Victor cleared his throat to get Lord Harvey’s attention.

Obviously, the alchemist gave absolutely no sign of acknowledgement, but Victor had to trust that his boss understood that Pierre had sent the signal.

They had rehearsed this part well, after all.

“As I was saying,” Lord Grantly repeated, “if it’s alright with you, I would like to move straight to a discussion of your proposed rail project.”

Lord Harvey nodded slowly. “Of course.”

Frowning, Lord Grantly flattened his hands upon the desk and fixed Lord Harvey with a mildly sympathetic gaze. “I like to be direct with people,” their host began, “and so I’ll let you know right now that our board simply will not accept your proposal as it is.”

Running a hand through his slicked back hair, Lord Grantly sighed. “But if you would be willing to negotiate significant revisions, particularly with regards to funding the development, as well as on how to adequately monetize the program, we can —”

Lord Grantly trailed off, finally noticing Lord Harvey’s tightly clenched jaw and strained expression.

“Look,” the vault manager continued placatingly, “I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement which would…”

He trailed off once more, as the alchemist had suddenly lurched forward, clinging to the edge of the desk with a white-knuckled grip. The old man was beginning to froth at the mouth, and his legs were trembling.

It seemed the mundane medicinal capsule he had lodged to his back tooth was working.

Rushing forward, Victor placed a hand on his back, while simultaneously shoving a thick leather plate into the trembling man’s mouth. Lord Grantly shot up from the table, raising his hands and gesturing weakly.

“Fuck!” Victor glanced up at their host. “He needs his medicine…” He licked his lips. “We left it with the guards… I’ll go get it. Don’t move him.”

Lord Grantly nodded shakily, and Victor whirled around and headed back towards the stairs — only for Deva to stop him by clasping her hand over his shoulder.

Her grip was as firm and cold as ice.

“I’ll go.” Her words were even colder. “You can stay here and tend to him.”

Victor remained frozen. This was one of the major sticking parts of the plan that they hadn’t been able to account for. Remember… You can always try again if you aren’t dead.

Fortunately, Lord Grantly was having none of it. “For the love of all creation, Deva, let the kid get his damn medicine.” She released her grip, and Victor sprinted for the stairs without looking back. “You,” Lord Grantly continued to Deva, “go get Lord Benjamin — I don’t care if he’s balls deep in a carcass, drag him here kicking and screaming if you have to.”

After making his way up the metal staircase in a fraction of the time it took him to descend, Victor hauled open the heavy brass doors and then stopped to regain his breath.

As he did so, he tapped his ring — sending a signal back to Pierre that the mission was go.

Next, he ducked into the nearest open doorway — just in time to avoid Deva sprinting past.

Right. Time to find Grantly’s office.

Cautiously stepping back into the main passageway, Victor spared a glance back into the room he had just hidden in. Racks of what were very clearly powerful Focuses lined the walls, and even fancier looking items sparkled under enchanted glass cases.

Victor sighed. It was really something else to have so much potential right there within arm’s reach, yet completely inaccessible.

During the planning phase, he had actually privately considered stealing one of the focuses for himself — but there wouldn’t be enough time to properly bind one, and besides, that sort of thing would be a bad habit to develop.

But if he could find one small enough to smuggle out…

No. There was no time for that.

Moving back down the corridor towards the entrance and exit, Victor scanned the numbered placards hammered into the walls. Zero-sixteen. That was the number Lord Harvey had supplied for the vault manager’s office.

Halfway down the central corridor, a side passageway branched off to the right and left. On impulse, Victor went right — and there it was. A word — presumably ‘room’ — followed by digits zero, one, six.

The door was locked.

Shit. Victor looked around just in time to see Pierre sprinting by down the main passageway, medicine in hand.

Faster footsteps resounded from behind him as well…

Looking around desperately for somewhere to hide, Victor’s gaze landed on the open room across from the locked door. It appeared to be little more than a simple, mundane office. Stepping inside, Victor shut the door behind him, holding his breath until Deva’s footsteps faded to silence.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Right. Maybe there’s a key…

Half a minute and several ransacked desk drawers and cabinets later, Victor was resigned to the fact that the job was going to be a failure. Everything had gone so perfectly up until now, to the point where he actually thought he was going to walk out with something more valuable than any of the Focuses locked away within the vault — Lord Grantly’s private record book.

Cursing under his breath, Victor retreated out of the office, looked left and right, and stepped out into the main passageway. This time, he didn’t run, but he didn’t meander either. He just needed to get out of here alive now — which meant not attracting too much attention.

As Victor neared the end of the corridor, he spared an idle glance into a laboratory on the left. Two things caught his attention immediately.

First, the pools of freshly spilled blood trailing out into the main passageway.

Second, the thick black book lying askew on the central table.

Victor couldn’t resist. Poking his head into the laboratory with macabre fascination, he suppressed an urge to vomit. Half a dozen corpses were arranged on cots in various states of deconstruction. One of them even appeared to be a child…

Shuddering, Victor stepped further inside, carefully avoiding the blood — and the occasional bits of entrails as well.

