The market Ichabod guided G-Wiz to was near the edge of the campsites, and certainly no Renfaire. Ships were parked in their rows – a few of them starships, a few others run-down looking shuttles taken from Neos and other technologically advanced planes. The air felt greasier as they went deeper in, as the folksy, fiddle and flute affairs disappeared into grungy, tin-hued electronica, or garbled heavy metal, or Z-Pop (which G-Wiz found herself nodding her head to, despite her hatred of the genre.) The merchandise, too, became more advanced. Advanced plasma pistols, dirtied by age and use, were laid out on tables by hawkish-looking, wily aliens. Computer parts were strewn about, chips and modems and drivers all laid out, some expertly polished, others nearing a state of disintegration. There was even a parlor for cybernetic limbs, inside which G-Wiz could see the silhouette of a large, bear-like man getting fitted with a new arm. Ichabod simply glanced at that with a sneer.
“Poor fellow,” he said, “Probably had them cut off his real one, just so he could go Pinocchio.”
“Pinocchio?”
“It’s a biting term,” Ichabod said, “You know the tale of Pinocchio?”
“No.”
“It’s an old story,” Ichabod said, “And it changes depending on the plane you’re on. In some places, it’s the story of a young wooden puppet who yearns to become real. On Neos, it’s the opposite – a young boy wishes to become an android, and replaces himself with pieces of metal until he has no soul.”
The man grimaced as the arm finished its installation. Lines in the limb grew red hot, and the man’s grimaces turned into roars that echoed across InterGuild.
“Do me a favor, Galatea,” Ichabod said, “Never go cybernetic unless you absolutely have to. It's a revolting existence.”
He twiddled his glass-and-metal fingers, giving a dry smirk.
“Now,” he said, “Let's get ourselves a new Cutter, hm?”
“Right,” G-Wiz said. They walked down the small, makeshift path until they found the shop Ichabod was looking for, a modified double-decker bus that had gotten its wheels replaced by what looked to be hover-pads. The entire thing was painted, its once-red glare completely overtaken by spray paint in all the colors of the rainbow, as though the owner had turned it into one mosaic, then changed their mind partway through and got to work on something else. A small table had been set up in front of the bus, at which sat a wiry looking elf with a mechanical arm and, disturbingly, a cybernetic jaw – the entire bottom part of her face had been replaced with steel and glass, and the elf made no effort to hide this.
G-Wiz could respect that. The girl was cute, besides.
“Ichabod,” the elf said, “Yer a sight for sore eyes.”
“Or poor eyes,” Ichabod said, “I'm surprised you aren't throwing things at me, Hepidiria.”
“I would,” Hepidiria said, “Normally. But this is InterGuild, and I got money to make for me folks, and all that.”
“And which guild are you part of now?” Ichabod said, “Still with the Androidic Angels?”
“Naw,” Hepidiria said, “Too much cyber, not enough soul.”
“Funny, coming from you,” Ichabod said.
“Look, mate, you want me to sell you shit, or not?”
“Fair,” Ichabod said, “Sorry.”
“Maybe I should throw things at you,” Hepidiria said, “You'd deserve it.”
“And worse,” G-Wiz said.
Hepidiria nodded.
“Who's the kid?” she said.
“This is Galatea,” Ichabod said.
“You can call me G-Wiz.”
“Neat. Nice. I don't think you're the one I'm installing this thing in?”
“No,” Ichabod said, “That will be me, Hepidiria.”
He rolled up his right sleeve, revealing the sleek, far too realistic cybernetic arm. Hepidiria grimaced, her expression knit somewhere between awestruck and apprehension.
“Ah, hell, Ichabod,” she said, “This is... this is a work of art. I can't just input any old Cutter in here.”
“You aren't,” Ichabod said, “Shardeen's one of the best out there.”
“There are better.”
“Yes, but I only have so much money,” Ichabod said, “Please, Hepidiria. You've worked on my arms before. I trust very few with my cybernetics.”
