Chapter 6:

Your Most Obedient Servant:

The Black Citadel,

"Now aim your pistol straight at the target, don't try to aim but, lightly hold your gun and, fire."

Bang! The shot was released from the pistol, the smoke and scent of black powder filling the air. There was only a small dirt courtyard in Hero's Canton set with crude training dummies. Rytlock had managed to reserve the area before his hearing for the two of them; the canton, half deserted by the time the two were training.

"Natasha; isn't it obvious I know how to fire a damn gun? This is practically feeding a baby."

"Pliskin, I know how you think but this isn't as easy as, one two three fire. There are rules to the duel. Now again."

Pliskin was clad in a dueling greatcoat, complete with a cape and was sown, black, sleek, and attuned for night operations. He raised the pistol again, practicing the same technique that Natasha Romanoff reiterated to him and fired the pistol with a loud bang, missing the target.

"Okay, why the hell did I miss that shot? I'm known to be a better shot in Overwatch."

She sighed,

"Pliskin, dueling pistols are completely different from normal pistols. They aren't rifled like most pistols or blasters you see around here. Remember, these types of duels are illegal here."

"Well, why can we use actual rifled flintlock pistols? There's no harm in-"

"Pliskin, the seconds have to inspect each gun before the duel commences. Didn't you read the copy of the Code Duello or at least heard of the Ten Duel Commandments?"

"Well, not in its entirety but-"

"Really. I wouldn't have known if you didn't ask that question. It's in the first page of the book. Now again."

Dueling was not such a mysterious art to Pliskin as Natasha would have expected it to be for him. Training the young agent in an art long forgotten to many was as complicated as teaching Illidan Stormrage and the Illidari the meaning of mercy. He again raised the pistol in the air, bringing the pistol down and extending his right arm out. He looked down the barrel gracefully, not trying to aim at the target, but instead try to guide the shot.

He pulled the trigger; white smoke obscuring the area. They fanned the air around them; and when the dust settled, the target was no more.

"Better. Now do you know how many paces you are to walk after-"

"Ten, precisely counting."

"Good, now after that you are supposed to fire instantaneously, don't give a damn if you believe you're going to miss or not, just take the bloody shot."

Natasha replied.

"And do you believe that's gonna prevent me from dying and falling face first onto the floor."

Pliskin said, sarcastically criticizing her comment.

"Well, if I were you, I'd take it with a grain of salt. You know how to live."

"Believe me Natasha. James Bond gave me a few tips on how to run, shoot, and live all at the same time."

"Let's retire, I'm already feeling tired myself."

He'd place the pistol in the ornate box. It was only a simpler model, as the actual guns were to be provided by the Imperator. They walked out of the canton and into the main promenade of the Black Citadel. It was quickly approaching night as the scent of sulfur, steel, and gunpowder was ceasing to mask the air. Unfortunately, there was no room for the duo in any of the inns across the Citadel, eventually using a waypoint to port to Dalaran.

Dalaran,

It was a magnificent city, the purple towers towering above the sea and sky as it floated around the world. Dalaran usually travelled around the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor, but in this case circling around the southern coast of Essos, on a course to Tyria. The city was one of the last bastions of freedom and equality in the entirety of Azeroth alongside the free cites of Essos, Daggerfall, and Lion's Arch. Pliskin saw the magnificent towers, the wide streets, and the plentiful mages of the University that was housed inside the Violet Citadel. It was almost a dream to him, even though he'd been to the city plenty of times before with Overwatch and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

No one in the Council of Six knew about the duel except for Khadgar, who recently took over for Jaina Proudmoore as she, "reportedly" left the council for reasons unknown. Jaina had been acting extremely erratic since teleporting the city to Karazhan, leading to many in the council to question her motives. The council was easily fooled by such movements; as the Moscow Incident was a diplomatic and tactical failure caused by Jaina's predecessor, Rhonin. The council altogether was a stable source of government to the people of Dalaran, however, the sheer knowledge of the council was severely limited to the most intricate of plans.

Khadgar had allowed the three of them to stay inside the room known as the, "Purple Parlor" to some through the course of the trial, deceitfully stating that they were on a diplomatic mission. The rooms were layered in dark velvet purple yet shone in the presence of light. The sun's setting rays pierced through the open balcony as day approached night on Azeroth. Natasha and Pliskin had already reached the parlor when the sun's rays retreated and night advanced, not knowing a certain visitor was there.

