Sunday watched Kloud leave and lamented the twists and turns of city life as a half-living corpse. The swamp had been simple. The swamp had been pure. He saw that now when he had already lost it. Here, just as one annoying event was over a different one popped up.

He didn’t care much about his standing in the Arcanum, or who he had offended. However, judging by the Essence Ward they had a lot of good stuff for him, and he wanted to dip his hand in that.

He still had some spells to trade. Perhaps the rest of the Art.

Picking some other Arts could prove useful too, although things were becoming overwhelming between the Talents and his handful of spells. As things were moving, it was expected he would find more strange relations between his spells.

And as far as it went, the Talents, which were proving useful in their own strange way, were on the back burner.

As for spells, the Fearful Skewer was not working for him. The vampires had been good enough to return his two swords upon his leaving, claiming that Versum’s weapon was the spoils of war. Sunday found himself preferring the swords now that he could inexplicably use them.

The spear was not a bad spell, but even if each wound it left upon the enemies made them fear him more, it was still underwhelming. He could see it working for a master of the spear or someone who loved extended fights. His mind went toward the Flowing Flesh… it needed a lot of expertise to use. He had been reluctant to use it in a pitch. It probably ate up a lot of essence too. He had felt its hunger and its limitless possibilities in that brief moment he had used it. Could he shapeshift with it? Could he turn himself into an unbeatable monster? It was similar to the spear in that it required mastery to be used well.

With his buff, and what the buff allowed Phantasmal Fall to do… it could work well. Very well. Especially if he could adjust his weight to change the speed of his falls without killing himself. Maybe there was a different spell for something like that. It would be a difficult thing to do without practice, but it was one of the possibilities. The synergy between spells seemed much more important than their individual prowess.

He kept thinking things over as he stood up and changed tables. Slowly. Like someone going to an execution. His dead muscles groaned in frustration, like hinges that were forced to move long after they had rusted and locked themselves. It was a mess of his own doing, and of course, it needed cleaning up, but being reluctant about it was second nature.

At least Kallus had grown quiet. Did the wight fear women more than Vyn? Even if the wight wouldn’t admit it there was something about the way he was around them…

Perhaps it was all tied with Vyn’s sister. Sunday dreaded to think what she was like and hoped meeting her was not on the table.

Savia glared at him as he pulled a chair and sat down, while Riya smiled. The two large brothers whose names he had forgotten, or perhaps had never known, sat with blank expressions, confused by the situation, but happy enough with the booze in their mugs.

Sunday didn’t blame them. He was confused as well. And tired. So tired. A bottle of the cheap chocolatey liquor he had bought appeared before him and it took a few moments for his eyes to register the hand of the wight. Kallus was gone the next moment. Again.

Maybe he was not so bad after all.

“You fucking bastard,” Savia spat as he sat down. If looks could kill he would’ve been on the way to another reincarnation. “Do you have any—”

“Yes,” Sunday interrupted. “Work for me, and all will be in the past. Versum is dead. The Baron doesn’t care. In fact, he will be quite an important business partner shortly. He already ordered a lot of products.”

Savia looked at him as if he had gone crazy. Finally, a reaction he could get behind. The two brothers didn’t seem to understand what was going on, but after seeing her expression adopted a similar one.

“Are you lying to me?” she asked through her teeth. There was something in her voice. Something Sunday was struggling to define. Damn me and my weird people skills.

“No. I want you to help me get rich, and then when I fuck off to somewhere else you’ll be one of those left to manage things in my absence. And,” he paused dramatically and leaned forward, “I won’t suck your blood or exploit you.” Not much at least.

She didn’t laugh. Not so much as a squint or a smile. She seemed thoughtful, but the aggression was still there. Ready to fight and claw his eyes out. He was sure she knew it was impossible to win. He was stronger, faster, had spells, and had friends all around.

And yet… he felt threatened. Why? His instincts were quite good after all the bullshit and he trusted them. Maybe I’m afraid of women too? Who knew? He took a large swig of the poisonous liquor everyone scoffed at. The taste of cacao, milk, and sugar, seemed to spread directly to his soul, rather than making use of something as mundane as his taste buds.

“If I walk out of that door, I won’t find myself with a pair of fangs at my throat?” she finally asked.

Sunday tried to hide his discomfort and smacked his lips in pleasure. Ah, I knew I was forgetting something.

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“Well, I haven’t exactly discussed the details with my pal the Baron, but…” That bastard’s as trustworthy as a pair of wet socks during winter.

“But what?”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Trust me on this. The vampires are no longer an issue. Once they know you’re one of my favored employees, they’ll not bother you.”

Another pause. She seemed to like pauses. The fact that her goons were just along for the ride, oblivious to anything, Riya was pretending to not be there, and Kallus was gone, was just the icing on the awkward cake.

“I have no choice but to go along with your stupid plans, don’t I?”

Sunday shrugged. “There are always choices. Sometimes there’s only one that doesn’t suck. Sometimes they all do. It’s called life, and making choices is what it’s about. If you don’t, can you call it living? What’s so bad about breaking your current situation into pieces, and building something new? You and me, we’re alike in more ways than you can imagine. I won’t fuck with the bread of my friends.”