G-Wiz remembered that only Vicenorn back home was really allowed to tend to Ichabod's prosthetics. She had to smile at that, despite herself.
“...Alright, then,” Hepidiria said, “Let's get inside. G-Wiz, right? Keep an eye on the table, make sure no one takes anything.”
“Right,” G-Wiz said. Ichabod gave her a nod as he and Hepidiria walked inside the bus. They sat down on the bottom floor, and through the grime-tinted windows, she watched as Hepidiria pulled out a couple strange, scalpel-like devices and begin to pry off the outer shell of Ichabod's arm.
She had to turn away, feeling as though she were intruding on something that was supposed to be private. She instead watched the people walk by, resisting the urge to flip a few off as they went.
***
Joseph ran side-by-side with the lion-haired man, who was throwing off his constricting gray robes to reveal a black jumpsuit underneath. He noted the man had a plasma pistol strapped to his belt, a simple, sleek-looking thing, and he kept that in his head.
Just in case.
The Dyriptium of Karn flew overhead, a white dot in the sea of black high above. Joseph grimaced. He could shoot it down, perhaps, let a bolt loose. But occasionally he could see fliers above, birds or mechanical androids with hoverboards or guildfolk flying by will alone. Besides, there was the chance that if he struck the book, he would just annihilate it. Bulg presumably wanted the Dyriptium of Karn in the best condition it could be.
So lightning was out.
As these thoughts rattled in his head, he noted that the book began to dip. Presumably whatever magic had let it go aloft was beginning to fade. Grimacing, Joseph watched its descent...
***
Kathen ran in time with the other guy. The one with the blue jacket and the ugly pink shirt that read 'Eat at Porky's.' He was good, keeping in time with Kathen, almost pacing himself to keep side-by-side...
Why?
The man in blue had, almost imperceptibly, glanced down to see Kathen's sidearm. Yes, that was it. He didn't want to get ahead, and get a shot in the back for his trouble. But it wasn't at that point, right?
It wouldn't get to that point, right?
Merry's voice rang in his head.
“The magic spell's starting to go out,” she said, “Look, it's starting to dip. I'm triangulating the position of where it's going to land.”
A map began reading internally in his head, positioning where the book would land. Right in the center of one of the many markets.
Beside him, the man in blue's head was overtaken by an eagle's, an electrical blue bird of prey, one whose eye's narrowed to better watch the Dyriptium of Karn's descent. He saw the man grimace as he watched it fall.
“Kathen,” Merry warned, “The guy beside us is a metahuman.”
“Shit,” Kathen said. They were almost at the book's projected landing point, getting closer and closer.
Time to act.
Kathen twisted, ramming an elbow into the metahuman's side. The metahuman let out a grunt, but kept going, breaking away from Kathen. Beneath the eagle's gaze he could see the man's real eyes glare at him in a dark sort of rage that made his stomach drop.
This wasn't going to be easy, was it?
Then again, it never was with these kinds of people.
There, they were arriving now, running a bit separated from the other, the metahuman always keeping pace. The book landed neatly on a stone outcropping in the center of the market square. A band was playing music nearby, speakers projecting out a power ballad, the lead singer warbling out an opera accompanied by electric guitars and a full set of drums.
And the metahuman was on him, tackling Kathen and tracking him off course. Kathen stumbled, fell, then rolled with the blow, ending back on his feet. The metahuman stood apart from him, raising up his fists.
“Boxer's stance,” Merry noted, “Careful, now.”
“Means the legs are weak,” Kathen said.
He was already at a disadvantage. All fights with metahumans were deadly mysteries, as one had to find out what their enemy's abilities were. Some were overtly dangerous, such as the ability to will fire into existence, while others merely could, for example, float a centimeter over the ground.
This one seemed dangerous. There was an angry way he carried himself, and the air began to smell of ozone.