"Rytlock? Why the hell are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at the Black Citadel?"

Pliskin exclaimed.

"Well cub, one thing's certain. The jury's hung."

Rytlock replied.

"Romanoff, have you made any progress training 'em?"

"He's done fairly well, despite missing a few shots. I think he'll do great tomorrow."

"So the duel is still commencing?"

Pliskin interjected, overhearing the conversation.

"That's one thing for sure. Dunno if Bangar's gonna hold on to his word though."

"What do you mean Rytlock?"

"Well, he tried to challenge me to a personal duel; I accepted. I disarmed him. Jury said they're hung. Case closed."

The charr said.

"That's all?

"Well cub, I don't know what the future has in store; if you defeat Bangar."

Rytlock responded, nodding at Natasha.

"Pliskin, got any word from Snake or Khadgar?"

"Yeah, uh, Khadgar just arrived at Paris,"

Pliskin responded,

"He gave me this letter, fancy isn't it?"

He held up the letter, a scarlet letter written in violet ink, presumably conjured up by the archmage's arcane powers.

"Well, Reinhardt just sent me a message, he's saying stuff about Zeppelins, the San Francisco Bay and a company known as, "Zorin Industries."

"Isn't that a bit random? For your old pal of course."

Rytlock sarcastically said, gesturing at Pliskin.

"What? No..no not at all Rytlock!"

"Heh heh, anyways, mind if you show me some of your dueling skills?"

The moment Rytlock finished spitting out what he had to say, the boy took out his pistol and fired one blank shot at him. The charr jumped while Natasha only looked to her right seeing what happened.

"My god, what was that!"

Rytlock shouted in disbelief.

"Look over there."

Pliskin pointed at the balcony, the night and the moon peering into the parlor. There was a shadowy corpse directly in front of him. To the boy, it did not resemble anything human, elven, or anything remotely intelligent at all; all he saw was a black, mechanical, being directly lying dead on the balcony.

"Jeepers! Dammit! Next time you pull a fast one on me, tell me first!"

The charr exclaimed, drawing his sword.

Rytlock was the first to walk onto the balcony, the glowing sword barely visible in the metropolis of Dalaran. He kneeled, inspecting the device, noting it was like the ones back at the party. The charr first inspected the head of the creature, staring the wires and gears in the hole that Pliskin blew through it. Rytlock then pulled the black sheet off of the device, revealing horrid gears, wires and crude body parts to those resembling a human being.

"Hot damn, what the hell is this?"

"I dunno Rytlock, but whatever it is, that ting was after us."

Natasha said, kneeling to inspect the creature as well.

"Good thinking Pliskin. Next time you do that I'll ask you to do that to my mail once I get my position back."

Rytlock chuckled, alongside Pliskin.

"Rytlock, that's not the time, what the hell was this thing that just attacked us, and why was it here?"

"I don't know Natasha, this seems too deus ex machina to me. Seems too out of the blue to attack or intrude on us."

"Pliskin, did you say, "Deus ex machina?" I think you may be on to something."

"What do you mean Natasha? What do you mean he's, "on" to something?"

Rytlock said.

"Well, in the lessons I took whle training in the KGB, deus ex machina means, "God from the machine" in greek."

"Greek? God in the machine? This is too damn confusing."

"I don't know Rytlock. But I suspect foul play in this. The paint looks like the same shade as the color of the Black Citadel. I think Bangar is trying to remove us before the duel tomorrow."

"Pliskin. That's why you better shoot straight at 'em."


Paris,

France,

"Ah, James Wolf London. We just noticed your F-15 land at the airport. Are the rest coming soon I hope?"

"Pleasure to meet you again Arno. How was your honeymoon?"

Charles de Gaulle airport was filled to the brim with people of differing nationalities and ethnicities entering and leaving France. Surprisingly a military plane was allowed clearance to this site; normally a plane would have been redirected to a nearby airbase however, the aviator was granted clearance.

"The others, aren't here yet I'm afraid. Tony's still in immigration and the Frye Twins lost their luggage. Telling by the service, I expect that they'll arrive at the chateau half past midnight."

