“I…” Kimberly choked out. “I said let me—”
“Kimberly Smith!” a voice boomed out from the distance.
Additional country club staff arrived at the scene, cutting their way through the crowd like a ship traversing a stormy sea. As the path was cleared, the an elder-looking gentleman strode forward, peering over the thick frame of his round spectacles, nodding at the club members he passed by.
From behind Russell, Serena breathed a sigh of relief.
The old man tugged at the cuffs of his three-piece suit, clasped his hands behind him, and stood in front of Kimberly with his back straight. He looked to be decades past his prime, yet his body brimmed with youthful vigor. The gray of his hair only added to his mature charisma, and the only thing standing out from his spotless attire was the gold nametag pinned on the left side of his chest.
General Manager.
“This is not the proper way our staff should behave, Ms. Smith,” the general manager said, his voice deep and commanding. “Whether or not they are on the clock, whether or not they are within the walls of this establishment, we do not condone such an unbecoming display.”
Some semblance of rationality returned to Kimberly’s frenzied gaze. She stopped struggling against Harper's hold, the anger in her eyes turning to uncertainty.
The old manager stroked his well-groomed beard as he studied his employee. “Now, given our current predicament, I’m inclined to sympathize with you and the turmoil you must be going through. But such disgraceful conduct is completely unacceptable. Do you understand?”
Kimberly stared at her boss in a daze.
The old man must have found her lack of response adequate and moved his attention to Harper. “Thank you for being lenient with our employee, Ms. Hayes,” he said, giving her a deep nod. “Without you, someone could have truly gotten hurt.”
Harper shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”
“Please, Kimberly,” the general manager once again addressed his employee, his voice growing softer. “Allow James here to escort you. He will take you back to the staff lounge where we can better sort your issues out.” The old man stepped aside, making way for another staff member to approach.
Harper eyed them both before regarding Kimberly with a cold expression. With reluctance, Harper let the woman go, and the mousy-haired server wrapped a thick blanket around Kimberly before accompanying her away.
“Good man.” The old manager nodded watching them go, and he let out a deep sigh before he addressed the swarm of curious spectators. “Everyone, on behalf of Solace Springs Golf and Country Club, I would like to sincerely apologize for the power outage we are experiencing…and for the emotional trauma you may have suffered.
“As our most loyal patrons, we ask for your understanding concerning the issues at hand. The circumstances tonight have been rather unfortunate—and I dare say unforeseen—but worry not for we are resolving them as we speak. Please, do enjoy your stay while you wait for the staff to get the power back on and all our communications back in order.”
Russell wasn’t surprised when the old man received a sea of relieved nods and quite a few cheers. One speech from the manager to defuse the deteriorating situation, calming the crowd with simple rhetoric, managing to achieve what Serena failed to accomplish. The man had the gravitas of someone who had been in a position of power for a long time, a charisma earned not only with old age but through decades of actual leadership experience.
The general manager cleared his throat, reclaiming the attention of the bustling crowd. “Now, as a token of our appreciation, we have temporarily reopened the bar for refreshments,” he announced, gesturing in the direction of the restaurant. “On the house!”
Another chorus of cheers erupted as majority of the crowd dispersed, mostly club members who had nothing to do with their high school reunion, to begin with. But most of the alumni chose to stay behind, along with the rest of the staff who had arrived with the old manager. They all waited in silence, eager to witness how the drawn-out incident would end.
Looking at the large number of spectators remaining, the old manager shook his head, resigned to their presence.
Serena stepped forward from behind Russell. “Thank you—“
“I am disappointed in you, Ms. Solace.” The old manager said, causing Serena to stiffen in place.
And as if he was born to do so, Bradford butted in once again. “Mr. Harrington, if I may. It wasn’t her fault but Russell’s. I hope you understand—“
“I hope you understand, Mr. Collins, that this is a club matter,” the old manager said, cutting the douchebag short. “Similar to any other organization, this issue will be resolved by us, internally, as protocol dictates.” He gave Bradford a brief nod. “But we thank you for your concern.”
Russell stifled a smile. Someone else putting Bradford in his place could only be a decent person in his book. The old man did appear to be a stickler for the rules, a difficult boss to please. Russell could only feel sorry for Serena.
Mr. Harrington removed his spectacles and squinted at his lenses. “I do not care for what you have been up to with your little reunion, Ms. Solace,” he said, carrying on with his lecture. “Frankly, my dear, tonight has been a dumpster fire long before the power went out.”