“Merry,” Kathen said, “Check the databases installed in the chip. See if we can't identify this guy.”
“On it,” Merry said.
“I told you,” the metahuman said, “Stay out of this. I need the book.”
“I do too,” Kathen said, “Out of the way, metahuman. My bite's more than my bark.”
“Tough talk,” the metahuman said, and he closed in.
He wasn't using his power. Kathen hadn't drawn his pistol. A swipe of the hand, and he could have drawn it and plugged two burning holes into the man's chest. But he didn't, not yet. Not unless things got dangerous. As it was the two closed on each other, seeking a chink in the other's armor.
Kathen believed he found his first, throwing an errant swipe. The metahuman took the jab in the jaw, swinging an uppercut into Kathen, one which he avoided.
No Merry to tell him what that had been, what style or tradition. She was busy logging through metahuman records.
Kathen whipped a leg out, one that connected cleanly in the metahuman's side. He made followed with a few quick jabs, which the metahuman wisely blocked with his face-
And the metahuman's fist rocketed into the side of Kathen's head like a hammer. Kathen staggered back, pain blooming through his skull as the metahuman just gave a wild grin. He continued standing...
And his legs were open.
Kathen dove forward, leaping into the metahuman, legs kicking out like crab's claws, wrapping around the metahuman's lower torso. With a twist, the metahuman fell to the ground, coughing as Kathen rammed an elbow into his stomach as he went down.
With this, Kathen took off, rushing towards the book on the stone.
***
Mekke's thousand warnings played in Joseph's head as he fell to the ground.
“Your legs are open,” she said, “Stop raising your fists in front of your face, it’s keeping you exposed. Keep your eyes on every part of your opponent's body, not just his fists. Anything goes, so start thinking of that mentality.”
And he had been hit by a scissor kick, the lion-haired man running towards the book. Groaning, Joseph got to his feet, running forward. Of the two, he was faster, as he powered through the pain rumbling in his stomach and tackled the lion-haired man to the ground.
The two of them wrestled for a moment, other people moving out of the way as they bit, kneed, and elbowed each other, finally breaking apart.
The lion-haired man staggered to his feet and drew out a pistol. Joseph, on his knees, froze.
Yet, felt his soul about to burst forth, its circuit long ago finished.
“Sorry, pal,” the lion-haired man said, “You got a mean right hook, but-”
His eyes went wild and he dove out of the way as Joseph pointed, unleashing a bolt of lightning. Joseph was aware, distantly, of it striking a stall nearby, causing it to burst into flames. He didn't have time for that, as his full soul roared to life overhead, before moving to his arm as pointed, bearing down on the lion-haired man like a leashed tiger.
***
Kathen fell to the ground, and a moment later the entire bird of prey was over him, an entire bolt of lightning held fast in the form of an eagle. Replacing its wings were two arms, ones that ended in clawed hands. The metahuman stood apart from his chained pet, a bolt of lightning suspended in time linking him to the eagle.
“I got it,” Merry said, “That's... Joseph Zheng. Metahuman. That's his soul.”
Kathen noted the scars on the eagle's chest, its arms. This thing had seen plenty of combat and injuries, hadn't it?
“He's only been around for half a year or so,” Merry said.
All of those injuries, in six months?
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Either this guy was always on the front-line, or he was using his powers far too recklessly. It didn’t matter.
Joseph Zheng was slowly moving towards the stone, organic hand reaching out towards the book.
“Ahem.”
Joseph Zheng looked up. But the voice had not been Kathen's.
No, the voice came from a very angry-looking ogre, one of the merchants, whose market stall was a smoldering ruin just behind him. Other sellers were crowding around him, all of them looking at Joseph and Kathen with murder in their eyes. Music had stopped. All was quiet. Tension burned in the air like a heatwave.
Kathen felt Joseph's soul dissolve, like a tide pull back into his body.
“Uh, sorry,” he said.