Arno and Elise had only been recently married for six months, and in that time, purchased a small chateau just for the two of them in Versailles, fortunately with the money received in compensation from the Moscow Incident, they could renovate the entire outlying area as well, eventually building two guest houses not far from the property. No one in the Assassin Order except for a few knew about the forbidden marriage. These few were only the Frye Twins, Altair, Ezio, the Kenway family and the Miles family; trusted confidentals of not only the Assassin Order, but also of S.H.I.E.L.D and Overwatch.

"Lots of things changed Arno. You're married. Asgore's the head of the EU. S.H.I.E.L.D's back. Azeroth now has a worldwide alliance. It seems the world can't get a move on."

Jacob Frye was still in immigration; a long line ahead of him. Most the team took a public flight on British Airways despite the protests of Khadgar who insisted on using an Asura gate to quickly get to Paris within minutes. The flight in first class was a bit relaxing, despite taking up nearly six of the seats to accommodate all. The plane was still docked in its terminal; crowds of paparazzi swarming the plane to take photographs of Stark, and he casually waved them off.

The reporters constantly swarmed Tony. Incessant shouts in French, Dutch, German, and a variety of unknown dialects to the billionaire undoubtedly did cause Tony to grow annoyed at them. The unwanted visitors also shouted at the Archmage who had returned from Dalaran. He did not have his staff with him at that time, nor did he have any intention to use any arcane spells on the paparazzi. They continued to walk down the terminal, more reporters joining the mob that was trailing the two visitors; scents of coffee and pastries filling the air as they traversed the terminal.

"Everyone, please give us some room. Tony and I are on a diplomatic mission!"

Khadgar shouted, attempting to grab the crowd's attention.

The response only generated more noise and a cacophony of yelling. The reporters were even more interested in hearing what the two had to say.

"Oh Jacob, finally got out of there? Oh, right, my bodyguards are doing the immigration shit."

Tony laughed, looking to the slightly younger Frye twin.

"Oh boy was it filled with rubbish Stark,"

Jacob replied.

"The damn line wouldn't even budge the slightest of bits!"

"Jacob, that is one thing you need to learn, patience. With all the time I spent on outland doing nothing, I'm sure you'd learn that skill in around, maybe 20 years or so?"

The archmage interjected, giving a witty response of his own.

"Do you know where Arno or London is? I called in a limo just for the five of us."

"You didn't need to do that Tony, I could of simply-"

"Yeah I know, but we need to do it in style. Don't take it personally."

Tony responded, bursting into more laughter.

"Come on, I know a shortcut. Excuse moi!"

He shouted, moving the two to a nearby exit on his right.

The fresh air of France was the first thing that greeted everyone once they reached outside. There was no more reporters or paparazzi that vowed to follow them; only the setting sun and a limousine waiting conveniently outside for them. Evie was already waiting outside, handling the luggage instead of the usual porter that handled bags. Arno and London were already inside the limo, discussing how Chen Stormstout and Elise were already at the chateau.

"Come on, just get in, we'll talk about it inside."

Driving across the French countryside was an ideal vacation for many budding couples to undertake. Nearly all the stereotypes about France were wrong as the limo traversed the countryside seeing the city firsthand after the Ultron Crisis. Much of the outer arrondissements of the city were hastily rebuilt after the Steel Clan practically routed the Overwatch militiamen from the center, crushing any resistance that was put up. Unfortunately, David Xanatos was cleared of any charges against him; the creation of robots and synths in the Manhattan Clan's image one of them.

The limo was bulletproof, a standard made by Stark Industries. The inside however was made to be glamourous, complete with Tuscan leather seats and Chinese silk making up the drapes of the small curtains inside the car. Even the cases holding weapons were highly tailored for any situation, made from pressurized plastic that was resistant to five tons of pressure on it.

"So, Stark, what makes you so hesitant about the Moscow Incident? Afraid to diminish your role eh?"

"Well Jacob let's see what I did. Hmm, destroyed many of the nukes before launching, disabled the Metal Gear, relayed the location of the weak spots of the Death Star, found where Imran Zakhaev was, and helped lead a counterattack against the Ultranationalists. And you think I don't do enough hm?"

"Well, I take it that Captain Price has a lot to thank you about, right Evie?"

Jacob responded, his sister rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"Anyways, I know the chateau's close. I helped the couple purchase it."

"And we can provide a counterattack to those machines right?"

Khadgar interjected.

"Precisely."

The billionaire responded.

