Iyo sat on his knees in front of a portrait of a crimson tengu hanging on the wall of a classical Japanese room with a wooden sliding door, green tatami mat, and lowly burning incense strewn around. The young man circulated the Extract in his blood within him carefully and slowly with deep breaths and a regulated heartbeat.
Extract followed the rhythm of the body, so mediation was key to molding it into a more desired state. The state of someone’s magical aura without this exercise naturally varied from person to person. Among Crafters of different families, these disparities were usually minimal and often limited to subtle changes in how their magical energy fluctuated.
For Grendels, aura varied drastically for people belonging to differing tribes. Some had erratic auras that crackled like electricity, there were tribes with auras akin to solid armor innately, and still more whose auras whirled within them like a fierce maelstrom. In particular, the Merfolk Tribe that both Nathan and Evelyn belonged to tended to have calm, flowing auras that aided in recovery and energy control while Iyo’s Oni tribe had two distinct types split between two groups within the tribe.
The Blue Oni had a tranquil aura that held closely to its owner like a layer of chill water not too dissimilar from the Merfolk. On the other hand, the Red Oni had a boiling hot aura that threatened to erupt forth from the body like a cloud of steam. Iyo was the latter which is why he meditated every day in the morning to set his aura into a more dormant state.
He was currently in the middle of this process when he heard a loud banging noise from outside of his door. His orange ember-like eyes slowly opened as he reasoned what the cause was before she made herself evident.
“Buenos dias, Iyo…! I cooked breakfast and food’s way better when it’s served fresh and hot…!” Xalia halfheartedly shouted while hitting a couple of pans against each other lazily to get Iyo’s attention. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I kind of made a bit of everything. I’ll just use what’s leftover as compost for the garden outback.”
Iyo’s eye twitched a little and he decided to join her soon before she ended up wasting a lot of his food. He had a somewhat steady job and the house was left to him by his late mentor but he could not afford such wastefulness.
Before going, he took a look at the sheathed knife in his hands and partially uncovered it to reveal Japanese characters engraved on the blade that read “transcend death.”
“Teacher, I hope it does not come to what I fear. The line between right and wrong should never be that blurred.” iyo spoke quietly before sheathing the blade again and fastening it tightly shut.
In a few minutes, he walked into his dining room to see the table covered with a veritable smorgasbord. There was a taste of something from every single level of the food pyramid. A strong aroma wafted into the air along with the steam as Iyo looked on in surprise.
“Why is everything mixed up?” Iyo raised his voice at the sight of all the food haphazardly splattered together. Pancakes were overlapping sausages like sandwiches while hashbrowns and scrambled eggs were spun into an indecipherable fusion. Xalia paid no mind at all as she ate her food by taking small bits of several dishes at a time before eating.
“Does it matter? You got allergies or something?” Xalia asked as she stuffed another spoonful of some mystery mixture into her mouth.
“No, I just like for everything to be in its own place with clear boundaries between them.” Iyo asserted as he took a seat and started separating the different foods as best he could.
“Oh, you’re one of those types,” Xalia stated while waving her fork around in a circle at Iyo. “Like I said before, potion making is like cooking so combining food is how you get the best out of it.” She then waved her utensil around an empty glass and several streams flowed from the vials she kept around her waist. They coalesced inside the translucent container as a bubble that promptly collapsed once her Skill finished. A bright green glow was emitted before the drink settled down to a dull jade color.
“What is that supposed to be? Green tea?” Iyo asked hesitantly as Xalia took a swig of her newly made drink.
“No, this is an Elixir of Life,” Xalia answered casually before taking another sip. “It boosts one’s Pulse to help with energy and recovery.”
Iyo’s mouth hung wide open, revealing his sharp canines that he carefully kept covered most of the time. “To be direct, that’s extremely wasteful to use just to wash down your food.”
“Don’t worry it’s a low-grade one and I’m still sore from yester-Hey, could you stop ruining the meal by pulling everything apart?” Xalia abruptly asked as Iyo began picking apart what was on her side of the table. This disagreement continued for some time until they reached a compromise where half of the meal was in Xalia’s style while the other was in Iyo’s.
“Now, with that settled.” Iyo started after a bite of a precisely cut toast. “Do you know where the tuning fork that the Advance Guard asked about is?”