“Get 'em!” the ogre roared. Joseph immediately began skipping back. Kathen pulled himself to his feet, turning to run as what was a few bystanders suddenly became a crowd chasing after them, on wheels, on wings, on hooves, wearing military boots, even on twin peg-legs.
But Kathen first ran to the stone, hand whipping out, snatching the Dyriptium of Karn. He then thundered off, running as fast as he could, feeling like the wind incarnate. The crowd surged and roared behind.
***
With a hint of cruel irony, Joseph found himself in step with the lion-haired man again. The mob behind them screamed and jeered, each wordless screech a promise for blood.
“Was just a market stall,” he muttered under his breath.
He was used to running, however, his soul building up its circuit with each step. Together, he and the lion-haired man ran through the makeshift markets that had been set up, pushing over carts, knocking people out of the way, and generally causing more chaos. The tumultuous roar continued on behind them, and at one point Joseph chanced a glance back.
The crowd was still there.
No, it had grown. They were just causing more chaos, the more they ran, the more they shoved folks out of the way for the simple crime of being in the way.
“Shit,” Joseph said.
They had to split. He had to slink away from all of this. Find the book-
His eyes slid over to the lion-haired man.
Who held the book.
“Asshole!” Joseph snarled. He shouldered the lion-haired man, who grunted as staggered as they ran, tripping for a half-second before finding his footing once more. The two heard a growling behind them, followed by a deep, rhythmic huffing.
A wolf. He could see it just behind them. Gaining on them fast, its snout reaching up to their shoulders.
The lion-haired man turned to Joseph. They kept running, in tune with one another, unwilling twin wheels that turned in time with the other. Their eyes locked for a moment, his one of pure concentration, Joseph's of indignant rage.
And then he was gone, splitting off, peeling away. Joseph continued running straight ahead.
And the wolf followed.
***
Kathen tore away from the mob, heart hammering faster than an engine at warp. The mob split off with his and Joseph Zheng's separation, a greater whole peeling away and rushing after him. But he could outlast them, and by and large his stamina won out, as the mob lost its energy, petering out bit by bit like an exhausted plasma trail, until only the ogre was left. He was panting heavily, his green skin beaded with sweat as he stopped, resting his sausage hands on his knees.
“H-Hell of a r-runner,” the ogre said.
Kathen stopped, turning back to the ogre. He painted a weary grin on his face.
“Not sure why you went after me,” he said, “It was the metahuman that obliterated your stall.”
Realization lit in the ogre's eyes, and he let out a frustrated “Fuck!”
Kathen's heart fell a bit at the sight. The poor creature looked to be on the verge of tears, as the ogre sat down on a nearby stump and looked dejected at the ground. With a sigh, he walked over, pulling out a credstick.
“Here,” he said, “For your trouble.”
The ogre glared at the credstick. Then up at Kathen.
“Never meant it to be violent, is all,” Kathen said.
“Your little spat's cost me InterGuild,” the ogre said.
“Look, if you want, I can have my guild talk to yours. Work it out...”
“No, no,” the ogre said, his tune changed, “It's fine.”
He took the credstick.
“Thanks, I suppose.”
“Right,” Kathen said, “Well, see you around.”
He gave a friendly smile to the ogre, before turning and walking off. He took the chance to catch his breath and check on the Dyriptium of Karn. The book appeared undamaged, its shell bound in wood. Kathen opened a random page, making note of the language within.
“Selhorn,” Merry said, “Hasn't been used in a couple hundred years, died out with the Kelpherians after their attacks on the Silver Eye.”
The name sounded familiar.
“Kelpherians,” Kathen said, “They were glassed, weren't they?”
“They were found to be smuggling technology from the Silver Eye and using them to conquer their neighbors. Prime Voice Enzo commanded that they be eliminated.”
Kathen suppressed a shiver. He had only been on a glassed plane once. Never again.
“Well, we've got the book, at least,” he said.
