Mahlzeit

The food was delicious, by far and away the best steak I had ever had. Which really isn't saying much given I've never been a particularly big fan of steak, but still. I could tell right from the first bite this was not cow flesh, not with how soft and inherently spicy it was and certainly not with the odd base flavour.

Then again, it could be some sort of magical cow with special beef for all I know.

Of course, eating with any degree of dignity with numb fingers was a rather difficult task. Even just picking up and holding the silverware (made of actual silver from what I could tell) when I couldn't feel it in my hand was a challenge; it was like my hands weren’t truly part of me, yet I had to manipulate the unfeeling lumps of flesh into correctly gripping equally unfeeling objects.

I'm sure Rokharth was laughing his ass off at me in his head, but he hid his grin behind his goblet; of course, I'm damn sure he knew I could still see it, the smug fuck.

Markus on the other hand merely smiled, occasionally taking a bite of his own food or sip of his drink while the other two apparent commanders either stared vacantly into space or watched me unblinkingly without so much as touching their slowly cooling food. In fact, I don't think that orange eyed weirdo had so much as blinked since I'd seen him.

Curious, I Observed the two I hadn't met. I started with the creepy, unblinking orangette, deeming him the most immediate threat so long as the blonde kept drooling on herself.

Name: Cerikon Shrikeson

Race: Half Demon

Main Title: Child Of Hellfire

Level: 137

Hp: 3,740/3,740

Sp: 2,086

Mp: 10,428

Main Trait: Eyes Of The Rebel: Blessed by his father's blood, his eyes see hellfire and rebellion everywhere. He can see the threads to pull, the lines to leverage and words to whisper to incite dissonance and hate in those around him. He sees bonds of hatred, fear, and malcontent connecting those around him.

I felt ice settle in my guts as that trait registered in my mind. It wasn't nearly as scary as Rokharth's ability to fade from my notice, but the fact that this creature knew I was a malcontent, knew I was likely plotting a bloody betrayal, and could easily inform Markus had an oily, cloying despair bubble up my throat. The only reason I didn't lunge across the table and try to kill him before he could talk, besides the fact it would definitely blow any shreds of cover I had left, was the little fact that I wasn't dead already.

Besides, thinking logically Markus already knows I'm not exactly a happy camper here, this guy confirming my malice and fear is unlikely to sway his thoughts anymore than they already are. Based on that description (which I can't be sure is accurate, as the flies crawling about my flesh and gnawing on the meat in my gut helpfully reminded me) he shouldn't be able to actually tell I'm seeking to rebel anyway, only that I'm angry and fearful.

Did his smile widen when that thought entered my mind? I repressed a shudder with practiced ease, electing to ignore any implications of any theoretical widened smiles.

I took a bite of my food, ignoring the intoxicant in my glass and glancing at the still listless girl next to the fire-eyed demon. She didn't exactly seem threatening, what with her literally drooling on herself and staring blankly off into space, but given she was at this table with the rest of these monsters I wasn't inclined to underestimate her.

Name: Korin

Race: Human

Main Title: The Hopeless

Level: 438

Hp: 12,476/13,238

Sp: 23,448/25,712

Mp: 678/678

Main Trait: Cloying Despair: She drips with misery, staining the world around her with her despair and leeching joy. Her touch steals happiness and crushes dreams.

It took everything I had not to flinch away from the girl. While her stats were terrifying in and of themselves, her main trait (which I had to remind myself, was quite probably not her only trait) was horrific enough to make me deeply uncomfortable sitting at the same table as her. If that description was literal, touching her might mean permanent depression and even being near her was a threat to your sanity! Of course, it’s entirely possible her power wasn’t quite that great, that the effects aren’t permanent, and the apparent aura of cloying misery isn’t as dangerous as it sounds; nonetheless, the idea of just sitting next to something actively doing me harm was… uncomfortable, to say the very least. Like sitting next to a mound of enriched uranium and knowing that even if it hasn’t gone supercritical yet, it is still doing some degree of genetic damage and possibly killing you every second.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The irony of the fact I was so concerned about this while my very own Despair Aura was constantly blaring depression into the air around me was not missed, nor appreciated.

Still, I managed to restrain myself to merely almost choking on a hunk of what tasted vaguely like chicken. I’m sure Rokharth wasn’t fooled, but no one commented other than a mildly concerned query that I waved off easily enough.

As soon as I set my silverware down besides my empty plate, Markus cleared his throat. Why the man running this whole operation felt the need to be anything approaching subtle when he could literally just point his gun at me and demand my attention I wasn’t sure, but I did ever so slightly appreciate the effort; hollow though it may be, the man didn’t need to bother making my time here anything close to comfortable.

It wouldn’t spare him my blade in the end, however.

He grinned at me, “I trust you enjoyed your meal, hm?”

