She remembered how, when she was younger, a legionnaire had nearly killed her upon discovering she was a Newman. She had been saved by a member of the Order, who had fully introduced her to the world of Sanguines. But even now, years later, she still didn’t fully understand why the blood had to be taken through death. She had asked her master, time and again, why they couldn’t simply share the blood. His response was always the same: "When many share the same, they become bound. And being bound is not always a good thing."
The words had always puzzled her, but she was too curious to leave the question alone. Curiosity, she mused, remembering her master’s warning. She could still picture him, the horns protruding from his body as he spoke. "In this world, a curious person is the same as a madman. Certain things cannot be understood; they are only to be known. So instead of wishing to understand, curb your curiosity and be content with just knowing."
That doesn’t make any sense, Annalena had thought then, and she still did. But tonight, she was determined to find out more. And afterward, she would go to her master; she hadn't seen him in a while.
Closing her eyes, she recalled the information she’d been given about the Mist-Faced Man: a creature that could turn into mist, hide within it, and suppress all living things within a certain distance of 4 meters. It could create illusions and was said to be in the advanced class. And, importantly, it was drawn to filth. The more, the better.
At least this place qualifies, she thought wryly, glancing at the piles of refuse around her. She had been waiting for a week, crouched in this alley, with no sign of the creature. Could the other Newmans have hunted it down? she wondered. But that didn’t seem likely. The branch wasn’t a straightforward path; it was more like a shuffle, dependent on what one’s master provided. The Mist-Faced Man couldn’t be the only one left.
Sighing, Annalena’s thoughts drifted to the evolution she wanted. She knew the pain of evolving into the Mist-Faced Man would be excruciating, especially since she had only recently evolved into the Green-Faced Starfish. But the potential rewards were too great to ignore. From her studies, she believed that a certain fusion of components from the two creatures could yield a rare ability—a power that could bridge incompatible components.
Oh, that would be nice, she thought, her mind alight with the possibilities. Rare abilities were the stuff of legends, powers granted by the Voice of the World when two components were forced to fuse despite their differences. She could only imagine what such a power might do for her.
Lost in thought, Annalena’s senses suddenly sharpened. The mist around her had grown thicker, almost like a fog. Before, she could see the beggars across from her, but now they were little more than vague shapes, swallowed by the grayness.
It’s here! she realized with a jolt, her heart skipping a beat. Physical attacks won’t work in its mist form. Identify the core and shoot it! The instructions echoed in her mind as she quickly reached into her black robes, her fingers closing around the long-muzzled, brownish rifle.
If the city garrison or the Pure Ministry find out about this, I’m dead, she thought grimly. The rifle was a weapon recently developed in one of the forge cities of the man continent, a technological marvel that few even knew existed. Even fewer were permitted to use it. This weapon was highly dangerous—capable of firing multiple bullets in mere seconds, it could take down even a special class being. But its use came with a high price. If she were caught, she would be sentenced by the Law Room, likely spending the rest of her life in a cold, dark cell. But considering she was a Newman, perhaps death would be her punishment.
She crouched low, pressing the rifle close to her fair, slim face. The metal felt warm against her skin, like a coal burning gently in the hearth. Her eyes darted through the mist, searching for any sign of movement. Please, come out, she thought, her breath catching in her throat. I don’t want to sleep in this filth again.
Just then, the fog stirred. Annalena tensed, her gaze snapping to the entrance of the alleyway. A faint shadow emerged from the swirling gray—a long, slender figure with hands that dragged along the ground. It had thin legs and no discernible head, just a mass of swirling mist where its face should have been.
It’s here!
Without hesitation, Annalena sprang into action. She leaped up, her feet landing lightly on the side of the wall. The world tilted around her, the alleyway and cobblestone ground rotating in her mind until it seemed like the creature was standing horizontally. The wall became the ground, and she ran across it with practiced speed.
With a quick motion, she raised her arm, summoning a transparent green light. It shot out from her fingertips, cutting through the mist with impressive speed.
Pew!
The light pierced through the shadowy figure, striking the cobblestones beyond. The creature didn’t even flinch. It just stopped, as if momentarily confused by the attack.
So even that doesn’t work? Annalena thought, her brow furrowing. This gun might be useless for most of the battle.
But before she could react further, the shadow shifted, and a round ball of reddish-yellow light appeared above it. The ball spun like a vortex, growing larger with each passing second.
What?
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Startled, Annalena shifted her perception of the world again, tilting the landscape so that she was pushed away from the creature and its growing fireball. She slid along the wall, her body moving effortlessly as if world laws had ceased to apply to her. The beggars still curled up in their corners, seemed like they were latched onto the surface, but she knew better—they were bound by the world’s rules, while she was not.
The fireball shot toward her, hurtling with unescapable speed. Annalena frowned, adjusting her position once more. She rolled left, landing on the wall opposite the creature, and stood up just in time to see the fireball streak past her. It slammed into a wooden cart at the end of the alleyway, engulfing it in flames.
An illusion, Annalena realized, her frown deepening. How can it lack intelligence? The creature was supposed to be mindless, but this was no ordinary Mist-Faced Man. It was smart enough to deceive her, creating an illusion to throw her off balance. *A rare breed, perhaps? One that’s evolved beyond the norm?*
Damn my luck!