"Oh, and Tony, I must return to Dalaran after we reach the chateau. The council of six would like to speak to me about some problems abroad."

"That's cool. Just leave a message after we get out."


The Black Citadel,

"You're doing better Pliskin. 80% of all shots were landed. I think we got this."

"Well, I do feel uncomfortable dueling someone that's the size of Rytlock. I mean I've spent two years following Destiny's Edge in their adventures around Tyria. Now I know where Rytlock gets his anger issues from."

Pliskin chuckled.

"But you made a promise Pliskin."

"I know and I intend to honor it but, killing a living being out of a petty argument, I think we could have solved it through words better yet."

"Rytlock would have died if you didn't step up and challenge Bangar and avert the trial. Luckily the jury was hung."

"I know, but as a last resort. I know Reinhardt told me to stick up for others and defend others but, was what I did necessary? I know that I'm a good shot but, why did I have to do this?"

"It's a huge world Pliskin. One that's a world bent on warcraft. Peace is an honorable goal, but you must be willing to spill blood if you intend to hold that peace."

It was nearly pitch black in Hero's Canton; the warbands hastily asleep while only a few charr were active providing nighttime duities. He had only six hours left to prepare for the occasion and he was half-awake by the time they took a waypoint back to the Citadel. The boy did truly feel discomfort after all this training, not because of the work that had to be done, but the morality of dueling to the death itself.

He was wearing a blue coat this time, dark navy blue that resembled a navy officer's coat. To complete it out a black top hat, a gift from Genn Greymane when he had served in the Gilnean Liberation Front. The dueling pistols however were actual historical ones, used by two politicians in a time when America was still a fledgling boy, much like Pliskin.

Rytlock was there as well, sleeping on a simple mat much like in his warband days. He never quite thought that he'd be reliving those days ever again, much to his dismay. Rytlock had a bad rep with Blood Legion, preferring to associate himself with Iron Legion and Ash Legion; distancing himself from many in his warband. However, six years ago, he met a certain human, Logan Thackeray and an orphan living on the streets of Lion's Arch, Pliskin. Those where his closest friends until the guild broke up and Pliskin decided to go to Earth to explore his beginnings. The charr never really liked his job as a Tribune anyways after the Moscow Incident happened and S.H.I.E.L.D. and Overwatch was finally disbanded. He hated the paperwork, loads and loads of it. Much like how many of the former agents of S.H.I.E.L.D and Overwatch took actual jobs in the real world, he did as well, out of pressure and of reluctance.

Pliskin was not encouraged at all to kill the charr but instead to maim him or better yet, draw blood first. Pliskin very well knew that if he killed the charr, an entire diplomatic crisis would occur that could tear the entire Pact between Azeroth apart. He knew that if he were to duel him, he would utmost place Rytlock above the alliance, fully knowing that he would be doing something, "morally wrong."

The location was to be somewhere extremely remote in the Plains of Ashford, as Bangar had explored possible locations the day before. It was a place known as, "Human's Lament" a place where a human ambush utterly was crushed, their ghosts dotting the crevasse daily.

Even though Pliskin knew that he had to know his opponent, he knew nothing of him. The Iron Legion barely had any contact with the imperator of Blood Legion, knowing that the Elder Dragon in the north had wreaked destruction in that area. He knew that Bangar knew more than him than the Iron Legion. He knew that he had spies everywhere, nearly everywhere and that he would use his knowledge of him against him.

"So are you ready Pliskin? I have the letter over here for you to sign."

"I…I'm ready."

Natasha removed the parchment from her satchel. He saw the words on the piece that formally allowed the duel to commence. Impulsively he signed the letter, signing, "I have the honor to be your most obedient servant, Pliskin."

He looked around for a messenger, anywhere in the pitch-black darkness. He eyed all the corners, searching a charr that could bring it.

"Hey you! Bring this letter to the Blood Legion headquarters inside the Bane. Call for Imperator Bangar and say that Pliskin sends his regards."

Pliskin called out to a charr who was walking mindlessly to them.

"And make sure that you do bring him the letter and treat him with the utmost respect. We don't want another incident to happen."

Rytlock yawned, waking up from his nap.

He looked at Pliskin, holding the gun in his hand as he seemed to tower over him.

"I hope you know what you're doing… and I hope you don't throw away your shot."

Rytlock added, muttering as he went back to his nap.