The man stretched out his hand, saying, “It’s a pleasure. I’m Alan.”

Bal shook it firmly, “Bal.”

Deus cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I’d love for you to show us around, but regrettably we’re just passing through,” As he spoke, his warm breath turned to vapor, “We’re simply looking for a place to stay for the night.”

Alan didn’t respond, waiting for them to continue listing their demands. As was usual; the strong would take advantage and exploit, while the weak would cower and obey. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to survive.

When a few breaths passed, his expression softened slightly, hopeful they wouldn’t expect anything else from him — winter’s clutches were already exhausting enough.

He nodded, “Yes sir, that’s very wise. It’s dangerous here — there are a lot of dubious figures loitering around these alleyways. Especially in the last two weeks, there have been many disappearances.”

His gaze remained fixed on them, before suddenly averting as if catching himself displaying an uneasy demeanor. He quickly added, trying to salvage the situation, “Well, anyways. I’ll lead you to a warm place. Some of the reserved spots have been– well, ‘freed’.”

He turned slightly towards where he’d come from, waiting for them to follow. When they did, he continued trudging down the alleyway.

At this point, Bal was engrossed into these disappearances, an expression of extreme fright written over his face. He tilted it towards Deus, seeking some comfort from this enigmatic figure. As he’d expected, Deus’s body language was calm and confident.

Yet, while this easened his worries lightly, they weren’t entirely lifted as before. While he assumed there was a side of him that was truly calm, he suspected Deus was putting on a mask, trying to uplift their morals to ensure their survival.

As Deus glanced behind, keeping an eye out for approaching dangers, he noticed Bal’s frightened gaze. The corners of his mouth curled slightly, both delighted with his psychological reaction and to provide some comfort.

He mused silently, He’s afraid, expecting dangers creeping within these shadows. Amidst them, he’s seeking comfort in me. If I keep this up, he’ll eventually turn completely obedient.

At that moment, a realization hit him and he turned looking frontwards.

When does a man rely on another? It’s only when the situation demands it. If I amplify the perception of this looming threat which hangs over this world, while keeping his methods of response within reasonable limits, he’ll have to rely on me.

His expression turned stern. Though I’ll have to be cautious and patient in my deception, subtly manipulating events. I can’t let it come back to haunt me.

Bal interrupted his thoughts, asking Alan, “What happened to them? Have you reported them to the police?”

Alan chuckled lightly. When he realized he wasn’t joking, he propped himself up and explained, “I don’t know what happened to them. However, their deaths are only a slight spike in their statistics. Sure, there is an emergence of heretics, but how can they ever compare to natural causes?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

When Bal remained silent, Alan clarified, “Right now, the winter and the diseases which arise from it pose a much greater threat. Otherwise, many succumb to the factor’s poisons, which linger in air and water. The worst fate, however, is death from mutation.”

At the mention of ‘mutations’, Deus’s interest was piqued. “What’s that?”

“Oh?” Alan was taken aback, subtly glancing at Deus’s chain. “Y-You don’t know? Well, it's an unpredictable change. It’s quite mysterious.”

He swiftly diverted the topic, “As for the police, we’re just a nuisance for them. The sanctified forces—,” He chuckled miserably, “They don’t care. Most of them, that is. Truly sanctified forces are as sparse as a woman’s gaze for a man without an int. Well, that goes both ways.”

Deus’s eyes narrowed, suspecting Alan was hiding some information. After all, it was in his best interest for them to separate quickly. Above all, he’d mentioned his scholarly background, which implied a wealth of knowledge.

“Mutations, huh? Interesting. I’d love to hear more about them,” said Deus in a slightly deeper, more forceful pitch.

Alan swallowed his saliva. “We live in the shadows of the cities, unseen by its citizens and hunted by their rulers. Sarus’s commandments can’t pierce these shadows — our souls are naturally tainted. That’s why we mutate, that’s why they despise us. It’s a vicious cycle.”

He extended his left hand and spread his palms. A face was etched into it, with a small nose and lips protruding. The face’s eyes were tightly shut, as if in a deep slumber.

Bal flinched back, exclaiming, “What’s that?!”

Alan pursed his lips, “It’s a mutation. They occur when you don’t take proper care of your unstable soul which assumes diverted frequencies.”

As he stepped out of the alleyway, and into the dim light of the lamp post, he added, “However, don’t be fooled. The strata are predictable, while mutations aren’t — they can be favorable, unfavorable, or both. They can be physical, or more profound.”

Meanwhile, Deus’s thoughts wandered towards his skills, ‘Fragmented Self’, which had turned into ‘Conjoined Fate’ and ‘Liminal Gateway’.

As far as he was concerned, ‘Conjoined Fate’ was purely unfavorable, while ‘Fragmented Self’ could go either way. Furthermore, all his skills had developed whilst these wriggling, crooked letters had alerted him of his unstable soul. Therefore, could his skills be considered mutations?

Deus curiously inquired, “What about your mutation? Is it favorable?”

Alan hesitated, but at the mercy of the strong, he finally admitted, “No, but I’ve taken several precautions. I’ve named it ‘Parasite’, because that’s exactly what it is. A parasite, which leeches on humans.”

His lips curled into a bitter smile. “I suspect that after it would’ve sucked me dry, it’d continue wreaking havoc. Even now, despite my methods, tiredness still plagues my days.”

A shudder ran down his spine as Deus realized how lucky he’d been with his skills. At the same time, he noticed Alan had personally named his mutation.

He fell into momentary contemplation, Does that imply that mutations are another concept entirely? Or does he just not have access to this ‘System’?

As the fog’s veil thinned, replaced by the lamp post’s dim light, Deus dismissed his musings and directed his attention towards their surroundings.

Faint moonlight pierced through the thick smoke belched by several chimneys, towering high into the blanketed night sky. Below lay an enormous factory, the words ‘Clyde’s Timber & Co’ plastered on its red-bricked walls.

While iron fences with barbed wires lined factory grounds, some grates from which hot air arose lay right outside. Atop these grates, several figures rested, cast into deep shadow by the looming factory.

“Follow me,” said Alan, his voice vaguely laced in anxiety. Deus nodded.

As they approached the crowd, rhythmic thumping of the steam machineries resounded from beneath.

Alan cleared his throat and explained, perhaps trying to calm himself, “This is the factory’s ventilation system. Luence was a city founded by a syndicate of the Eastern Continental Railway Company and a set of timber companies.”

“I’ll advise you to keep low for the night.” He tilted his head, gazing straight into Deus’s eyes profoundly. “As I’ve explained, nature with its coldness and diseases is the most dangerous force. That’s why I’ve led you here.”

“...Then there’s the second most dangerous thing — humans!”