Warm water flowed down Emmanuel Silva’s hairy back, his body hair the same shade of navy blue as his head’s. Unlike his other Durandir kin, however, he didn’t like sporting a beard. He wasn’t one of the common masses after all. The shower drone scrubbed every inch of him, making sure last night’s exertions didn’t leave a mark of evidence. For all that he enjoyed the Doll, and the fact that he rarely cared what the old clans thought, public sentiment could turn against him and make things inconvenient.

Once the shower was complete, clothes were lifted from the hamper, moving to his whims, and wrapped around his muscular form. He walked out of the shower and glanced at last night’s toy. The Doll girl was kneeling on the carpet, her nudity uncovered. She had bright blue eyes, though they were currently blank, and long golden hair tied in a high ponytail. Her features were incredibly gorgeous, but Emmanuel still felt something was missing. It wasn’t the features or the girl herself. Dolls were made to be whatever their masters, or clients, wanted them to be, but even with the prosthetics, the cutting edge technology only Dolls from the lauded Walking Dream Society, could not capture the charm of the original.

And what an original it was. He wasn’t sure which house or society that Doll came from, and more than likely, she wasn’t from Dragon Fall City at all. After waltzing through immigration, she had practically disappeared into the city’s concrete forest.

His visor pulled up the captured image. The woman’s—or was it a girl?—the picture depicted her face framed by a hood. Her robes were plain tan, but the cloth was not protected with anti-spyware, so her figure and image were easily deciphered and modelled. Demand for her, and her likeness had grown in the upper crust, and there was even movement from the young scions to have bounty hunters look for her for capture and delivery. Thankfully, those hotheaded fools were easily curtailed by their elders, though Emmanuel wouldn’t mind finding the original.

For now, he, and the other lovestruck fools, would have to make do with substitutes. He dismissed the Doll to return to her house and he made his way to his wardrobe, to put on the trappings of his office.

Drones flitted into the closets and brought out a fresh uniform. He slowly put on, a comfortable undershirt, a set of tight trousers, and the outer robe that was protected with a mixture of technology and Arcana Weaving. He stretched his Anima into the weave, taking control of the robe’s protective and boosting functions. A glance at the mirror showed a man in his thirties, though he was more than twice that. His ageing had simply stopped at that point.

By the time he returned to his suite, it was already well within the workday. He took the personal lift towards his office. The doors opened directly into the Conclave lobby, the symbol prominently displayed on the wall. Underneath it was this associate branch’s name and symbolism, an image of a hammer striking an anvil and the label, The Life Forge.

A grim smile crossed his face. He was one of three Ancients stationed here, a little embassy in a dead-end spot. He built his success despite the obstacle of indifference and made himself indispensable as a force multiplier.

He entered his office and opened his personal computer. The files were waiting as soon as he opened his spacewalker app, each one detailing a sad case of someone who tipped over the edge.

“Fools who desecrate their bodies in the name of a broken god.” He murmured to himself while holding in a chuckle. They were the source of his wealth after all. He looked through the files and selected three, then he leaned back on his chair to meditate.

The Blessing of the Forge took a lot out of him, after all.

________

Aldous Helspike glanced at the window that popped up in his heads-up display, a smile teasing through his impassive face. He was in his office, but he had little to do. It wasn’t every day that someone new entered through the Gate Consortium’s portal after all, and most of the travellers were simply here on a layover, waiting for the next portal to open.

The tower was set to receive any incoming traffic, but outgoing portals needed to be tuned and calibrated, and only one destination at a time was possible for the Big Gate. Smaller portals to varied destinations were possible, of course, but the costs were prohibitive, nearly a hundred times more than just waiting for the schedule.

DannyGhost: Come on, man! I know you’ve got the goods!

Sitran: How long are you going to hold up, Devilman?

DannyGhost: Five mil already. My allowance won’t cover more.

Michaka: Oh, Mommy’s boy needs new sugar?

DannyGhost: What, you’re offering?

Michaka: Ew, no.

Aldous snorted. Five million ACs wasn’t low but for something so unique? He didn’t think so.

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Devilman: 1 bil. No less.

Sitran: Ain’t no-one’s gonna give you that much for that.

DannyGhost: If I had the ACs I would.

Sitran: But you don’t.

Devilman: Then form a collective. Just two hundred to get 1 bil.

DannyGhost: Hmm, I suppose that could work. But still, who’ll go first?

Devilman: I’m just giving you a lead. It’s up to you to capture.

Aldous’s smile flattened into a thin line. He wasn’t even sure if that many could do it. The few videos he caught showed remarkable prowess, and he wasn’t about to touch that with a three-pace pole. Maybe if she was bound, sedated, and drugged. A big maybe. That wasn’t to his taste though, so probably not. For all that he was attracted to beauty, he knew she was out of his league. So he might as well treat this as a transaction.

Well, what he was doing was illegal, and he could get in trouble with the Lawbringers. They would demand at least fifty percent of the take!