“And Joseph Zheng is out of the picture,” Merry said, “That dire wolf looked... nasty.”
“He's metahuman,” Kathen said, “They're like cockroaches.”
He closed the book, and stuck it into a bag.
“They stick around.”
***
The crowd dispersed as Joseph ran towards the edge of the clearing. The forest swallowed around him, a deep scoring of tall oak trunks and the strange, rectangular shelf trees.
Still, the wolf followed. It was nearly on him, having kept up no matter where he bobbed and weaved, hardly slowed by the jumping over market stalls and swift turns into other rows of the market.
“No time like the present,” Joseph said.
He stopped, pivoting on his heel and spinning around to face the beast. With a crack, his soul erupted from his back, towering over him and casting the dark shadows of the wood with its signature cobalt glow. The wolf halted, hackles raised, its snout contorted into a snarl.
“Child of Imagined Will,” a deep, husky voice coughed out of its maw, “You have caused me great ill.”
“Sorry, pal,” Joseph said, “What'd I do?”
He said the wrong thing, as the red in the wolf's bloodshot eyes deepened.
“You have knocked over my ward, Red of the Island Fair,” the wolf said, “Pay me in blood, or best you beware!”
“Bring it,” Joseph's soul raised up its claws, and he mirrored its boxer's stance. The wolf let out a deep grumble.
“I will tear you limb from limb,” it said, “You will fall to my dark whim.”
“You even take another step closer, and I'll tear off your snout,” Joseph said, “I've got the reach. I've got the strength. Don't think I won't do it.”
The two stood off against one another for another few moments, heartbeats that, to Joseph, stretched into eternity. The wolf gauged Joseph's words, weighing how much was bark and how much was bite.
Then, the fur on its back relaxed. It stood tall, all but glaring at Joseph.
“The Beasts of Dol will remember, we take offense,” it warned, “You will be our enemy hence.”
And, without another word, it padded away. Joseph's heart thundered in his chest as he watched the beast go, his soul shivering back to his stomach. His jaw was set.
No time to think of these 'Beasts of Dol' now. With a nervous step, he walked.
He had to find that book.
***
He emerged from the wood, the music, hustle, and bustle of InterGuild washing over him once more. That wild-haired bastard had split off from him quite a ways away, and he didn't dare try to go back to retrace his steps. The mob had dispersed, but the air felt a bit more tense now, a bit more charged, after his little sprint.
With nothing else to do, Joseph picked a direction, and started to walk. He went through the market stalls, idly glancing at them here or there to maintain some sort of illusion that he was a shopper, though he kept a lookout for his rival. Just in case.
As he did so, his argument came to the service.
“I need this to save a friend,” the lion-haired man had said.
What sort of friend was this? What plane did the Dyriptium of Karn chronicle that could hold that information? For a moment, Joseph stopped. Someone was dying, unless the lion-haired man could get that book. Was it...
Was it really worth it?
“Well, well,” a voice said behind him, “Finished your job up with Tek, eh?”
Joseph turned. It was Urash, the dwarf wearing his usual sour face as he trundled through the crowd, wearing the crest and robes of the Belgones. In one hand he held his spellrod, the other held a sack of coins.
“Urash,” Joseph said, “Um, yeah. I did.”
Urash considered Joseph for a second, as though gauging the sincerity in his statement.
“Right,” he said, “Well, either way, I care little.”
“Good to know,” Joseph said, “Well, now...”
He stopped, unsure of what to say. He and Urash spoke rarely, only interacting when Joseph was delivering something to the merchant prince's laboratory, or when they gave each other halfhearted 'hellos' in the morning. Urash was one of the guild's most vital assets, part accountant, part magician, part businessman, surly and with all the grace of a barracuda.
“Looks like you're lost, lad,” Urash said.
“You could say that,” Joseph said.
“Hmm,” Urash gave Joseph another look-over.
“Well, you've ditched Tek, probably on some fool's errand of some kind, eh?”