“Of course not, I’m not sure why you’d suspect me of knowing,” Xalia responded with a bemused smirk.
“I see. I can tell from your posture in that chair and how far away you are from the table that you’re hiding something,” Iyo confidently assessed without a trace of doubt.
“Fun, but you can’t expect me to believe that nonsense?”
“My mentor handcrafted furniture for a living and had his clients test it out to see if any adjustments needed to be made. To make sure they were satisfied with the product, he learned to tell what people were feeling from how they used furniture and he taught me how to do the same.”
Iyo reaffirmed his claim to be able to see through Xalia’s deception and his piercing gaze was enough to at least make Xalia sure that he wholeheartedly believed this was the case. There would be no point in trying to pretend like she was oblivious.
“Fine, it’s in my possession.” Xalia relented and retrieved the specter-controlling device from her pouch with a conjured bubble to keep the harmful miasma from leaking out. “I snuck back into the cart where the fight with Tierney was taking place and managed to get ahold of this rare find.”
“Why haven’t you told the others yet?” Iyo prodded with concern.
“I can’t let too many people know this. If it gets out, the Advance Guard will be on us in no time.” Xalia explained frankly.
“Why not just give it to them then? They’re also against the Concealers and that could help them with their investigation.”
“Do you fully trust the Council’s errand boys with a Catalyst that can control Specters?” Xalia questioned sharply and Iyo answered with a shake of his head after some thought. “I’m the same. Plus, there’s someone I want to check to see if they have a connection to this whole mess.”
“How would you do that?” Iyo slightly leaned forward. An infrequent display of interest.
“Catalyst can be created in three ways.” Xalia declared while holding up three fingers in her hand holding the fork. “One is to conjure it entirely out of the ether within your body using a Sigil to act as the magic tool’s core which decides what kind of Skill it can activate. Another is to do the same thing but you bind your ether with another material with Runes. Lastly, you can use Craft to shape something else completely separate from you into the magic tool you want, utilizing a Sigil to imprint a replication of itself into the Catalyst instead of leaving it inside.”
“Then, this tuning fork must be one of the latter two since it's made up of miasma instead of only regular ether.” Iyo inferred. Miasma was the corrupted form of ether that only monstrous Specters possessed. It had toxic properties that ate away at a person’s health and leeched magical energy away from them.
“Correct, but no matter what method is used, traces of the maker’s Extract will always be left behind. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to isolate that residual Extract to discover who made the item. It’ll take me some time to find the potions I need to do that with this.” Xalia finished her explanation and took another bite of her food.
“Still, we should tell Allen and Nera about this since it also involves them. Whoever created the tuning fork is likely an Inheritor too.” Iyo urged.
“No way, those two are terrible at keeping secrets. They let it slip to us that Nera was a successor to the Grim Reaper of all people,” Xalia soundly rebuked Iyo’s proposition.
He could not refute her words and took a sip of his crystal-clear water before coming to a decision. “Very well, if you do not want me to tell them then there’s a certain someone I want to check as well once you isolate the aura within that Catalyst.”
“Ah, a bribe for your silence? ” Xalia laid her head on an open hand. “I wonder…who do you suspect of being a Grim Inheritor?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
***
Allen dodged a punch from an incoming gloved fist and skirted to the side to get a better angle to launch a counterattack. That would be rather difficult since his opponent outnumbered him in limbs eight-to-two. Sweat poured from his face onto the mat of the gym floor and he wiped it away to keep it from getting in his eyes.
Allen Lee was in the Knight Arms gym which trained Crafters into becoming magical warriors and was currently squared off against a training dummy that looked like a metal punching bag. The machine had four rotating sections of long arms that allowed it to punch back at whoever was using it to train. Since all the other members there declined to have a Craftless as a sparring partner, this robotic trainer would have to make do.
The machine struck hard and fast. It executed many different variations of its strikes by rotating its sections accordingly. The young man was left sore and tired trying to keep up with the relentless heavy blows with only a thin aura cloaking him. It would have been worse if he was not wearing the Knight Arm’s standard wear. It was a form-fitting mesh outfit consisting of a long-sleeved shirt and running tights. Despite the thinness and breathability, they were sturdy and could greatly dampen impacts.
Regardless of how high-quality his clothes were though, it had even become a struggle to lift his needle-like Stylus. It was only after many exchanges of blows that Allen began to be able to read the rhythm of its movements.