It was far, far colder inside — likely the result of some of the bulky, enchanted machinery looming overhead.

Flicking his dull gaze away from the bodies, Victor eyed the book. If it were a work journal… Well, perhaps Lord Harvey could at the very least use some classified research, or just plain blackmail.

Making his decision, Victor grabbed the book and prepared to make a hasty exit… only for brilliant letters to blossom deep within his mind.

Letters that he could read.

Bonding with Legendary Unique Focus: Tome of the Necromantic Artificer…

As Victor’s vision darkened, the last thing he was aware of was an alarm resounding throughout the vault.

----------------------------------------

Victor awoke to a world of darkness.

Chaos swirled around him. It seemed as if he were in the midst of a whirlwind of darkness, black energies swirling around and through him.

But most disconcertingly of all, the raging vortex was completely silent.

Rising to his feet, Victor attempted to get a better grasp on his strange new surroundings, peering through the darkness in hopes of catching a glimmer of understanding. The ground beneath his feet was perfectly smooth, a polished black mirror, as if he were gliding across the surface of a midnight lake.

Just where was he?

Oddly, Victor didn’t feel particularly alarmed about the bizarre situation. He felt… detached. As if he were experiencing a dream, or experiencing everything as an outsider to his own internal perspective.

But still, curiosity gnawed at him. Really, what was this place? For it didn’t truly feel like a dream, yet he was struggling to remember…

The casino. The vault. The gory laboratory. The black book.

Right. He remembered. But how had he gone from there to here? And what about the strange words in his mind which looked completely alien from the writing he was used to seeing, yet that he could read as easily as he could speak?

A Focus. The book was a Focus.

Just after the realization dawned on Victor, another one followed.

This must be part of the process of binding to a Focus and receiving a Class.

It was a process which was eternally fascinating to many people, Victor included, but of which scarce few details were to be found. It seemed that no one who actually had a Class was willing — or perhaps, able — to talk about it.

With his curiosity burning ever brighter, Victor took several cautious steps forward. The whirlwind of darkness offered little resistance, the streams of black energy coiling and snaking around his limbs and across his body like velvet ribbons.

The ground — if you could really call it that — was perfectly flat and frictionless, yet it was somehow not at all slippery. As Victor continued forward, he began to catch fragmentary glimpses in the streamers of darkness.

Memories. His deceased father’s disapproving gaze. The years spent begging and stealing on the street. The day he first met Lord Harvey.

Skills. His prowess at carnival games and counting cards. How to prepare a fresh carcass. The ability to juggle.

And other fragments as well…

The feeling of cold rain pouring down on someone crouched in a dreary alleyway. The concept of a zero sum game. A burning desire to rise above and beyond all limits, to bend the world to one’s will and fear nothing but fear itself.

Really, what was this place? As Victor marveled at the fractal scenes playing out before him and all around him, a sneaking suspicion wormed its way into his mind.

This place… it was a representation of his soul.

Of course, Victor had no way to truly confirm it, but it felt right. In fact, he was now sure of it. This strange, shadowed realm was merely a representation of his entire self.

Which would explain how he felt about the whole situation. At this moment, he was an alien in his own skin, yet there was neither anxiety nor comfort, as this place merely reflected him back at himself.

In a way, it was like standing between two mirrors.

After an indefinite amount of time, something changed. Victor was no longer alone with himself. An outside presence began to encroach on his dark domain, a crackling, foreign energy charging the air.

The presence continued to build, but Victor wasn’t afraid. He merely stood and waited, vaguely curious as to what would happen next.

The void erupted.

Writing exploded across the space, blinding silver words shimmering and shifting and blending with the darkness. Within the mingling energies, Victor could make out new fragments, alien fragments — which were rapidly coalescing to become his own, familiar fragments — just as familiar as his own experiences.

Not just how to prepare a carcass. How to understand it. Deconstruct it. Reconstruct it into something radically new.

This time, when Victor caught sight of his father’s disapproving gaze, he didn’t look away with shame, but instead, he met it with a cold determination.

And when he encountered that burning desire to break limits and to destroy fear — it didn’t seem like quite such an impossible dream.

For the first time since he awoke in the darkness of his soul, Victor smiled.

As the silvery letters swirled around him — letters which once again he found he could read — Victor decided that maybe — just maybe — his future wouldn’t have to be as dull and unaccomplished as he had long planned.

----------------------------------------

Victor awoke with a gasp. Blinking open his eyes, he realized he was back in the laboratory in the La Isla Bonita vault.

A frenzied cocktail of thoughts and feelings surged through his veins, but amidst the hope and excitement and uncertainty one thought stuck out above all others.

I am so totally screwed.

As if to emphasize his newfound predicament, a sharp tapping of delicate — yet rather menacing — footfalls approached him from behind his head. Instinctively, Victor remained frozen, though he did strain his eyes trying to see past his own forehead.

A moment later, the person crouched down and leaned over him.

Deva.

Victor’s blood ran cold as the terrifying, ruby haired woman raised a finger to her lips. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she whispered, “I’m here to help you.”