“That’s…” Serena’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “I don't think you know what happened, Mr. Walter, but—"
“It's Mr. Harrington to you, Ms. Solace,” the old manager rebuked in a stern tone.
“O-Of course, Mr. Harrington…”
“And I have already been apprised of what happened,” he said, not even bothering to look at her. “So think twice before you try to insult my intelligence by selling me some worthless, superficial excuse.”
Serena bowed her head, wisely choosing to remain silent.
“I do not know what you were trying to do here,” Mr. Harrington continued as he wiped his lenses with a handkerchief, “spinning tales and fabricating lies in front of both the staff and members alike. What you should have been doing was managing the club as stated in your job title,” he said, scolding Serena in public. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t that have been your main responsibility, your sole focus as the assistant manager?”
Serena nodded as she bit her lip.
Manager Harrington fixed her a disapproving gaze. “Have you gone mute, Ms. Solace, or has tonight gone so terribly wrong for you that you even forgot the proper way to respond?”
“I haven’t…I mean…“ Serena hung her head even lower. “You were right about my job, Mr. Harrington.”
Russell winced at the old man’s tone. It felt like he was being forced to suck on a lemon as he stood by Serena’s side. Mr. Harrington scolded her like an adult would do to their child—but there was no fatherly love there, only condescension.
“You may have your surname at the gate of the country club, Ms. Solace, but I did not spend six decades of my life toiling for this company just to see a mere assistant manager try to make a fool out of her boss! Or cause a mass panic! Or be an accessory to a crime!” the old man fumed. “Those acts of insubordination will never be acceptable regardless of the circumstances, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Serena said, her eyes glued to the floor.
Russell balled his fists. Even the general manager refused to believe their story. After everything that happened, after trying everything he could think of, everyone here still believed he and Serena were lying, making stuff up, putting on some act. People refused to accept their story to be true, refused to believe the nightmare they had been through—not based on their word alone.
“This is exactly the problem with nepotism…” Mr. Harrington muttered under his breath. But whether or not he intended for it to happen, his voice carried in the silence for everyone there to hear. And Russell had heard enough.
“You're wrong,” he said.
Serena’s breath caught.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Harrington put his glasses back on and took a good look at him.
“I said you're wrong about Serena,” Russell repeated. “She handled everything that happened tonight to the best of her abilities.” He shot Bradford a scowl. “Frankly speaking, she would've pulled off her job if it weren’t for some people who kept trying to cause a problem.”
The old man's eyebrows rose. "Oh, you think so, do you, Mr. Flynn?"
“I do,” Russell said, hiding his surprise. Did the old man know all his guests by name?
“Well, everyone is indeed entitled to their opinion,” Mr. Harrington said as if talking to a child. “But given that we are now speaking frankly with one another, allow me to remind you of something important you may have forgotten.” He stepped closer and looked down his nose. “One should always know their place, Russell Flynn. And one should remember it well.”
Russell grimaced, doing his best to hold back his temper.
“And to be perfectly frank,” Manager Harrington continued, looking him up and down, “you are way out of place to even be here, young man.”
“You're the one out of place, you old coot!” Russell snapped.
“Russ!” Serena exclaimed.
“You talk big about protocols and responsibilities,” Russell said, “and yet you’re the one reprimanding an employee for the whole club to see!”
The old coot gaped at him even as Serena kept tugging at Russell’s sleeve.
“And I don't care what you or anyone else says!” he continued. “She wasn't lying about anything. We weren't making stuff up!”
Mr. Harrington let out a breath before shaking his head.
Again with that mocking attitude. Russell turned to stare at the faces around him, knowing it was now or never. He decided to go all in.
“I could prove it,” he declared.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Mr. Harrington blinked. “You could…prove it?"
“I could.”
“You’re saying you could prove that your monster was real?” the old manager asked, chuckling to himself. “Did I…Did I hear that correctly?”
Russell nodded, his stomach clenching with apprehension.
Mr. Harrington stood straighter, all the humor gone from his face. “You’re saying that you did not end up in a car accident because you were inebriated, nor did you crash into the front porch of our clubhouse because you were trying to commit vehicular manslaughter. No. You’re saying you can prove you committed such a foolhardy decision, such an audacious act, because you were genuinely trying to save the lives of Mr. Collins and Ms. Hayes,” the old manager said, fixing Russell a frigid gaze, “from some sort of monster?”
