Owen’s relief at leaving the throne room was squeezed out of him immediately. The hug landed around his neck, and Owen stood there dumbfounded. The girl–woman was hanging around his neck. His hands moved to remove her, but they slowed as they approached her hips. They retreated at speed when they moved higher.

The question of where precisely you place your hands when removing an attached female became moot when she dropped off him and took a few steps back. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Well, Owen thought, that confirms the memory loss theory.

She cocked her hip and looked him in the eye. “So why did you stay after class?”

Owen glanced back at the room. ‘I was making a deal to kill you’ seemed inappropriate. “There’s a lot of details we hadn’t gone over–like when and where to find the ambassador and how long she’s planning on staying.”

“She?”

Owen nodded. “Apparently she’s bringing a reporter so–”

“Wow, I hadn’t even thought about what normal people would think about all this. So we need to lock them in a room so they don’t learn…anything, everything.”

“Yeah, probably.” Except that would ruin everything..

She saw some measure of hesitation in him. “What is it?”

He wished he was better at word games. Instead he hemmed and hawed. “Look, it’s not like I don’t want to tell you. There’s parts of this that–”

“Oh, is this about the secret aspect?”

Owen froze. He’d traded his soul for that knowledge–although not literally. That myth, if it walked the world like every other one seemed to, was definitely one to look out for.

His resolution was waning. The woman clearly knew him. She, at least, thought they were close. Close enough for giant bear hugs, anyway. If she knew about this, she’d have to be close to him, a partner even. Except, the big hole in his memory did incline him to trust her. She was clearly mundane, but someone had erased his memories, perhaps they wanted him to trust this stranger.

He ground his teeth for a minute, trying to think of a way out. “Yes, but I really need you to never ask about that.” He felt a little pride at that.

She took that in, then nodded enthusiastically and winked. Owen remembered he’d also promised himself to tell her that he’d made a deal to kill her.

“I need to tell you something.” It felt remarkably similar to confessing you liked a girl. She went blank faced and receptive, and he stood there awkward, suddenly exhausted of courage. They stared at each other expectantly. When the awkward uncomfortable feeling finally outweighed his terror, he shut his eyes and blurted it all out.

She looked at him, confused. “Oh. Ok.”

Owen cocked his head. Was that girlfriend type behavior or more of a secret spy reaction. His heart dropped. Was this like when girls said they were fine, but they weren’t fine? “What do you mean?” He asked cautiously.

“We said we’d do anything to kill Nikolai. It was always kinda a crap shoot if either of us would live long enough to even try.” She shifted a bit uncomfortably. “I mean you do have a way out of it, right?”

Owen smiled, more relieved than he’d thought. “Yeah, he said that I’d have to earn power myself, so if I become a player before it’s time for you to get the rewards.”

She did not look receptive. “We have like a day to get you to level one?”

“No, as long as the ambassador is here, I’ll have leverage.”

“How long is she staying?”

“No idea.”

Her face flattened again.

The door slamming open bounced Owen off a wall. The vampires poured out of the doorway in a near constant stream–like a flock of birds moving in concert. Owen fell to the ground, curling into a ball and protecting his vitals. Several got in a strike or a swipe while passing, leaving a scrape or shallow wound in his flesh.

Each strike was a burning reinforcement of his purpose. Nikolai had done this to him. He’d set him up as a punching bag for his entire clan. This was likely only the beginning. He had to be strong enough to take it.

Rebecca dove on top of him, shielding him directly with her body and taking the majority of the secret strikes. She looked at him as she did, flinching with the blows, but meeting his gaze.

His discomfort grew. Every masculine instinct told him to roll over and protect her. But if he did that, she’d receive twice the pain. He lay there and seethed.

This was Nikolai’s specialty. Not only creating no win scenarios but every possible outcome left him a little more tainted, a little less human.

He was pretty sure he could guess his relationship with Rebecca at this point. Unfortunately, he had no feelings for this girl. Whether that was because they’d been erased with his memories or because she was a spy, he couldn’t tell.

Maybe that’s the key? If love is all in memories, then it lends credibility to the idea that she’s not a spy. If love is more fundamental, biological, hormonal, then wouldn’t his body remember her, even if his mind didn’t?

She seemed earnest though. How do you tell a woman in love with you that you don’t remember her? Or that you’re no longer attracted to her?

Alright. He’d definitely left behind the reasonable questions.