Joseph winced at how easily the dwarf had carved through his bullshit.
“Aye, painted on your face, it is. I can't blame you. In fact, takes some iron in the belly, acting like you are.”
“R-Right,” Joseph said, unsure of how to take that, “Well-”
“Walk with me.”
Joseph found himself magnetically drawn to Urash as the dwarf waddled on, at one point stopping to peruse one of the stalls, which had several rare-looking geodes arrayed on top.
“Bah,” he said, “Nothing worth my time there.”
He went on. Joseph followed.
“Well, now, managed to get the Titania Amber all well and ready for her repairs. There's a guild out on the Outmost Savanna that does repair jobs for run-down birds from the Silver Eye. Just below the Federation's radar. Expensive, but they get the job done.”
“That's good,” Joseph said.
“Aye, our girl will be up and running in no time at all,” Urash said, “She's taken heavier hits, from what I hear. But enough of that. Why are you at InterGuild, lad?”
“You really want to know?” Joseph said.
“I do,” Urash said, “I want to know why you're acting so slippery-”
“So you can report me to Wakeling.”
“Bah!” Urash said, “First rule of business, lad: No one likes a snitch.”
There was a small shop selling hot cider. Urash pulled out a few coins and laid them on the counter. The shopkeeper, a man with an apple for a head, took the gold and slammed down two mugs of the stuff. Urash grabbed both and took a sip, not even offering any to Joseph.
“Now, then,” Urash said, “Talk.”
And Joseph did. He told Urash about Meloche and Norcanthopus Bulg. The Dyriptium of Karn. The other guildfolk he had gotten into a scrap with to claim the book. Urash nodded.
“I've worked with Bulg before,” Urash said, “Though he's more Myron's contact. He's a snake, lad, and don't you forget it. A busy one, too.”
“I was thinking,” Joseph said, “Maybe I can, I don't know, copy the book down, give it to the other guy.”
“And you've got time for that?” Urash said.
“I...”
“How big was that book?” Urash asked.
“Pretty big.”
“What language?”
Joseph shrugged.
“Exactly,” Urash said, “Bulg's got you on a tight schedule, doesn't he? Not much time for you to do much of anything. A job to copy an entire book of that caliber out here takes weeks, not days.”
“You'd think the people here would be doing that already,” Joseph said, “Digitizing it. Making copies. Distributing them out.”
“You're thinking like an idealist,” Urash said, “The folks out here, they aren't here to better the multiverse. They're here to make a quick buck, drive up the price of normally unattainable information. Only a few people get the honor of education, lad. It pays to make things rare.”
He finished draining one of the mugs of cider, tossing it aside with a careless shrug. Joseph sighed.
“I was hoping to, I don't know, share it.”
“With your rival?”
“Yeah. His friend's dying.”
“And how do you know the information in that book would help him?” Urash said, “You've got the reason for why you having the book would help you. It gets you information you need, and you know that Bulg will give it to you. Sounds like your other guy's chasing after a dream.”
“A good one, though,” Joseph said.
“But just a dream,” Urash said, “Look, lad, you want to get home, right?”
“...Right.”
“No one said it was going to be easy. You're going to need to make some hard decisions. You need the book, so does your rival. When there's no agreement, you get down to using strength over all else to muscle your way to what you want.”
“Strength?”
“Above all else,” Urash said, “And that's the Law of InterGuild.”
Joseph was quiet. He felt conflicted about that. Urash let out a harsh chuckle at his guildmate's obvious discomfort.
“How many people did you have to beat out to get here, back home?” he asked, “I remember hearing a very vivid story of you wrestling Lazuli to the ground before he could get to Ezel.”
“Right,” Joseph said, “I've gotten...”
“Did you know, he was wanting to go to InterGuild to find some word on his creator’s murder?” Urash said.
Joseph looked at the dwarf.