DannyGhost: Alright, alright! I’m sure there are at least two hundred men and women of culture I can tap.

Aldous grinned. That was more like it!

Beep!

A window opened over his current one. Aldous nearly swore, but the header caused him to swallow his annoyance. Priority One message.

“Request information: Identity check. Heron Muryh and/or Gwendith Sharine. Immigration yes/no. Location if yes.”

Aldous frowned, then shrugged. It was easy enough to check, though the names looked familiar. He accessed the database and inputted the names in the search bar. The hit was almost immediate, and he snorted. They were indeed familiar since they came into the city with the perfect Doll.

He checked the records and noted that they had registered their residence. “Level one fifty-two? Green Zone in League fifteen. Tower 12, district one.” Quite far from Gate Consortium Tower. Apartment 1503.

Aldous put all of that information into a message box, but before he hit send, he hesitated. A billion ACs was on the line, and if he sent this out, there was a greater than even chance that the Doll would be located, too.

He bit his lip and shook his head, then he pressed Save as Draft instead of hitting Send. Once he had his payday, he would send the information.

_________

Heron carefully inspected his gear and arsenal as he sat in the waiting room. The battle wouldn’t be for another ten minutes, but sometimes, the previous bouts would end quickly or drag on. This was his third match already, and he had to admit, it was both lucrative and more than a bit exciting. As long as he followed his rules and restrictions anyway. Spending too much time training with Yuri tended to put him in an odd state. She was a combat maniac and extremely powerful. Not always the most skilful, but the most potent. That tended to skew things in a certain bent.

He’d wanted to fight in the arenas in Herrera City, but unfortunately, he’d foolishly revealed his Adventurer status. Before he registered in the Battle Club, he checked the rules and regulations and found that as long as he didn’t do anything too overtly exotic, he’d pass muster. And since his Animakinesis wasn’t too potent anyway, he could make do. Even his Ennoia of the Winds was subtle, and he knew that the battleground producers wouldn’t mind it.

He stamped down on his combat boots, making sure that it was comfy and tight. His trousers were secured below his knees and tucked into his boots, allowing ease of movement. He wore a long-sleeved battle dress uniform that soldiers wore, as well as a tactical vest that was supposedly bulletproof. He kept his face bare and only wore an Autovisor, however. It added to his allure, which helped him gain more ACs.

His first week here had been spent doing some missions, mostly guard duty…but the amount they needed to gather was prodigious. He had no reason or want to play security guard for centuries. Enter the Battle Club, which was somewhat underground, not quite legal, but not entirely illegal either. Essentially, it was a blood sport, though it was up to him whether he ended his foes or not. It was a squad versus squad thing, though the formal varied. Heron was his own squad, and the earnings were at least tenfold from what he got from his earlier missions. More if the crowd favoured him.

His first battle had been too easy and he’d dominated the battle. His second was against some beasts that had bony armour plating. Today, he would be up against a so-called elite squad of special forces, and the only weapon in his hand was a glaive in the local style. The ones from back home usually sported thick, slightly curved sword blades, but the one he held had a sword blade just as wide as the haft. The blade curved gently and organically, as though it had been forged straight but the tempering had caused it to bend. The entire thing was about his height though, instead of a head taller like his spears would have been. It was also a solid piece rather than mechanically augmented.

“...and now, for the next battle, Killbot Squad versus Bonecrusher!” The speaker in the waiting room shouted the words Heron waited for. He grunted and got to his feet, retrieved his glaive and strode down the hallway. Before he reached the end, a hulking figure stepped out of a side corridor and watched him approach.

“Show them hell,” the man, Big Waldo, said. The gangster who he had fought on their very first day in the tower, was now his fight Fixer.

Heron simply snorted and the giant chuckled.

“They still don’t believe.”

“They don’t,” Heron agreed. “They will.”

As he emerged into the arena, Heron’s thought briefly turned to his lover, who had left nearly five days ago into one of her whimsies. Yuriko's proclamation to limit intimacies to once a week or so had been painful to bear, especially after he’d tasted the sweet honey that was her body. It drove part of his to jitters, and what he was doing now was to compensate for it. Still, he couldn’t deny her, and the only way he could get that limit to change was to stoke the flames of her desires. He only knew a few ways to go about it, and one was to improve as a combatant. So here he was, killing several birds with a single throw.

When he exited into the arena, he was still on the overlooking perch. It gave him a brief view of the battlefield and he took that chance to memorize the complicated labyrinth of obstacles and pathways. Behind him, a flying drone with a video camera hovered.

“Urban area warfare,” Heron muttered. The terrain favoured him more than his opponents, who he could see were heavily armed with numerous guns. And was that a small artillery platform?

He snorted and grinned. It was a respectable challenge even if the chances of him losing were practically nil.

“Begin!” The announcer yelled, and Heron leapt off the ledge and into the war.