She kept sliding along the wall until she reached the burning cart. Her back hit the flames, but she felt no heat, no scorching pain. It was all an illusion, a trick from a creature that supposedly lacked intelligence
I can’t get close to it, Annalena thought, quickly pulling out a brown pouch from her clothes. The pouch was slightly heavy, filled with jingling coins. I need to keep my distance to avoid triggering its suppression. In this narrow alley, I’m already within range of its power.
Instantly, she leaped into the air, her eyes locked on the shadowy figure ahead. With a swift motion, she tossed a handful of coins into the air toward the creature. As they scattered, she stretched out her hand, firing green rays of light toward the coins.
Pew!
The light collided with the coins, and they stopped in midair, defying everything. They hung there, suspended in the open air like glittering stars. With her power, not all things that went up had to come down.
The coins floated in a somewhat tattered manner. Some hung near the creature, some in mid-air above a sleeping beggar, and some around the open air of the alleyway. This should do it, she thought. Then, leaping down from the wall, she latched away from it, landing toe-first on a coin. The coin wobbled, trying to tip over as if an equal force was pushing against it from the opposite direction. Annalena balanced herself on the coin, ready for the next move.
She leaped from coin to coin, her well-trained balance guiding her through the mist. Each jump was calculated, every movement precise, as she soared through the air like a performer in a circus. The thought made her smirk, despite the seriousness of the situation. I’d make quite the circus jumper, she mused.
The creature drew closer with each leap, its shadowy form barely visible through the thick, swirling fog. Her rifle was slung across her back, ready but not yet needed. The time for that would come soon enough.
As she closed the gap, a strange pressure began to weigh down on her, an oppressive force that made the air feel thick and heavy. Now! she thought, as the coin beneath her shot upward, carrying her high into the sky. The mist thinned as she ascended, the city below shrinking to a distant blur of light.
In the air, the suppression doesn’t reach, she realized, taking in the vast expanse of the city below, the alleyways reduced to narrow lines, and the mist that blanketed it all. For a brief moment, she floated above it all, suspended in the night sky.
Alright, she thought, focusing her mind. With a single thought, she altered the weight of the coin again. Before, she had made it light as air, floating effortlessly. But now, she needed it to drop. She made the weight return in higher folds and the coin began to plummet, carrying her back down through the mist.
The fog rushed past her, cool and damp against her skin, as the ground rapidly approached. The creature was now directly below her, and she adjusted her stance, preparing to land behind it. But at the speed she was falling, the impact would be fatal. She quickly altered the weight of the coin again, stopping it in midair just before she hit the ground. The sudden stop sent a shockwave through her body, her head spinning as nausea clawed at her insides.
The creature seemed to sense her presence behind it. She felt her hair tug downward as if an invisible hand was trying to pull her to the ground. But I’m not done, she thought with a grim smile.
She swiped her hand, and the coins she had scattered around the alleyway shot toward her with unnatural speed. She had anchored them to herself earlier, and now they came to her aid. But something stood between her and the coins—the Mist-faced man.
The suppression that had weighed on her vanished as if it had never existed. So that’s your decision, Annalena thought, her smile widening as she leveled her rifle at the creature.
The shadowy figure began to dissolve, its dark body breaking apart into a swirling fog. Within the fog, she spotted a dark, round spot. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger. Physical attacks can still work on the mist-faced man when not in his mist form!
The shot echoed through the alleyway, a sharp crack that cut through the night. The bullet shot out in a smoky aftermath, piercing the black orb within the mist. As the bullet struck, the coins she had called to herself barreled through the fog wall before her. She had almost forgotten about them in the heat of the moment. Rapidly, she swiped her hands, and the cobblestones on the ground shot up, creating a barrier between her and the coins.
The coins collided with the stone wall, but some broke through, stabbing into her body. The irregular barrier hadn’t provided adequate protection. Clinking sounds echoed as the coins fell to the ground, and Annalena panted, finally releasing her ability. The stone wall crumbled before her, pieces falling in a disheveled manner, some breaking apart on impact, others not.
Blood seeped down her forehead, dripping past her cheeks and onto the ground. The injury from the coin barrage was severe but not fatal. She wiped the blood from her eyes, looking ahead. The excess fog began to dissipate, fading like a wiped-away chalkboard. As the mist cleared, a figure lay on the ground—a shadowy figure, its form composed of swirling darkness. But it was headless. A headless shadow.
Or was it? She crouched, taking out a syringe from her robe.
There, on the ground where the creature’s head should have been, was a small orb the size of a baby’s fist. The smooth black surface of the orb was cracked, with a bullet-sized hole leaking a grayish, thick liquid. It looked like honey—a gray version of honey.
She injected the syringe into the leaking liquid, extracting a vial’s worth. A smile curled on her face as happiness surged within her. The pain from her injuries felt like a small price to pay for such a reward.
Just then, an illusory, echoing voice reverberated through her mind: You have appropriated the blood of a Mist-faced man.
Annalena wasn’t surprised by the voice of the world. What disappointed her was that the creature was simply called a Mist-faced man. She had hoped it was a higher type of the species.
“Uh, who are you?” a voice spoke from a corner.