“Walk away now, and we won’t hurt you,” the short one—Redbean—spat. “As long as you don’t have any business with Mister Salieri, that is.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid my business is now personal,” he drawled.

One of the many benefits of self employment—he got to choose his partners in trade.

On the flip side, it meant he typically had to estimate and pay taxes quarterly…

Limabean’s voice snapped him back to the present. The broad shouldered man hefted a worn wooden club, and waved it in Marcus’s direction. “Beat it. Last chance.”

Instead of speaking, Marcus shot a thread at the club and yanked it out of the man’s hand. For a moment, neither side moved. The black leaves rustled overhead in the wind.

Limabean roared, charging forward, while Redbean conjured a ball of flames and lightning cracked between the lanky one’s—Stringbean’s—fists.

They had marks.

But Marcus had skill.

On instinct, he fired a thread up into the branches overhead. It stuck, and he reflexively shortened the thread, pulling himself into the air. He immediately felt silly for not having used the technique back when he gathered the fruit—although to be fair, it did strain his grip considerably.

Limabean grabbed at his feet, narrowly missing as Marcus ascended out of reach. Landing on a sturdy branch, he surveyed the scene below.

Stringbean was backing up nervously—though his hands still crackled and sparked—while Rebean ran forward to join Limabean beneath him. The little man raised his hands to the sky, and a blast of flame bloomed upwards.

Marcus leapt out of the way just in time. He fired blindly once more, and once again the thread stuck. Dangling among the branches, he considered his options.

“Careful mate, don’t want to cause a forest fire.”

Marcus found himself agreeing with Limabean’s warning. Rebean was clearly the biggest threat—not necessarily in a direct fight—but his potential to spark a disaster was painfully obvious.

Ha. Spark.

Marcus clambered onto a nearby branch and worked to tie a new thread into a loop as quickly as he could. He finished just as Redbean prepared to activate his mark again—but Marcus didn’t let him.

Dropping the loop down on top of Redbean and tightening it, Marcus jumped off of the branch while looping the thread over it. The thread acted as a pulley, slowing Marcus’s descent while simultaneously hoistoning Redbean into the air.

Upon landing, Marcus extended the thread while sprinting towards the trunk of the tree. Looping it around several times, he stood back and appraised his work.

“Fucking bastard! I fucking swear, I will end you, you miserable sack of—”

The little man’s indignant shouting was music to Marcus’s ears. “I think you need some time to cool off,” he called up, “you’re being a little hot headed.”

He didn’t have time to see if Redbean would flame him back, because Limabean’s club was headed for his face. Firing another thread to a nearby trunk, Marcus yanked himself to the side. He slid along the leaves, barely maintaining an upright stance. It was exhilarating—he was already coming to love this particular mark.

A jolt of lightning coursed through his body, causing his grip to tighten and his muscles to spasm. As he crashed to the forest floor, Marcus caught sight of Stringbean—the lanky man was gripping onto his thread and channeling lightning through it.

Finally managing to release his grip on the galvanized thread, Marcus rolled over—only for Limabean to loom over him, club raised.

Marcus had died enough times to know when a fight was over. Oh well. He would have the element of surprise on his next life.

A sudden impact caused the towering man to stagger forward. He hacked a breathless cough, and Marcus took the unexpected opportunity to roll to his feet.

A quick scan of his surroundings revealed that Rebean was still struggling helplessly in the air, Stringbean was backing up again, and Lilian was about to deliver a savage kick to the back of Limabean’s knee.

Lilian. How could he forget?

Her kick caused the enormous man to stagger, nearly collapsing to a kneeling position—but not quite. Whatever his mark was, it must make him far more resistant to attacks.

He pivoted around, and deflected a vicious punch with both forearms. Marcus whistled. Lilian’s blows were inhumanly ferocious, but her opponent was inhumanly tough. But could he resist lightning?

Conjuring another thread, Marcus picked the thread back up. Glancing back, he saw that Strinbean was cautiously venturing forward again. Good.

With repeated, furtive glances backward, Marcus approached Limabean from behind. The giant was still engaged with Lilian in melee—though he had dropped his club.

Marcus idly wondered why she didn’t use the sword. Had she too decided to attempt nonlethal methods?

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He reached Limabean just as Stringbean reached the thread. Gritting his teeth, Marcus jumped on the towering man’s back and looped the thread under his arm. The man reacted instantly, trying to throw him off—but not before his comrade activated his mark.

Marcus’s muscles spasmed and he clenched his jaw in pain. Limabean didn’t collapse like he had—perhaps his supernatural toughness did apply to lightning as well—but his momentary incapacitation was enough for Lilian to land a kick to his groin and a punch to his throat. Ouch.

The two men collapsed in a heap. Marcus groaned and tried to roll over. In the corner of his eye, he watched as Stringbean turned to flee—and as a fist sized rock sailed through the air, striking him square on the head. He stumbled and collapsed to the ground as well.

Footsteps beside him caused Marcus to flick his eyes up to Lilian’s face. He smiled weakly. “Thanks for helping out there,” he managed.

She scoffed. “You’re absolutely insane, you know that? What the hell was your plan there? You could have died.”

Marcus rolled his eyes and sat up. “I needed to catch him off guard. Something no one would expect.” He looked down at Limabean’s prone form.

“You could even say he was… shocked.”

Lilian’s tinkling laughter combined with Rebean’s continued stream of profanities. Marcus sighed and stood up.