The vampire wave slowed and then stopped. The last vampire jumped into the gap between the stairs, hissing at them before falling out of sight. Rebecca quickly rolled off him, but the wounds were everywhere. Her clothes were shredded, although mostly in the back. At least no one had landed anything normally fatal. Magic was much slower at healing fatal wounds as the majority of the mana was drained simply keeping the body alive. Her injuries were mostly scratches and bruises, but a few deeper cuts might leave her limping. With luck she’d be healthy in a few days.

They didn’t have a few days.

Owen’s immediate thought was to abandon her. It made sense. He had things to do, and she was going to be fine. Except it was exactly what an asshole would do. He’d emasculated himself enough. He wasn’t going to leave her behind. His conscience nipped at him, and he sighed. Being honest meant being honest to himself as well. Fine, he wouldn’t leave her behind … unless he had to.

But they were still on the thirty somethingth floor of a skyscraper. There were options, but not good ones. First option: she could jump. Unlike the orcs falling off the roof, her impact with the pavement wouldn’t be fatal, just very messy, and a lot more expensive to repair either in time or mana. It didn’t matter which. He couldn’t afford either one. Second option: carry her down. She didn’t look too heavy, but he was going to struggle to make it down the stairs on his own. Option three: wait it out. They could sit here, starving in the stairwell until she was well enough to crawl. Except she’d been sitting in her own magically enhanced disease. She was more likely to get worse than better. Option four: find a friend to help. He’d burned most of those bridges, but he might be able to call in a favor, except he didn’t know if any of those people were still alive.

The vampire’s reception of them would be standard across the city. No one would be happy that a mundane was in line to inherit the throne–not that he’d ever be able to claim it as he was–which is why even the mundanes wouldn’t be happy for him. If his own actions hadn’t isolated him enough, then his new status as heir to the city would.

Rebecca’s clothes began to burn. At first it was faint, usually at the corners of a rent in the fabric. A tiny light, almost a sparkle, but it grew. If you looked closely, you’d see the tongues of white fire, burning mana repairing the fabric. Apparently her clothes had absorbed mana to spare. As the fire moved along, it followed along the gap as if the absence itself was a wick. The fire left the fabric untouched but somehow burned away the missing and torn fabric, burned away the absence, bringing it back into reality. With a lot more mana, the same fire would begin to move along the wounds, causing searing pain but instant repairs to flesh. At their mana levels, the flames were on a microscopic level. Even at similar mana levels, wounds would burn slower, due to the increased complexity.

Actually that was only a guess. The repairs ambient mana did to the environment were a total mystery. Burning things into existence was itself so far outside any physics he’d encountered that he’d left this area as a total mystery. Another little joy of living in a magical hellscape.

Although he couldn’t deny there was a certain practicality in eliminating damage and decay. Though that only worked to a point.

The door burst open again and this time Frank appeared.

“A little help?” Owen asked. Their time on the roof must have meant something–though he wasn’t sure what. The adlet snorted and stared at them with a sneer. A crash behind him startled Owen, but it was only the heavy stairwell door closing. The adlet activated his spell and poured health into Rebecca who scrambled to her feet.

“Heir,” the adlet gave a very slight bow and leapt into the gap between stairs. He seized a pole that Owen hadn’t noticed and began sliding down it like a fireman. Owen peered over the railing and watched Frank dismount the pole and climb the railing four or five floors down.

It was a thing of beauty. Someone, using some kind of magic surely, had managed to get a fireman’s pole to climb over forty stories. He looked up and sure enough it appeared to go all the way to the top. But how did they get it to stay? Magnetic magic? Metal magic? But the real marvel was its practicality. Someone in the city had half a brain and was using it. Instead of just killing and consolidating power.

“Think we can take the pole down?”

Rebecca nodded. “The wolf guy topped off my stamina. How are you doing?”

“I think I can make it.” Better than the stairs at least. “It’s mostly down right?”

She gave me a look. “I think the big part is slowing down before you hit the ground. Don’t let your speed get out of control.”

Owen nodded. That seemed sensible and obvious, and he was pretty sure he’d have figured it out sometime before hitting the ground.

You would think someone would have needed to use arms or joists or some metal thing to stabilize it. If people had actually started to get clever and practical with their magic, then maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Except he’d done his own reading, beyond history class, and he couldn’t think of a violent revolution that didn’t end in civil collapse, either through civil war, economic collapse, or something worse like a Great Leap Forward–even America got its civil war eventually when the country’s ideology caught up with reality.