“Why me?”

“Why not?

Savia seemed to evaluate him, then drained her cup and stood up. The two brothers followed suit.

“Alright,” she simply said, then turned to Riya. “Can we have rooms here for a little while? He pays.”

Sunday grinned. He didn’t mind paying. Savia was who he wanted and needed. The perfect person to enact the second part of his plan for the booze, especially now that he had so much ammunition.

“What’s up with the evil grin?” Savia asked.

“Oh, I’m just thinking how happy we’ll be together.”

She scoffed and he half expected her to spit on the ground. Thankfully, she didn’t do that.

He watched them go and slumped on his chair. Things were for once moving well. Too well. Gone was the issue with the vampires and Vyn’s safety. He would have a place for the Empty Manor kids to make wine that wasn’t at risk of being stormed by worshippers, and the support of the Baron would propel him faster than he ever hoped for.

All he had to do was deal with the Arcanum and whatever that would lead to and uproot a cult of a crazy monster-creating, suicide-encouraging alien God that was much more real than something based on belief and old words in a book. It would make for a busy day, when he got to it.

“So…” Riya began.

Oh, yeah. And that. They were alone now.

“So…” Sunday said, grinned, then promptly stood up and left without a word. He didn’t forget to take the bottle, even if there were plenty more in his room.

Had Kallus taken it from his room?

***

Sweet dreamless sleep was all he wanted as he finished the chocolate. The bed in his room was like the hug from a mother he had never known finally accepting him as he was.

However, before he rested, there was something else to see. His talents had behaved oddly. There had been signs of those behind them too. The laughter when he had used the Slap. The strange behavior of Chaotic Step which was almost like a scare tactic for him to do better… Were those behind them like the Hunter? Entities he could speak to and fight? They would probably murder him with a flick of a hand, but… that was a possible goal to get him motivated. Especially if he could smack the one who had decided Chaotic Step was a good thing to have.

If so, what were they? Gods? Sunday had entertained the thought a few times but he found it strange. If they were Gods, then who was he fighting? Or were they aspiring to become Gods, using him as their champion?

Too many questions. Too many unknowns.

With a sigh, Sunday opened the golden page – the one reliable talent that gave him no headaches. That one, and the Yew Tree that had probably helped him the most of them all, even if the description of it remained vague. The Slap was good, but confusing. Each time it did something different.

Talents

Yew Tree’s Favor (Growth) – You have earned the favor of the yew tree in the forgotten cemetery. It will guide you.

Slap (Martial) – Some learn the sword, others the spear. You, however, wield an open palm, welcoming the world and at the same time slapping all those who stand in your way. A slap does not recognize defense, nor does it need to inflict damage to the flesh. An empty palm can bring about harm and change. You wield yours with unordinary skill. The path is long and twisting and your hand is itchy to start practicing... You’re not doing well.

Not doing well? What am I supposed to be doing then? How about a manual or something?

A Fable’s Strength (Fame) – Words float in the wind like autumn leaves and take root in people’s minds. From mouth to mouth they spread like an everchanging disease, and even lies turn into truths as belief shapes them. Stories or rumors of your deeds can grant you a small portion of power, as long as there’s someone to believe them.

*Savage Healer - Your strength has grown quite a bit, and so has the potency of any healing you administer personally. Sometimes a slap can bring wellness to its victims, but that seldom happens due to the state of your heart.

*Crazy Wretch – Your strength has grown. You’ve sown chaos, killed, harmed, and yet… you prosper.

*Slayer of Lords – Fighting someone with a noble rank always brings you happiness. Your reactions are faster, and you’re a bit more observant when it comes to those you should be wary of.

Two new names. Two new effects. He couldn’t judge if he had grown stronger, but little time had passed since his latest achievements. It seemed that Savage Healer had improved as well. Perhaps due to the Arcanum, and what they knew? Maybe being under the scrutinous eyes of the powers that be was a path to strength he hadn’t considered.

The talent was bearing fruit in the form of passive buffs. Those were more welcome than anything. Spells were still unreliable since he didn’t understand them fully. His own strength, however, was not.

Perhaps given a few weeks the rumors would morph. He had done strange things among the vampires. Scary things. He hoped the darkness would be spoken of as something he called upon. That would be cool. However, such twists and lies happened organically in time, and what he was witnessing now were just seeds.

Nothing about my newest sword skills either… Weird. And those visions I had… Oh well, I’ll figure it out in time.

Chaotic Step (Chaos) – Close your eyes and let a single step change the course of many stories, including yours. Sometimes your feet lead you to places the mind wouldn’t allow. There are opportunities in blind chance. Who cares if it’s a dice roll or something more?

Boo.

Sunday stared at the word at the end. It was different. Written as if by the hand of a child who had been busy having a mud fight at the same time. What the hell was this? Were cosmic powers so childish?!

Golden Page (Knowledge) – Knowledge is better than gold.

Sometimes knowledge was indeed better than gold. You couldn’t buy booze with knowledge, but you could make some. He fell asleep, opting to just ignore the world for a little bit.