“So,” he began, “what now?”

***

“Have you decided which one you want?”

Marcus led the three men through the forest by a leash. He had tied them together in a line, binding their hands as tightly as he dared. Even without their marks, they could still be dangerous.

After he had restrained them, Marcus had forced the men to hand over their marks. Redbean had been the hardest to persuade—but strategic use of a makeshift pulley had ultimately done the trick.

“I’m going to take the steelskin mark,” Lilian called up from her position guarding the rear. “You can have the other two. You did most of the heavy lifting, after all.”

Marcus shook his head as they emerged from the underbrush onto a narrow trail. “Nah, only the galvanic channeling. Someone else in your commune could make better use of the flame burst.”

In truth, it simply wasn’t his style. Pure lightning wasn’t either—but based on the recent fight, it seemed it would synergize well with the threads.

“If you say so,” Lilian replied. “Here, stop a minute?”

Marcus obliged, and Lilian tossed him the mark. It arced through the air, and he caught it in one hand, turning it over to inspect it. The thick gray metal disk—at least, it felt like metal, though it was impossible to melt, scratch, or bend—gleamed in the sunlight. Intricate patterns were engraved deep throughout the surface.

A jagged bolt icon was embossed upon the center.

Marcus unbuttoned his collar and pressed the mark against his chest. It sunk into his flesh, pale skin deforming and flowing around it, until it disappeared under the reforming surface.

Marcus checked his heart deck after equipping it.

Galvanic Channeling [Rare]

Level 1

Channel lightning through your body and things you touch.

As the grade of the mark was rare, the description was extremely minimal. Common marks didn’t have descriptions at all, while his mythical respawn provided several short paragraphs.

The return trip was completely uneventful. The three prisoners moped in silence, and Marcus didn’t feel like making conversation with them between him and Lilian.

Upon arriving at the forest encampment, he waited outside of the fence while Lilian jogged in to find Tarken. Half a minute later, she returned with the spearman in tow.

“Right, what the fuck is this?” Tarken demanded. Lilian rolled her eyes. She was still carrying the rapier.

“We were returning from the cave when we had the pleasure of encountering these three charming fellows,” Marcus explained, gesturing at the trio. “When they threatened to uh, what did they say again? Burn down the village and kill the children?” Tarken’s expression hardened. “Well, I figured that a little bit of friendly persuasion was in order…”

“We fought them and took their marks,” Lilian interjected.

Tarken’s frown deepened. “I see.” He pointed at the prisoners. “You lot. What are your names?”

The three men shuffled their feet. Limabean spoke first. “I’m Marty. This is Hank—” he tilted his head at Stringbean, “—and this is Jake,” he finished, indicating Redbean.

“Alright Marty,” Tarken said, “you work for Salieri, don’t you?”

Marty remained silent. Tarken narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his spear.

“Yes sir, we do,” Stringbean—Hank—blurted out. “We were just a scouting party though, that’s all. That bit about burning down and killing and all that wasn’t true.”

Tarken licked his lips. “Yes, I’m certain,” he drawled. He turned to Lilian. “Do you have any ideas for where we can keep them? We can’t just execute them here on the spot…”

His gaze snapped back to the prisoners, “...as long as they aren’t causing trouble, that is.”

Lilian shrugged. “These ropes are pretty strong. We could probably just get our new arrival to help tie them up to some posts for now until we work out a better solution.”

Tarken nodded. “Right. Our new arrival.” He lifted his spear and turned back towards the compound. “Marcus, right? I’d like you to come with me.”

Marcus obliged, trailing behind the well muscled warrior.

“Hey! Berret! We got your sword and some prisoners!”

A young, athletic man with curly dark hair came running up to the pair upon hearing Tarken’s bellow. He stood at attention and performed a quick, careless salute. “Need me to handle them?” He asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Tarken nodded once. “You and Lilian both. Later we can get our new friend here to help tie them up better.” He glanced at Marcus. “Were those threads from the mark you got from the nightstalker?”

“Yes,” Marcus confirmed. “It’s only rare, but I’m enjoying it so far. Definitely worth at least a death or two.”

Berret looked at him quizzically, and Tarken simply dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Bah, he’s crazy Berret, don’t listen to him.” He paused. “But maybe crazy is just what we need.”

Picking up his spear again, he continued forward, leaving Berret and Lilian to deal with the prisoners. Marcus followed him back to the center of the encampment, and Tarken led him into one of the canvas tents.

The interior was sparsely furnished, but the wooden chairs seemed sturdy, the floor was dry and level, and the surface of the single table was impressively smooth. Tarken gestured for Marcus to take a seat, and the hero obliged.

“You wanted to talk to me.”

Tarken took his own seat and appraised the hero critically. “It’s been less than one day, and you’ve defeated not one but two threats to our commune.”

Marcus nodded. “Well, yes. It’s what I do.”

Tarken leaned back and sighed. “I appreciate your efforts. But if you continue to carry on like this, you’re going to die. Simple as that.”

Marcus grinned. He already had a good feeling about these people, and he honestly didn’t feel like playing the game with them any longer. He pointed at Tarken’s spear. “Can I see that?”

The warrior frowned, but passed him the weapon. Standing up, Marcus twisted the butt into the ground, before standing on the chair. Tarken stared at him, perplexed.

Marcus grinned and impaled himself on the spear.