“I said I could prove it.” Russell stood his ground in front Mr. Harrington as he addressed the entire crowd. “I could show you. I could show everyone here that we’ve been telling you the truth.”
“Russel!” Serena yanked him on the arm. “What are you saying? Have you gone mad?!”
“Trust me,” Russell said, clasping her hand in his. Serena held his gaze, her eyes searching his for something he didn’t know.
“Well?” Manager Harrington prompted. “Please, do go on.”
The expectation in crowd’s eyes warred with the skepticism in their frowns. But everyone in the lobby seemed to hold their breath, waiting for what Russell would do next.
There was no turning back. He raised his right hand before him, his palm facing upward. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he closed his eyes, dove deep down into his mind, and willed for it to come.
Seconds passed, but no expected gasp of surprise came.
Feeling no difference, he popped one eye open, but he found nothing in his hand. He cast a quick look around him, his face heating with embarrassment. Many were looking back at him in confusion. Some stared back in disdain.
He squeezed his eyes shut and gave it another try. He drew in a deep breath to find his calm, to clear his mind of all unnecessary thoughts. He urged the object to appear, to show itself and manifest, to be real. Snapping his eyes open, he stared at his palm in expectation.
Nothing happened.
Why? he thought in dismay. Why isn’t it working?
Clayton let out an awkward cough beside him. “Maybe you need to say something out loud? Invoke some command?”
“Or maybe he needs to wave his magic wand first,” Bradford said in a mocking tone. “Try shouting the magic word while you’re at it, Flynn. Try really, really hard. This time with feelings.”
"C'mon!" Russell muttered through gritted teeth as chuckles spread throughout the crowd. He stared at his empty hand, feeling like he was holding a fifty-pound dumbbell in the air, the mocking looks of the spectators around him weighing him down.
Why the fudge is it not working?
No. He couldn’t be wrong about this. He knew what he had seen. It was real. He must simply be going about this the wrong way, and he let the gears in his mind turn, stirring his memories.
What the hell was it called again?
Mr. Harrington breathed out a sigh. “Please, Mr. Flynn—“
“Spirit Stone!” Russell called out, and still nothing happened.
“Just stop it, Flynn. This is getting—“
“Magic Stone!” he shouted again. He chose to follow his intuition.
“Russ, I don’t think it’s—“
“Magic Shard!” Again. Almost there. It was at the tip of his tongue.
“Dude, you’ve got to—“
“Spirit Shard!” He could taste it. He could feel it. In his heart. In his mind. In his very—
Russell sucked in a deep breath…
“Soul Shard!”
Light burst from his palm like a rising sun, illuminating his surroundings, momentarily flooding the dark lobby in brilliant white.
“What the fuck?!” Bradford cried out as squeals and shouts erupted all over the place.
The blinding light soon subsided, and something landed on Russell’s hand, something warm yet numbing, solid yet somehow ethereal. The orb of light dimmed until only the soft, radiant glow of a shard remained. It rested in the middle of his palm, a tiny fragment barely larger than a quarter, transparent like crystal, clear like quartz, multifaceted and iridescent like diamond.
And it buzzed with latent energy, the luminescence coming from within humming with power, pulsating like a living heartbeat, breathing like a living being—an embodiment of a soul.
Russell should've known from the start. It was neither a hallucination nor a nightmare; it was magic.
And it was real.
Transfixed, he continued to gape in awe until an idea popped into his head. Without a word, he willed the shard to return to where it came from.
It disappeared without a trace.
Clayton gasped next to him. “Dude! Where did it—“
Another momentary flash burst from his hand; the otherworldly crystal sat on his palm.
“—go…”
Russell smiled. With a mere thought, he made the shard disappear again. Then he made it reappear, conjuring it out of thin air. Then disappear. Then reappear. He did this over and over again, and with each manifestation of the shard, excitement rose inside him, flooding him with a wild mix of emotions until his smile turned into a chuckle, and his chuckle turned into manic laughter.
He laughed like nothing else mattered, guffawing like a madman in the company of a silent crowd—the same crowd that had been moments away from lynching him thinking he was mad.
There would be no lynching tonight.
After a while, the awkwardness of the moment got through to his head. His side ached from all the laughing, and he had to wipe a tear in his eye. He struggled to catch his breath as he was left gazing at the miracle he had in his grasp.
[Attribute Shard]
A new line of words filled his view, and he blinked his eyes a couple of times before scrunching his eyebrows. What the hell is it trying to say now?
“Is it real?” asked a male voice, and Russell veered his gaze away from the shard.