Rebecca climbed over the edge. The space to the pole wasn’t far, but she hesitated before jumping out and grabbing the pole. She immediately began sliding down.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Frank stuck his head out, glancing down at her descent and then pointed his finger up at Owen. “Stay there!” The snarling ferocity of the command was not encouraging. Owen climbed onto the pole and began sliding down.

He tried to accelerate past Frank, but the adlet snatched him one handed and dragged him over the railing. “Can’t you listen?” The adlet carried him down a few steps to the landing. He turned to his companion. “This one, what’s his deal with the king?”

The snake woman standing behind him hummed dissatisfaction. “My client’s information is not for sale–not to anyone.”

Owen slipped in a wink at the woman when Frank wasn’t looking. She returned the familiarity with a cold contempt. Currently her arms and face were the most snakelike, although the robe that stopped just below her knees made it hard to tell anything about her torso’s state. The light blue shades suited her.

“Why would the king make him his heir?”

The woman continued to hum, shaking her head. “You know my terms? Questions answered will be paid for, whether you can afford it or not?”

“I’d trade my soul if that’s what it takes, devil.”

“Regardless, I will not answer questions about clients.” She turned to Owen, somehow looking down her nose without having one. “Your soul has been tuned to some dangerous aspects. Meditate soon and remove them–all of them. They are potentially disastrous.”

Owen frowned. What had he done that was so dangerous? Did making a deal with Nikolai damage his attunement? He needed to check his notifications now.

“What are dangerous aspects?” The adlet jumped on the information, a hint of greed in his eye. “Why are they dangerous? How do you attune to them?”

She gave the adlet a flat look and turned to Owen. “He chooses to pay much for you. He’s either a good ally or a very foolish enemy.”

The adlet snarled and shoved Owen against the wall. “No, tell me later. The king has demanded your presence.”

The woman shrugged, her shoulder rose past her ears. Her sinuous body rotated ninety degrees at waist. It was almost robotic, but certainly inhuman. “I expect I will see you again soon.” With that she began climbing the stairs and Frank shoved him against the wall to make room for his massive frame to pass.

Owen stared up at his teacher with surprise. For her, that was like begging him to meet him later. What did she know? What dangerous powers was he developing? She’d been summoned? What did the king need with her? Did he know what she’d shared with him? Information was power–perhaps even more than actual mana was power. And he never had enough of either.

There was too much going on. Owen decided. He needed to focus. It was too easy to get lost in the inestimable potential of all the aspects and powers. It was his flaw, he knew. Some people acted without thinking. He never acted because he was too busy thinking. Eventually, you had to act and just hope for the best.

And sometimes you make a decision because you don’t want to think anymore. Sometimes the decision is running away from a decision.

Owen ignored the voice in his head and climbed the railing. The gap seemed wider this time without a snarling wolf head to motivate him. He lined up his jump before he leapt out and grabbed the pole, wincing as his new wounds protested. He could already feel his stamina waning. He let himself accelerate.

Acceleration, he realized, that’d probably be an overpowered ability. I was motionless for long enough that acceleration is a real possibility. Being able to change something’s acceleration vector would be insanely powerful. You could deflect or reflect practically anything, you could give yourself superspeed, or at least a serious dash or a charge attack. Applying a controlled acceleration vector could be functionally the same as telekinesis.

Owen realized he’d gotten distracted again and immediately attempted to brake. He put every bit of energy into it, but he found it increasingly hard to even hold on. He fell faster and faster and tried to brace for impact.

He hit the bottom and splashed into a viscous liquid, more jelly than water. He fought for breath but as he gasped for breath the liquid poured into his mouth, and he choked. The liquid burned like someone had added too much chlorine to the pool–like chlorine in your eyes, but everywhere. He kept his eyes firmly shut. He tried to swim his way up, but something pulled him further and further down. Owen fought the tugging sensation, but his body quickly gave out, completely out of stamina. He floated in the acidic sensation.

Owen floated in the substance for a few seconds before the slime squeezed and pushed him out.

The burning sensation did not disappear. Owen crawled as fast as he could away from the all-consuming predator. He turned to see if it was bearing down on him, but two orcs were waving torches, keeping the slime back. The slime screeched, a high pitch on the edge of hearing. One orc bent over, picked up a rotten fish and tossed it into the slime. The fish slipped into the translucent body and immediately began dissolving.

“Heh,” the orc grinned. “I haven’t seen anyone panic at little Jessie in months. What happened? Are you two new or something? How long have you been up there?”

