I keep my head low, stealing glances through the dusty window at the chaotic construction site. Regret gnaws at me; I should've split when the opportunity presented itself. Now, though, time has slipped through my fingers like fine sand. I played the tough guy, a bravado display to divert attention as everyone scoured the surroundings for rival bounty hunters.
Those damn Lycander Clan animals are back at it, relentless beasts. I silently wish they'd catch a swarm of fleas. My mind spirals into dark places, contemplating curses for them and their kin, especially the pair who nearly sent me to the grave. May their mothers and sisters-Actually, no, even in the heat of animosity, there are lines not to cross. Their mothers and sisters, absent from this hellish tableau, aren't fair game for my bitter thoughts.
As I continue my surreptitious observation, I can't help but wonder how long they'll be entangled in that net. Fifty minutes have crawled by, and impatience grips me. The net has miraculously repaired itself when Silver Dude – yeah, that's what I call him – materializes from the building, diverting their attention. Damn, he's quick, and that silver Magick of his adds an extra layer of intrigue. Thankfully, he isn't my bounty. I'm not sure I could apprehend him, especially if he's confident enough to take on three members of the House of Dobroutes single-handedly.
I slide my feet across the dusty floor, utilizing my Deadly Silent Footwork Ability to silently reposition myself for a safer vantage point. God! I love how the First Metamorphosis sorted out my allergies! I'm getting sidetracked… That peculiar guy is uncomfortably close, revealing himself and then opting for a game of hide and seek. Can't afford to be fixated on the Lycanders and give Mr. Mystery an opening to slip a knife between my ribs.
And then there's the incessant howling from those morons. Seemingly frustrated that they can't bust through the net. Idiots! Give me ten minutes, and I'd have that thing in shreds. But no, their solution is always brute strength. I swear it'll be their undoing.
I watch them laboriously tearing at the net, the spectacle becoming wearisome. Leaning against an incomplete wall, I spread my legs in boredom.
I can't claim to be a genius either, can I? If I were, I might have reconsidered and turned away from this risky venture. But can I really be blamed? Unlike the Lycanders, Dobroutes, and the building, I don't have a safety net. A Demonic Bounty during the First Metamorphosis is a rare chance, but the reward should match that tier. Both the House of Dobroutes and Lycander Clan can shower their people with far superior treasures. They shouldn't be the ones allowed to be greedy. I deserve a slice of that pie, and maybe that elusive guy still lurking in the shadows, also…?
I sigh, grappling with indecision, my mind wandering back to how I, "Noel Osion" AKA "The Hitman", ended up here. It was today, after hoodwinking the Lycanders into thinking I met my end at the hands of that gorilla who beheaded the others.
If I were a naive Werewolf, I might believe it all started when the Demonic Presence surfaced in this city, considering my presence in the next city a mere coincidence. But I'm not a foolish Werewolf; I know that's not the case.
Five days ago marked the true beginning. I, self-proclaimed as the "Most Fearsome Killer", "Reaper of Life", and the "Shepherd of Ghosts", achieved the pinnacle of the First Metamorphosis at the seasoned age of thirty-six.
No one should have been privy to the fact that I'd secluded myself in a basement apartment, let alone its location. Following the successful elimination of the Pilkerd mafia family's head and his four potential heirs, I went underground for two distinct reasons:
Destero Pilkerd, initially a mere mortal, found himself at the mercy of a First Level Metamorphosis – the client. They held the power to wipe out the local mafia singlehandedly, let alone dispose of a paltry five individuals. The fact that the client opted to subcontract the task rather than tackle it personally hints at the Pilkerd mafia family's curious connections. There's something or someone they are tied to, something a First Level Metamorphosis can't directly confront but isn't entirely hesitant to ruffle feathers with.
As The Hitman, I have outsmarted a Second Level Metamorphosis prior to my First Metamorphosis, thanks to my keen instincts and remarkable footwork. I welcome staring down trouble that even other First Level Metamorphoses shy away from – preferably from the comfort of an inconspicuous hideout, equipped with a depiction of the "eyes" of said "trouble" rather than facing the trouble itself when my involvement remains clandestine. But here I am, veering off track again. The bottom line: nobody should have known where I was, or that I had descended into seclusion.
The second reason for my retreat into seclusion is equally compelling. The inspiration struck me as I observed each of the five Pilkerds bleed out – an awe-inspiring spectacle. Despite having internalized this inspiration and standing on the brink of truly preparing for the Second Metamorphosis, I can't help but marvel at the transformative journey. It's a pity that ordinary folks remain oblivious to the fact that every seven years, their souls undergo a similar Metamorphosis.
A-N-Y-W-A-Y!
Steering away from philosophical musings, as I step out of the basement apartment for the first time in precisely a year, eager to test my perfected skills in a new assignment, a breeze greets me. It carries with it particles of Demonic Magick, just moments before the bounty becomes officially sanctioned.
