, I think I'm going to enjoy this. It's been so long since anyone surprised me." He summoned his mount—a crystalline construct that looked like a swan carved from black ice, beautiful and somehow wrong. "I'll see you at the core, Russell. Do try not to die before then. It would be anticlimactic."
The swan spread wings that scattered frozen corruption in glittering arcs, launching skyward with eerie grace. Russell watched until Wade disappeared into the dimension's gloom, ostensibly heading for his chosen zone.
Like hell.
The moment Wade vanished from sight, Russell summoned Pidgeot. The symbiote responded eagerly, wrapping the bird in armor that pulsed with anticipation. But instead of heading south to his selected area, Russell angled directly toward the core.
Two could play at misdirection.
The flight through corrupted air was a nightmare of sensations. The dimension fought their passage, throwing up pockets of dense magic that felt like flying through tar. Occasionally, things with too many wings and not enough sense would swoop close, only to veer away when they sensed Arrogance's hunger. The symbiote wanted to chase, to hunt, but Russell kept it focused.
The core area appeared through the murk like a cancer on reality. Here, the corruption had crystallized into geometric patterns that hurt to perceive directly. The ground was black glass that reflected things that weren't there, and the air itself seemed to be quietly screaming. At the center of this cheerful locale, a cave mouth yawned like a diseased wound.
Russell landed well back from the entrance, dismissing Pidgeot and considering his options. Wade would be here soon—the confident bastard would head straight for the prize while assuming Russell was dutifully harvesting lesser materials. Time to prepare a welcome.
He didn't have to wait long. Within minutes, that crystalline swan descended from the darkness with Wade looking insufferably pleased with himself. The young man hopped down with casual grace, not even bothering to survey his surroundings before striding toward the cave.
"So predictable," Wade murmured to himself, loud enough to carry. "Honor and honesty, the hallmarks of Association dogs. I'll be taking [The Silent End] now, and there's nothing—"
Lightning split the corrupted air, forcing Wade to throw himself sideways. The bolt struck where he'd been standing, leaving a crater of fused glass that sparked with residual energy.
"Hadō #4: Byakurai."
A dull thud announced something massive landing behind him. Wade spun, his lazy confidence evaporating as he took in the scene.
The black and red monstrosity looming over him defied easy description. Arrogance in its full glory was nightmare fuel—all writhing tentacles, too many teeth, and a presence that made reality flinch. Beside it stood Retsu Unohana, serene as a spring morning and approximately as trustworthy as a smiling shark.
"Brother Wade." The voice that emerged from the symbiote came in stereo—Russell's calm tones layered with something inhuman and hungry. "That wasn't very sporting of you."
Wade's recovery was admirable. The shock lasted barely a heartbeat before his usual smile reasserted itself, though it now carried edges sharp enough to cut. "Russell! You're faster than expected. Though really, did you think I believed for a second you'd actually go to your zone first?"
"Then why the charade?"
"Entertainment value?" Wade shrugged elegantly. "Also, I had fifty-fifty odds you'd actually be honorable about it. The Association breeds such earnest types. Disappointing to find you're pragmatic, but refreshing in its own way."
Unohana took a step forward, her hand resting casually on her zanpakutō's hilt. The gesture was peaceful as a death threat could be. "Shall we skip to the fighting then? You seem eager to claim your prize."
Wade's eyes flicked between Russell's forms, calculations running behind that friendly mask. "Straight to combat? How boring. Where's your sense of drama, your appreciation for the dance of negotiations?"
"Left it in my other dimension," Russell's symbiote voice carried dark amusement. "You wanted [The Silent End]. I want [The Silent End]. We fight. Simple."
"Beautifully simple," Wade agreed. Then, with the air of someone revealing a winning hand: "But perhaps we could make it more... interesting?"
Russell tensed. Here came the real trap.
Wade reached into his storage space, pulling out several material cases with casual disregard for their value. He set them on the corrupted ground between them like a merchant displaying wares, each case opening to reveal materials that made Russell's breath catch.
"What if," Wade said slowly, savoring the moment, "we both create new cards right here, right now? Fresh materials, fresh creations. Then we duel with only those cards." His smile was pure innocence laced with poison. "I'll provide the materials, of course. Consider it my way of making things fair."