Owen glanced around the bottom of the stairwell. Rebecca stood a few feet away, wringing slime ooze from her hair.

“We were hoping to get off before–that, but we were low on stamina.” Rebecca answered for both of them.

Owen found himself grinning like an idiot.

The layout was ingenious. Of course a fireman’s pole that spanned almost fifty floors was a deathtrap–maybe that was different for players. But of course it was. The slime would cushion anyone’s impact, and the mindless creature had been trained to eject its prey under threat of fire. They even rewarded it with little treats. Perhaps there was a slime trainer skill or monster trainer aspect or something he’d overlooked.

Owen knew the orcs had tamed a few of the weaker creatures. He’d even seen them cleaning up garbage with slimes. Burning human corpses with acid had been one of the first things people tried after fire. Neither experiment worked, but acid had really backfired.

“Well, thanks again.” Rebecca had grabbed his arm and was pulling him up the stairs. “Sorry, my little brother is a little slow.” She patted him on the head like he was nine.

Owen squawked a protest and swatted her hand away, but her ‘not now’ glare flashed, and she glanced meaningfully at the orcs. Owen shut his mouth. Instead he kept his eyes on the pole, trying to look up the pole as far as he could. Was anyone using it to climb up? How often were people using it?

Owen and Rebecca climbed up out of the basement over several minutes. Their stamina came back even slower as the skin damage was healed. Though the overall effect wasn’t much more powerful than an overly long exfoliation process. By the time they were out of the basement, their stamina regeneration had completely returned.

Owen stepped outside into the summer air. That didn’t seem right. It had been freezing in the tower. Air conditioning didn’t work–so it must be that cold outside? He didn’t think the tower was that high. Another little mystery of magic, or maybe this one was mundane. He closed his eyes and let his body soak in the warm light.

The park outside the national bank tower had been converted into a bustling open market. The market bustled with activity. Capitalism apparently thrived in even magical America.

Orc patrols went up and down a few lanes. Stalls were mostly manned by clanless scavengers selling useful leftovers from a world of technology and leisure. Each clan had its stall, but they weren’t busy or well stocked.

Owen tried to pick out the changes. It was like a ‘spot the difference’ puzzle except one picture was a vague memory and the other a scene right in front of his eyes. Some things were obvious. Someone had hauled off the massive modern art sculptures so the lanes were straighter, and uninterrupted. Other things weren’t so clear, it looked like a lot more clothes were for sale, but there was less interest. It used to be hard to go a full month without damaging your outfit. There was a limit to the damage that would self-repair. As a scavenger, there had been almost two months where he’d hauled more kids’ clothes than food.

And diapers. He’d hauled a lot of diapers. Someone was selling boxes of them.

They’d been forced to shift to cloth diapers–hand washed cloth diapers just before–just before his little vacation. People must be thrilled someone was shipping in the disposable kind. There had almost been a revolt when they’d run out back then–

But he was on his own now. Almost on his own, he amended. Rebecca was scanning the crowd. She pointed to a set of carts next to a pair of massive furry beasts. “That’s our ride.”

Owen followed her gaze and agreed. They began moving through the crowd, picking out areas where the orcs patrolled. Staying near the police was simply good sense–also staying far away from the slavers. They had an actual stage for their four mundanes, but no one seemed to be interested.

As mundanes, they were the lowest of the low. Always waiting for an opening to appear before scurrying into the gap. They caught an occasional mana ping, but no one seemed too surprised to see mundanes moving through the market.

The variety of species was even greater than the variety of goods for sale. A pair of dryads–one oak, one willow–strolled through the market, violating most public decency laws and pointedly ignoring men. Goblins swarmed underfoot, moving through the crowd’s legs as if through trees. A minotaur called for beastmen to unite into a clan and “find strength in their differences.” A wizard searched the crowd nervously, probably on his first time outside the hospital campus. Some new kind of bug people were selling honey. He’d have to find that myth, it didn’t ring any bells. Beast people of all types, dog people, wolf people, cat people, an alligator headed man, bird people–although at least one of those was either an impundulu–a vampire lightning bird from African lore. There was a ghoul bartering, a clay golem staring at tools, a satyr and an empusa holding hands, a… chatty bunch of dwarves–what was the collective noun for dwarves? A congress of baboons, a murder of crows, a mining team of dwarves?

Owen grinned. That was probably racist. Specist? Definitely Heightist.

The central market was a gathering place for all the misfits, even the awkward tactless ones without powers.

