“We can just leave her down here ‘till morning. Then Agnor will know what to do with her.”

“I don’t understand why we’re not setting her up to hang. She killed that junior.”

The guards' voices echoed down the narrow hallway. Their sharp metal shoes struck the stone floors as they carried Akemi, beaten and unconscious, to her allocated prison cell. The burlier one was holding her bridal style, her wrists cuffed.

“It’s the rules. All possible experience points go to the big guy. If we didn’t feed him criminal scum like this one, he wouldn’t be strong enough to protect us from interlopers.”

“Yeah, right,” the guard scoffed. “Just like he did so well protecting that kid.”

“Watch your mouth. I’d be happy to throw you in the pits with her.”

They rounded the corner and stopped at a free cell—one of many, as the place wasn’t very crowded these days—and tossed Akemi in like a bag of potatoes. Her head slammed against the stone hard enough to jolt her awake, her eyes flying open. She immediately groaned in agony, her muscles aching.

They had given her a good wholloping—whacked her almost within an inch of her life—before mercifully taking her away to the slammer, as they liked to call it. The reality was a lot less threatening than the name implied. It was nothing but an underground ditch made of equal parts mud and stone. Even the bars of the cell were corroding, steely gray turned moldy purple.

Her head pounding, she craned her neck to the side, surveying her surroundings. The jail was barren. There was one window, but as the sun was dawning, it offered barely any illumination. Other than that, there was nothing in the cell. No bed. No toilet. No visible exits. They had to have taken her down some sort of stairwell—or several. She could barely see the guards' faces; they were lit by a faint plume of torchlight, casting black shadows below their noses and around their wrinkled, scar-torn cheeks. She didn’t recognize them. Her memories were beyond fuzzy.

All she remembered was opening the door to the cobblers’ house, and then… nothing. Her consciousness was a blank, painful page.

I can’t even remember what happened. God, my head…

“Looks like she’s stirring,” the brawny one said. “Secure the cage.”

The door to her cell slammed shut before she had time to react. Her eyes were still swimming with floaters. A lock clicked, then the smaller, more petulant of the two guards waved his hand in front of it, magic glimmering from his fingertips. The lock shimmered in response, as did the bars of the cell. A hissing noise followed.

Some kind of protective magic?

Akemi groaned and forced herself upwards, finally regaining use—well, limited use—of her limbs. She knew one thing: she didn’t want to risk using spells against them. She probably had enough Mana, but if she missed, she definitely didn’t have the sufficient reflexes to dodge an attack. She’d just get squashed like a bug under those massive heeled boots of theirs.

Stolen story; please report.

So, she opted for strategy B. She slinked up to the bars of the cage, groaning miserably—first authentically, then for added effect—then curled her bloodied fingers around the caustic metal; now inches from the guards’ faces, she batted her eyelashes. Did her best puppy dog impression. It probably would have looked better if she didn’t have two black eyes, but, alas.

“Come on. This was all a big misunderstanding,” she said, slurring her words. Her inflated lips caused them to come out gooey and stupid. “Wrong place, wrong time. I’m just an accountant.”

Persuasion Check (Extremely Difficult)

Failed!

“Spare us the bullshit,” the guard said, glaring. “Just sit here and be quiet until Brutus comes by. He’ll take you to see the big guy. Till then, I’d start praying to whatever god suits you.”

Welp. It was worth a try. Plan C it is.

As he turned to leave, Akemi spat at him. It pained her swollen lip, but it was worth it for the look on his face. Acting rashly, he raised his sword, ready to strike, but the other guard put a warning hand on his shoulder. Akemi just grinned at them both maniacally.

“She’s not worth it. Look at her—she’s just a run down dog.”

The comment didn’t phase Akemi. Nothing worse than I was called in high school.

“He’s right. I’m basically defenseless,” she goaded him. Plan C involved seeing how the cell’s door would react to someone striking at it—if the magic barrier cast around it would respond with any adverse effects to a sword coming at it, for example. “Are you really going to let Agnor take all that experience for himself? Guard number two over there is right, Agnor didn’t do shit protecting this town from me. There’ll be worse people than me coming, too. Like my good friend Nocturne…”

Akemi was lying out of her ass, but it worked. The guard’s face melted from pure anger into something closer to furious consideration. He was studying her—weighing his options. In turn, Akemi was readying herself for a potential fight. She still felt light-headed, but she felt more confident on her feet now. If she was quick enough, she could cast [Orb of Pestilent Bloodlust] right after they undid the spell on the door, and devour them both, along with the jail cell.

“I’m not falling for your tricks,” the guard said, backing away from the cell. It instantly deflated Akemi’s adrenaline rush. “Come on, junior, we’re leaving this wench alone with her pitiful mind games.”

The other guard glared at her. “Yeah, wench.”

She scowled. “Be that way. Cowards.”

They ignored her, setting off back down the hallway.

As the minutes passed, and her body ached, she began to form a plan in her mind. She couldn’t do much now—she was trapped in the pitch black, and her bruises were as fresh as vegetables from the garden—but come morning, when the sunlight filtered in through the muggy window, and this so-called Brutus showed up to collect her, she’d be ready.

Akemi shivered, and curled her fingers around her new shoes. They molded around her feet like butter. Holding them reminded her of what she had traded for these bruises—the treasure she had gotten in exchange for a bit of good-natured pummeling.

The journey starts and ends with the shoe, her grandfather always liked to put it, in the way old people who used to hike 800km to school did. Lose your sole, lose your soul.

She laughed, her lip burning. “Right as ever, gramps.”

He had always been the only family member she could tolerate.

She turned on her side, ready to will herself into the world’s most uncomfortable slumber, when she heard a rustling noise. It was a rapid tip-tapping of feet, echoing loudly down the corridor. As she craned her neck towards the sound, she saw a gigantic shadow run across the ceiling. Her skin prickled, suddenly terrified. The shadow had ears like a giant rat, fangs like a vampire, a body as enormous as a beached whale—

“Eeep?”

Akemi screamed, but then, soon after, felt entirely stupid. This was no Dracula. The shrill sound had emerged from a tiny, furry creature, no bigger than a chihuahua, and it was staring at her through the jail cell bars. It looked like some kind of cross between a bunny and a squirrel, and a lick of fire sprouted from its tail—illuminating a small circle of the hallway.

Unnamed | Flame-tailed Pika | Level 5

“Who in the hell…” Akemi mumbled, wide-eyed. “Are you?”