Russell stared at the fortune in materials laid out so casually. His mind raced through possibilities, trap variations, hidden angles. "And why would you handicap yourself like that?"
"Handicap?" Wade laughed, genuine mirth mixing with something darker. "Oh, Russell. Sweet, suspicious Russell. Think about it—our primary cards enter cooldown after serious use. We both need to harvest this dimension afterward. Would you rather crawl through monster-infested zones with exhausted cards, or save our main fighters for the real threats?"
It was logical. Too logical. Which made it automatically suspect.
"Plus," Wade continued, warming to his theme, "I'm curious. The great Blake Whitmore's newest disciple—what can you create under pressure? Consider it a test."
"A test where you provide materials you're familiar with."
"Would you prefer we both work blind? I can randomize the selections if that makes you more comfortable." Wade's expression suggested he'd be delighted either way. "Come now, where's your confidence? Or does the Association only teach combat, not creation?"
The barb was obvious but effective. Russell could feel Arrogance's eagerness for violence, Unohana's quiet readiness. But Wade had successfully introduced doubt. Fighting now meant revealing capabilities, exhausting resources before the dimension was cleared. And those materials...
"Show me what you're offering," Russell said finally.
Wade's grin widened. He gestured grandly at the cases. "Three complete sets. You pick one, I'll take one, and we'll let the third go to waste. Fair?"
Russell approached carefully, Unohana flanking him while Arrogance kept multiple eyes on Wade. The first set made his eyebrows rise—definitely Meng Po materials, similar to what Blake had given him but lower quality. Wade would expect him to choose these, playing to his master's known preferences.
The second set was harder to identify, though the energy signature suggested some sort of underworld deity. Powerful but unfamiliar—a risk.
The third set...
Silver-level [Wandering Crown Prince] (Gold), Silver-level [Blood of the Red Dragon] (Gold), Silver-level [Sword of the Chosen King] (Gold).
"King Arthur materials?" Russell couldn't hide his surprise.
Wade's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "You actually recognize them? Color me impressed. Most people just see 'generic knight stuff' and move on."
Russell's mind was already racing. He knew exactly what he could do with these materials—something that would definitely catch Wade off-guard. But was that what Wade wanted? To see his capabilities, learn his methods?
Sometimes the best trap is the one you spring knowingly.
"I'll take the Arthur set," Russell decided, gathering the materials carefully.
Wade's surprise seemed genuine this time. "Really? Not the underworld materials? I thought for sure..." He shrugged. "Your choice. I'll work with these then." He selected the Meng Po set, leaving the mysterious second collection untouched.
They retreated to opposite sides of the cave entrance, close enough to watch each other but far enough to prevent interference. Wade settled into a meditation pose with practiced ease, already sinking into the creation trance.
Russell arranged his materials carefully, mind already constructing the story he'd tell. Not the bearded king of legend—he had something far more interesting in mind. His pencil moved across the blank card with sure strokes, sketching a young woman in white and silver, blonde hair tied back with a black ribbon.
Let's see how you handle something you've never seen before, Wade.
The mysterious space opened before him, welcoming as always. Time to create something special.
But even as he began weaving Artoria's story, part of his attention remained on Wade. Because this felt too easy, too straightforward. Wade had given up positional advantage, provided valuable materials, and accepted terms that seemed to favor Russell.
Which meant the real trap hadn't been sprung yet.
The corruption of [Night's End Banquet] pressed in around them, witness to whatever game was truly being played. In the distance, things howled in the darkness—monsters drawn by the concentration of power but not yet brave enough to approach.
Soon enough, they'd have company. But first, there were cards to create and a duel to win.
Russell began his story, weaving legend and imagination into something new. Across from him, Wade worked with equal focus, crafting his own surprise.
The real battle hadn't started yet, but Russell could already feel the chains of plot and counterplot tightening around them both. Whatever happened next, it wouldn't be as simple as a straightforward duel.
It never was, with people like Wade.
(End of Chapter 109)
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Raphael Espinoza Angulo
In Fate, concepts and mysticism come into play a lot.