‘It’s like a video game. It has a set pattern that it follows repeatedly. I just need to memorize it and wait for an opening.’
Straining his eyes, Allen recognized a specific sequence of punches that would lead to a long wind-up. That would give him enough time to land a strike of his own. He prepared himself to bound forward with his right foot and thrust out with his Stylus.
A narrow projectile rushed a hair’s breadth away from Allen’s face while he was in the middle of lunging toward the training machine. Startled, Allen yelped and stumbled backward until he fell flat on his butt. Allen looked over to the wall to see a mace crash into it and his eyes followed as it came levitating back to its owner’s hand in the other direction.
“Whoops! Looks like I scared the newbie.” Porthos said as his mace floated back into his hand and the orange Sigil he placed on it faded away. Porthos had blonde hair and blue eyes with a muscular build that towered over most of the gym members at 196 centimeters. He wore the same maroon and silver athletic wear that Allen did but there was no camaraderie between the two men.
His friends laughed at his taunt while an infuriating grin stretched across the Bludgeoner Crafter’s face. Allen scowled as he raised to his feet. “What was that for? You could’ve hit me if you were just an inch off!”
“But I didn’t. Relax, I was just trying to help you out since it looked like you were in trouble.” Porthos refuted but Allen did not believe a word he said. “Honestly, if you aren’t able to land five clean hits on that dummy then you won’t have a shot against me. Especially, since I’ll have access to my Craft Cards.”
Allen wanted to say that he came into the possession of Craft Cards as well but pressed that desire down as far as he could. He would save that little surprise for the right opportunity during the duel over Porthos’s Invite Card eleven days from now. The day right before the Sword in Festival would start.
The Craftless grinned. “Whatever, I’ll prove you wrong when I’m the one going to the Festival and you’re left mopping the floors here instead.”
“As if that could happen. That would be akin to a mouse slaying a lion,” Porthos dismissed Allen’s proclamation.
“That’ll be an impressive story to tell everyone back at the R&R Lounge when it happens then,” Allen remarked wryly.
“The R&R Lounge? That run-down club for rejects like Grendels and talentless Crafters who aren’t allowed anywhere else? Of course you would end up there too!” Porthos jeered and everyone behind him laughed as if on cue.
“You say that like you aren’t shivering in your boots at fighting anyone who isn’t as braindead as you,” A vein appeared on Allen’s forehead from what he said about the one place that he could go in the Luminaire Ward and not be treated like an outsider.
Porthos shrugged and dismissed Allen’s taunts without a care then walked over to one of the fighting rings to spar with an underling of his. Allen’s brow furrowed and he wondered, not for the first time, whether Porthos and his merry band were a part of the Green Manticores. He did not have much to base that off of but they did seem like they would be drawn to that unsavory crowd.
‘I’ve seen his type many times before. A little trouble with the law is worth it to screw with those they think they’re better than.’
Allen kept his thoughts to himself and continued his training with the automatic sparring machine until he managed to land three hits on it in a row. A few onlookers caught wind of this as the device made a distinct noise for every scored strike and even Porthos cast a side glance his way. Allen smiled widely upon this accomplishment and figured that was enough practice for the day. He took a moment to relax by looking over some online articles about new mecha figures and video game item replicas that he dreamed about assembling and molding himself. When he was done, he went to the locker room to get his stuff only to find it ransacked with the locker door ripped open and his clothes missing.
The young man stormed out of the locker room to find Porthos and his eyes darted from every corner of the gym to catch the transgressor. Instead, he found a group of people huddled together on their phones chatting happily away. Oblivious to his self-contained plight.
“Hey. Have any of you seen Porthos and his pals around? I think they broke into my locker and snagged my stuff,” Allen asked somewhat sheepishly. He felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb among all the Crafters.
“Them? They left just a few minutes ago and kind of seemed to be in a rush,’ answered Renzo, a young man with dark hair and eyes just a little taller than Allen. “You should really place a barrier around your locker so people won’t be able to break in.”
“Renzo, you know he can’t do that. He doesn’t have any Skills. I didn’t think you were slow in the head too,” Vanna, an auburn haired woman with a lithe physique chimed in.
“Oh yeah, maybe I can help you with my Sentry Craft. That’ll have to wait for later since we all are leaving the gym too.”