At thirty-six, some might argue I'm still young, but I've waded through enough Magick nonsense, even before doubling down on it, to discern between sheer coincidence and the machinations of a higher power. This time, I conclude my instincts need a recalibration; a brief hiatus to observe from a distance during the hunt seems reasonable. Perhaps I can snag the bounty and trade it for a smoother journey to the Second Metamorphosis.
Well, turns out I couldn't have been more wrong.
I lag behind in pinpointing the source of the Demonic Presence or, more accurately, I arrive right on time with over ten others. They all ended up as headless corpses, victims of that Werewolf brute who happens to possess a full understanding of the First Metamorphosis. When he transforms, he becomes a real menace.
I should have made my exit then and there, especially after the oversized oaf fell for my play-dead charade. Instead, not only did I stay put, but I also decided to tail him and his sinister companion.
I press my palms together and offer a brief prayer.
Sorry, miss, ma'am, at that moment, I am still mulling over my next move. Even if I was present, there was nothing I could've done to assist. May you find a more peaceful afterlife.
That feels strangely satisfying. Time to refocus on the Lycanders.
Whether it's luck, an actual coincidence, or some cosmic A-hole behind the scenes, the Werewolves were preoccupied with scent trails, oblivious to my sneaky maneuvers. Whatever the reason, my specialty in stealth has brought me to this juncture. And now, what's unfolding?
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I check my watch, and there it is – sixty-five minutes, an hour and five minutes since they went berserk with the net – 22:05.
I rise on all fours and inch toward the window's ledge. I wonder, is Silver Dude's Rune mastery that remarkable, or are the Lycanders simply so inept that my ripping on them is – honest to whatever higher fuck might be messing with me – justified?
Two explosions divert my attention to the ongoing skirmish at the rear.
Did they reenter? No. It's just the distinctive Crescent Blood Ray of the House of Dobroutes. Tsk! See?! This is precisely what gets under my skin. While the rest of us, the Les Misérables, gain a solitary Exclusive Ability during a Metamorphosis and empty our wallets to acquire the rest or devote our precious time to inventing Abilities painstakingly, these privileged scions get to randomly cherry-pick from a selection of Abilities and whatnots in their family's extensive library! Their most strenuous effort often involves completing a few miscellaneous tasks. Subsequently, they can leisurely train using instruction manuals that cover all the Dos and Don'ts.
I clench my fists and exhale forcefully, kicking up a small dust cloud – Allergies: 0, Sweet First Metamorphosis: 2!
Okay, now I'm riled up! What is there to fear?!
Among the remaining First Metamorphoses in the vicinity, four seem fixated on Silver Dude rather than the bounty. Conversely, Silver Dude seems more inclined to tussle with the House of Dobroutes than take out the bounty when the opportunity presents itself – clearly, it has. Unless…are we all being led astray? Getting inside that apartment might shed some light. Anyway, this leaves the Mr. Mystery and the Lycanders. Battling the Lycanders is not an option. If I can't take on Mr. Mystery either, then my best bet is disarming the hypothetical traps in the building's lobby.
"Deadly Silent Footwork!"
Argh! Can't wait to hit the Second Metamorphosis and ditch the constant need to chant Abilities' names aloud just to execute them properly!
I sprint down the building's wall, exiting the construction site, pondering whether to stay in the Terminal Dimension or shift to the Material Dimension.
Pros: Lower chances of traps. No hindrance from the net that bars access to the apartment through the Terminal Dimension. No need for permission to enter homes – that's how great of a guest I am. The bounty can't be transported to the Terminal Dimension by a First Level Metamorphosis, indicating they should be in the Material Dimension, and it's either now or later that I'd have to make a move there.
Cons: Higher chances of traps. The Lycanders might decide to pursue me, leading to a mindless massacre of residents checking the commotion. The Silver Dude and the House of Dobroutes could be in cahoots, poised for an ambush.
I weigh the Pros and Cons, scrutinizing their alignment with my "Seven Tenets of The Hitman":
1. Every Action is preceded by a stealthy and swift motion.
2. Never repeat the same Action twice in a row during battle.
3. Be aware of the Ins and Outs.
4. One hole in the head is better than a Hundred holes anyplace else.
5. Absolute trust in your Intuition – shat all over this one, didn't I…?
6. Should the occasion demand it, PRETEND to be dead.
7. Run, RUN!
Side Note: Keeping it Monica's beat ! (1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 4, 3, 2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 2, 4, 6, 4, 2, 2, 4, 7, 5, 7, 6, 7, 7, 7!).
The Pros are leading by three points! My choice is obvious. Twenty-five meters from the building's lobby, the hidden fellow remains concealed, and the Lycanders unleash their all-too-common Howling Moon Blade, prompting an eye roll. Gosh! I wonder how they conceived that Ability. Is it even a surprise I dodged it with ease?