I merely nodded, pretending to take a sip from the mead to make it seem like I wasn’t rejecting the hospitality of it; though, I would never allow myself to be intoxicated in unfriendly and unsecured territory. Even if it did smell surprisingly enticing… Bah, no matter the smell my experience with alcohol told me I wanted nothing to do with the rancid shite, especially when I needed my faculties intact; which is always, given my safety cannot be assured.

“Good, good, I’d hate to find my chef’s best work compared poorly to rotting garbage and sewage after all!” His tone was humorous, implying the none too subtle jab at my origins was meant in good humour; though, it was entirely possible it was a probing question to see if my non-existent backstory held up to scrutiny. I suppose it would be rather odd if a freshly evolved rat straight from the sewer had tasted anything better than a decently cooked steak, even if it was lacking somewhat in seasoning.

It could just be a joke of course, but I’ve dealt with enough double talking assholes before to never let a surface level logic hide silken blades.

I placed a faint smile on my face, “I’ve never tasted anything quite like that before, though I can assure you it holds up quite well to rotting garbage.” My false grin turned into a slightly more real smirk, an effort of will keeping the gleam of malice from my eyes, “Though, I must admit, I’ve never had fresh garbage before! I never would have thought of cooking it myself.” If he expects me to be some sewer dwelling savage, he can’t complain if I’m a touch… ignorant.

Rokharth finally lost his war against the snickers spilling out of him and gave up with a roar of laughter, slamming his chalice onto the table and grabbing his chest as he filled the room with crooked, hook-ended laughter. A few red drops spilled out of his glass, staining the tablecloth with what I was fairly certain was blood, though I decided not to question where he got a glass of vital fluids from just yet.

I could see Markus’ eyes flicker under his goggles over to his head of intelligence with a flash of what I decided was probably irritation for just an instant before a sardonic smirk spread across his lips, “Ah, I suppose from a certain point of view a good bit of rotten garbage did used to be food when it was… fresh.” He waved the thought aside with his cigar, “But debating the nuance of the nature of garbage is not why I asked you to sit here.”

He took a drag from his cigar before setting it in an ashtray that on a second glance looked suspiciously like the top of a human skull. “I know it’s only been the better part of a day since you joined up, but I like to ask my new recruits what they think of the place right after they’ve had a look around; though, with all Rokharth’s told me I don’t suppose you’d’ve had much time to actually get acquainted with our little home here,” smoke poured out between his teeth with every word as he spoke.

I shrugged, wiping my mouth with a napkin as I habitually killed my scent (though, by the way the still chuckling assassin’s eyes flicked to me as I did, perhaps that was more obvious than I’d have thought). “The only thing I really have to say so far is that there is a notable lack of signs telling people where to go,” I decided not to mention the tactical weakness I had noted from the abundance of windows; it’s far better they think me a touch dim than question where I had acquired tactical knowledge -let alone the concept behind it, or even just the meaning of the word- living in a sewer my whole life.

Markus chuckled slightly, “Perhaps I’ll take that under advisement; though it would make things a touch too easy for enemies with your job, don’t you think?” I noticed Cerikon’s unblinking gaze flicker over to our mutual boss for a second at that; the fact that it was probably the most the creepy bastard had moved since I’d sat down made it far more notable than it otherwise might have been.

I wasn’t sure what that glance meant, but I wasn’t about to ignore the only sign that weirdo had sent so far. Perhaps this question was a test of somesort? Probing to see how suitable I am for something based on my answer? I could be overthinking it, but I’d prefer to take things way too far than to underthink it and wind up impaled, slow roasted, and fed to eldritch horrors or whatever happened to failures around here.

I pondered the question, rolling it over in my mind for only a moment before coming to a decent conclusion that shouldn’t reveal too much, “Hmm, I would think it would be more of a benefit to the gang than any infiltrator trying to sneak around; while it would certainly make finding their way around easier for any unwanted guests, the certainty and minor efficiency boost it would provide would make up for that slight weakness. Not to mention how much better it would be for new members or anyone who gets lost or drunk." I shrugged, maintaining a casual air as best I could, “besides if poor signage is the only defense you have against infiltrators, you’ve probably already been infiltrated.” I had more to say on the matter and could always be wrong about that, but I really don’t care for the long term sustainability of this band of sessile marauders.

A smile spread across Markus face, and for the first time since I'd met him it felt like it might just be genuine (though, I still wasn’t inclined to trust that feeling). After a moment he began to laugh, “Gahahahahahahaha! Well now, most would just meekly bobble their heads and agree when their boss asks a thing like that!” He clasped his hands together with a huge grin, “ Ah, how refreshing…”

He grinned down at me, the light reflecting off his goggles making them seem almost like glowing eyes. “Well then, little rat, perhaps we should discuss why you’re really sitting at this table…”

In the brief pause he left a thousand thoughts flitted through my mind, each more ludicrous and dangerous than the last but not a single one matched up to the next words to slither between his pale lips.

“Tell me, what are your dreams, little rat?”