“Really? Where are you all going in such a big group?” Allen asked out of curiosity. His irritation abated for the moment in the hope they were off to go window shopping for wondrous magical items.
“Ah, we’re heading to this rumored spot with a QR code to gain access to the Loot Tree app which can help-” The quick talker, Vanna, was cut off by a female Crafter with short brown hair who looked at Allen like he was something she stepped on by mistake on the sidewalk.
“Hold it, Vanna. We can’t just go telling a Craftless that kind of info. It’s good enough that Helena allowed him into Knight Arms.” The woman asserted with crossed arms.
Vanna strummed her ponytail bashfully. “You’re right, Anna. There might not even be enough registrations for all of us here.”
Hearing this, Renzo nodded. “Yeah, since you’re a newcomer, it’s best if you wait this one out. Next time might be better.”
The others agreed with him, including a Crafter with heterochromia that possessed gold and silver eyes that Allen took note of hanging around Renzo and Vanna before. In a matter of moments, the gym cleared out until Allen was left standing in the middle by himself.
***
Allen left the building shortly after as well. He tried to contact the others but Iyo did not have a phone, Xalia said she was busy shopping for ingredients, and Nera had not responded at all. He thought back to that morning. When they had arrived at the pizzeria Nera worked at, she walked in without a word or a look back. Perhaps, she was still angry about Allen lecturing her to stand up against that angry mob.
‘Whatever. It’s not like I was wrong. She’ll get over it eventually.’
Allen then wondered what to do in the meantime. It had been a while since he did not have any magical excursions to keep himself occupied so he could not imagine just going back to his tiny apartment for the day.
As he scrolled through his messages, he noticed an innocuous one from the authentic street magician that showed one of his performances, some laughably stupid memes from Luka, and even a text from Evelyn about what kind of snacks Nera liked in order to surprise her. Allen had not known the R&R Lounge patrons for hardly any time but had gotten fairly close to them in that brief period.
‘Well, it couldn’t hurt to stop by myself and see how they’re doing.’
With a faint smile, Allen locked down his next destination. Right now, he needed a place he felt like he remotely belonged.
Allen was still wary of the trolleys so it took about half an hour to reach the lounge from where Knight Arms was in the Luminaire Ward. As he rounded the corner, he was met by a sight that snuffed out whatever light remained in his eyes from that dreary day that became so much worse.
The R&R Lounge, where Virtuoso formed its first connections with the denizens of the Underworld, had been wrecked. The windows were shattered, holes were put through the walls, and even the inside was torn apart. Tables and chairs had been broken against the ground, the television screens were pulled down from the ceiling, and the floor was filled with glass shards from the drinks that were supposed to sit neatly behind the counter. Instead, the drinks spilled out in every direction and the putrid aroma of that unsightly concoction reached Allen all the way outside.
“What?!” Allen shouted then gawked at the devastation soundlessly while trying to find some rhyme or reason to what he was seeing.
“Help.”
A low whisper entered his ear as if from a ghost but Allen immediately knew who it was to his horror. Allen rushed into the building and quickly saw the owner of the lounge knocked out with his side against the wall. The teen carefully turned the older man to face him and Harris Fletcher groaned as he was roused back to consciousness.
“It’s you…don’t pay me any mind. Help Evelyn.” The man’s calloused fingers strenuously pointed somewhere to the left of him and Allen’s eyes widened when he saw Evelyn battered and beaten on the floor. She was crushed under sections of the counter that had been ripped out from their hinges. He immediately ran over and pulled every piece off bit by bit until the true extent of the crime was clear to see.
Her clothes had been ripped and her skin that shone pristinely just the night before on stage was now bloodied and riddled with wooden chips embedded in it. For the first time, Allen could see the fish-like scales that covered her arms, shoulders, neck, and legs that she usually kept hidden with her elaborate dresses. These were the parts harmed the most with extreme prejudice.
He fell to his knees and reached out his hand only to let it fall when he heard Evelyn say hoarsely, “Thank you but don’t worry…it’ll take more than this to make me afraid of them.”
Allen’s voice in comparison was shaky as he said, “Who-who could do something like this?”
He asked this out loud but he already knew once he remembered the graffiti left on the front of the R&R Lounge.
He gripped his hand in a fist so tightly it bled and he spoke with such loathing his words came out like venom. “Th Manticores…Porthos.”