I vault past the building's entrance, landing directly in the lobby. I steel myself for any trap Rune that might spring to life before I can slip into the Terminal Dimension. In a fraction of a second, which, to a highly trained hitman such as myself, is akin to an hour... or ten minutes? Definitely not an entire day, so perhaps six hours? I should measure that someday.
Then… colors – Pretty! No howling Werewolves – Be gone, flea balls! No sense of Mr. Mystery, that creepy fellow – Yay! No traps in the lobby – Super Yay! Eruptions of Blood Magick and explosions that shook the neighborhood awake, along with police sirens wailing in the distance – Naaay!
First lesson in the world of Magick: involve the Material Dimension as little as possible. For one thing, it can come back to bite you from the Third Metamorphosis onward. For another, there are individuals and organizations that prefer the Material Dimension to remain an ignorant, neutral ground, and challenging that is not on my agenda anytime soon.
If those madmen aren't afraid of the consequences, that's their business. Mine is to locate the bounty, not to fight, not in the Material Dimension, and strictly, if I really must, to eliminate them and await my sweet reward.
Now, Deadly Silent Footwork is an Ability I slowly developed since before my First Metamorphosis. As much as I love it and am grateful it got me inside the building, what I need to reach the end fast is the Exclusive Ability that manifested based on my Character and Fitness.
I open my mouth to whisper:
"Shot Through The Heart!"
It used to take a toll on my Pool of Magick Ions. This is the first time I've used it after fully understanding my First Metamorphosis, and I can barely feel the drain. Awesome times Two!
My Magick swirls around my right hand, taking shape in the form of Runes that grow into black and light blue metallic components, constructing a long-barrel semi-auto pistol – Yeah, like you know whose!
The name engraved on the barrel is "Giliotenza", so that's what I call it. As for the origin of the name? I have speculations, but those are for another time.
Giliotenza, an Ability Type: "Summon Ability", serves two functions: Firstly, it allows semi-automatic shooting for as long as I can feed her my Magick – before it was twelve rounds, now it's thirty. Secondly, it devours half of my total Magick for a single round shot capable of dealing a nasty blow to a Second Level Metamorphosis. Giliotenza lasts until I lift my finger after pulling the trigger once.
"Come on, babe. Guide my shot!"
I enter the stairway and point up. The net marked the bounty's apartment on the tenth floor. I grip Giliotenza like the seductive pistol she is and fire the first of three special rounds – a side function of her first function – that propels me through a Dimension Type: "Wormhole Dimension". No First Level Metamorphosis can intercept me in the Wormhole Dimension. From inside, I can observe them moving in slow motion, unable to change my trajectory except between rounds, and can exit whenever I please – else I'd be unpleasantly ejected after a range of a hundred meters… Three hundred meters. I can tell it changed due to my wholesome understanding.
I peer through the black and light blue walls of the Wormhole Dimension. I didn't activate any traps behind me. If Silver Dude set any, perhaps I'm too fast? Probably. It was the idea...
I exit the Wormhole Dimension on the tenth floor. Without hesitation, I swiftly aim Giliotenza at apartment 59, aligning with the direction from outside.
I approach the door at breakneck speed. No visible traps. Really, Silver Dude? Quite the disappointment. A good disappointment. Keep it up until I kill the bounty. The Mr. Mystery gives me the vibe that he won't care, but it would truly antagonize the Lycanders if they knew they struggled for nothing.
Those jerks had it coming. I might not intend to be the one seeking retribution from them, but generous me doesn't mind doing some just public service!
Twenty centimeters from the door, it won't be polite to blast through it.
Okay, out please, Giliotenza.
Nineteen centimeters...
Giliotenza, I asked to get out.
Eighteen centimeters...
What's wrong, Giliotenza? I don't want to raise my finger and forcefully eject. The backlash is a bitch for both of us, you know.
Seventeen centimeters…
Seriously, Giliotenza- Eh?
I see the apartment's door color becoming dull, and even within the Wormhole Dimension, I feel a strong suction force encroaching.
Sixteen… ten… five centimeters…
The door turns gray with two dark spots moving about.
Four centimeters…
The spots become clearer, bigger.
Three centimeters…
I think I recognize them. I lift my finger from the trigger. The Wormhole Dimension collapses. Giliotenza disappears. And my Pool of Magick Ions is sweltering from the backlash.
Two centimeters…
Unexpectedly, the suction from the door locks the velocity on my body from the Wormhole Dimension.
One centimeter…
I feel my nose passing through the door, back to the Terminal Dimension, and… Oh! Silly me. I do know the two dark spots.
They're the Lyc… The Lyc… The Lyc… The Lyc-
"Seven! Seven! Seven!"
⠼⠛