Each of the clans had their own market, except perhaps the Juma, no one really knew what went on in their jungle, but the central market got the rest of the city–or the survivors at least. Most mundanes here were all slaves on the block, but not every species had a clan or even a tribe. Some natures were alone. Completely unique in the city, sometimes in the world. The weak, the lonely, and the powerless could come here and trade under the protection of the orc patrols.

Relative protection of course. Nowhere was safe anymore.

Maybe it had never really been safe, but now the illusion of safety was gone.

They approached the two wagons overseen by three human players with swords on their hips. But anyone who thought they were the real guards was an idiot. The real threat were the two massive furred beasts behind them.

Unknown - Species: Mapinguari a.k.a. Juma - Lvl 34

Aspects: [Unknown], [Unknown]

Abilities: Likely nature related.

Weaknesses: Tool manipulation

Juma were also called Mapinguari, but since the juma’s mouth couldn’t properly pronounce the m or the p in mapinguari, the less common term Juma had become the default. Though they pronounced it ‘Junaaa.’

Juma loomed large, like a wooly mammoth, but bigger. They spent most of their time on four legs, but usually fought on two. Their claws were nearly two feet long, reminiscent of their sloth cousins. They were originally a South American cryptid, likely derived from ancestral stories of the historically very real giant sloth, like a three-toed sloth the size of a bus. Except the cryptid had some distinct differences from its historic inspiration.

Owen took the lead. “We’re looking for a ride to the southern border.”

The men at the tables glanced back at one of the juma. The cryptid reared back on its legs, and its head rose to survey the pair. The entire face was one large brownish-orange eye that nearly matched the fur. The mouth spread from one hip to the other, placing its mouth just above its stomach. Owen risked a peak. Juma were said to be sexless–apparently it was true. That wasn’t in the legends.

“They not let you go out, hoonans. You try, you suffer.” The voice stretched and eased into every word, much like the ents had. Combined with the deep booming voice it gave the impression of a recording that had been slowed dramatically. “What you seek?”

The juma’s strange speech patterns were often mistaken for a cripplingly low intelligence, like ghouls, some monsters, and most adlet. The truth was they were limited to words you could pronounce without lips. Given that limitation, they’d taken their middle school grammar and chucked it.

Also, ‘hoonans’ instead of humans. They tried. You got used to it.

“Not to leave.” Owen sighed. He needed to stick to the truth. “We’re meeting with an American ambassador who wants to inspect the city.”

The juma buzzed pensively. The other juma scratched the ground, gouging the concrete. “We take, you give–give nothing; get nothing.”

Owen bowed. “On my honor, we will water three saplings within a fortnight.”

The juma loomed closer, reaching over the table to bring its eye to within a foot of Owen’s. “You know something of us, hoonan?”

Owen glanced around. The place was crowded but no one appeared to be eavesdropping. But he’d already revealed too much, and in public no less. Still he didn’t have much choice. “I had a friend who joined your clan.” It was an excessively expensive transition, but Matthew had found a small magic item. He could probably have traded it to escape, but when the clans had come to court him–or more accurately to steal the item–Matthew had learned a lot about the juma and shared some of it before vanishing into their jungle.

The juma eyed him–an unsettling experience–a little longer, then pulled back and announced. “Sun going down, then us leave. Go. Long time. Then return.”

Owen mentally translated. “It’s not closing time. Come back before dark.” The caravan, like most of the market, wouldn’t leave until the mad scramble to get out before the vampires felt comfortable leaving their aerie.

“Wait a second!” The voice was grating and high pitched. “These are my slaves! Are you helping them escape?”

They all turned to see the speaker. It was a yellow, sickly looking man, even yellowed, jaundiced eyes sunk deep into his skull. His limbs were thin as bones with tiny horns on his head, matching spikes on his shoulders, and arms. Whatever he was, it didn’t spring to mind. Owen’s ping rudely aimed for the face.

Unknown - Species: Unknown - Lvl 9

Aspects: [Unknown]

Known Spells: None

Weaknesses: Ugly

The juma eye drew closer to the newcomer, scanning him and dismissing him. “The price is paid.” The face retreated and the cryptid dropped back to four legs and tucked his head under his chest to nap. The juma’s human guards took the cue and turned to attract other customers.

This, Owen realized, is why nebulous promises of honoring nature weren’t a more broadly recognized currency.

The yellow face grinned triumphant, revealing thin needle teeth sparsely scattered through his green mouth. “C’mon slaves, back home and an extra beating for this.”