“Aye. Lazuli’s one of the most advanced AI in the multiverse. His creator – his father – was killed by someone from the Federation. He’s been looking ever since.”
“I didn’t know,” Joseph said, “If I had…”
“What I’m saying, lad, is you’ve already gone and put yourself first already. What’s to say you shouldn’t again?”
And Joseph knew Urash was right. He sighed. Steeled his heart. Closed it to the lion-haired man's plight.
Because he needed to get home.
And he would do whatever he needed to do to accomplish that.
“I've gotten this far,” he said, “So, now what?”
“You aren't giving up. Good.” Urash said, “Follow me.”
***
Urash guided Joseph away from the markets, towards an open field where ships of a thousand kind were moored. However, these weren't ships that the guilds of the multiverse had arrived in on. Rather, they were ships made for entertainment. To fly over the Flyleaf Forest and glance down at it from above. Ticket-sellers were exchanging various forms of currency to give people a chance to ride in more unknown vessels, like massive winged crabs, or ancient artifact ships from the Silver Eye. Joseph even saw one of the rides here was a pegasus the size of an elephant, a nervous-looking troll getting strapped into the saddle by the pegasus's owner.
“We'll want something where we can see,” Urash said, “Ah, here we go.”
He pointed out a hot air balloon with swirling cloud patterns. He and Joseph walked over to the attendant, Urash flipping him a gold coin.
“Our lad's going to be jumping out,” the dwarf said.
The attendant nodded, nonchalant as they began stoking the hot air balloon's fire. Joseph stared at Urash.
“Sorry?” he said, “I'm going to jump?”
“You got any idea on how to find your man?” Urash said.
“I... No.”
“You've got a good pair of eyes – like a hawk's, because of your metahuman abilities,” Urash said, “I've prepared a spell today that will make you fall like a feather.”
It clicked in Joseph's head. He gave a nod.
“Right. I find him, you cast the spell on me, I float down to where he is and break his knees.”
“That's the spirit,” Urash said, “Now, let's go.”
They clambered onto the hot air balloon, which began to ascend towards the blank night. A couple ships and winged guildfolk lazed about in the sky, and Joseph could see that the hot air balloon rose to the same level as the top of the clock tower in the distance. All the world below was awash in the glows of InterGuild, thousands of lights greeting him from the surface. The sounds of the communities became quiet, indistinct murmurs, and the wind became cold and biting.
“Oddly lonely,” Joseph commented.
“You see the world as the mighty do,” Urash said, “Grow used to it, lad. Always a chance you could wind up making something of yourself.”
Joseph found he didn't really like it. But he could admit it was pretty, the sea of stars below. The hot air balloon chugged along for a few moments as he gripped the sides of the basket, taking a breath.
Then, his soul covered his head like a helmet, the eagle's sharp eyes looking out. InterGuild became sharper. More detailed. He could pick out individual people – in the far distance, he could make out the ogre whose market stall he had destroyed arguing with a flamingo in a business suit. He could see the Guildmasters' Moot, a strange, swirling Greek temple that made his head spin.
And there, just coming out of the markets, was his rival. The lion-haired man.
“I see him,” Joseph said, “Alright, Urash. Let her rip. And... thank you.”
“Don't thank me,” Urash said, “I want a cut of your share for the next job you take, alright?”
“Deal,” Joseph said, and he found himself smiling. Urash's spellrod flashed light, and he found himself oddly... floaty. As though gravity had loosened its hold on him. He swung a leg over the basket's side.
“Push off, now,” Urash said, “The spell works almost like you're in open space.”
Memories of his time on the space station made Joseph shudder a bit. He still wasn't quite used to it.
Nonetheless...
“Right,” Joseph said, “Alright.”
He climbed over the basket completely, feet resting against the basket's outside, arm snarled over its railing. With a deep breath, he shoved off, floating between the hot air balloon and the world below, adrift in the black.
The world got louder as he returned back to InterGuild. Back to the lion-haired man. Back to the conflict.