As soon as he took his eyes away, the words disappeared from view. How convenient.
Rook stood before the other half of the football team, his eyes locked on to the small, glowing object Russell held.
Russell picked up the shard and held it between his fingers. “What? Don’t tell me you aren’t seeing what I’m seeing.”
“Nah, we see it too.” Rook scratched his cheek. “Uhm, can I?”
Russell shrugged and tossed him the shard.
“Wait—” Rook's eyes popped wide open, his sudden shout exploding in the lobby. The man looked unsure if he should catch the unknown object with his bare hands or jump out of the way. But his curiosity must have won him over in the end, and he scrambled to cup his hands around the crystal before it fell on the floor.
“Holy…” he muttered, his voice carrying across the silent crowd. The faces of those around him reflected his own, looking on in sheer awe and quiet acceptance.
Russell gave Clayton a sidelong glance. The guy was visibly shaking beside him, his head about ready to explode. Russell counted the seconds in his head, managing to reach double digits before his friend finally couldn’t keep himself from staying still.
"Gimme it!" Clayton yelled as he shot forward with a wild look in his eyes.
His outburst created a domino effect. A wave of excitement swept over the crowd, replacing the shocked silence with wary anticipation. People woke up from their stupor, and the shoving and shouting restarted, this time for a different reason—everyone was eager to have a chance at the shard. The small crystal was soon passed around from one curious hand to the next, and the lobby became a large classroom of children all eager to participate in Russell’s magical show-and-tell.
Recalling something important, Russell searched for his target among the other group of football players, catching Bradford staring at the shard like the others. But unlike the rest, there was no excitement on his defeated face, only disbelief.
“You good, Collins?” Russell called out, speaking at the top of his voice, making sure everyone around them heard.
“Huh?” Bradford said in reply, visibly confused.
“You don't look so well,” Russell said. “You doing okay? You’ve been quiet for some time now.” He had never been the type to rub salt on someone’s wound, but given Bradford had tried damn hard to get him into trouble time and time again, Russell felt the douchebag had earned some well-deserved payback.
Bradford had nothing to say. He had no insults left in the tank. No comebacks. The guy was speechless for once.
“What? Got nothing to say? Not gonna continue to claim I was lying?” Russell egged the poor guy on before flashing him a smile. “You know what would help?”
The douchebag opened his mouth but failed to utter a single word.
“Why don’t you try shoving this one up your ass till it comes out the other end. That way you'd know for sure that it's real.”
Bradford ground his teeth, his pale face turning scarlet. The priceless look on the douchebag’s face was worth it, but it was only the beginning. Russell was already coming up with more insults to dish out.
Until someone elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to grunt in pain.
“Enough of that,” Serena whispered, her green eyes fixed on the shard. “You already know Brad’s a douche. Don’t stoop down to his level.”
Unlike Clayton’s animated reaction, the woman only had a weary smile on her face as if all the burden was finally lifted from her shoulders. Russell nudged her right back and gave her a wink. He had told her to trust him earlier, and he delivered.
Clayton snorted out a laugh as he returned to their side. “Ouch! Talk about getting butthurt,” the large guy said, his face all smiles. “And dude! That big reveal of yours? Fucking insane, man!”
“Wasn’t really expecting it to work,” Russell admitted. “But we were running out of options so…”
“Well, it was clutch play for sure,” Clayton said, patting him on the back. “Not gonna lie, I was starting to wonder if you were messing with us. Thought for sure you were trying to pull one over on everyone. Playing some kind of prank gone bad.”
Russell arched an eyebrow. “I remember you saying you believed me.”
“I did. Or I wanted to, anyway…” Clayton wore a goofy smile on his face. “Not saying I didn't have my reservations. I mean, for a moment there things were starting to get out of control, you know?”
Russell snorted before scanning the faces around him, feeling the palpable shift in the atmosphere. The animosity in people’s eyes had mellowed out, and the mob settled back into being a simple crowd.
The former football players were looking at one another in awkward silence. Standing nearby, Harper was among the few who didn’t show much enthusiasm, content with looking at other’s reactions from afar, but the woman’s eyes betrayed her curiosity. Manager Harrington had long left, claiming he had more important business to attend to. For a man who preached about principles, he hadn’t even bothered to give an apology.
Russell didn’t have to wait long before he got his shard back. Rook had made sure to keep an eye on the crystal, and the former defensive captain personally returned it to him, giving him a serious nod before heading back to his teammates.
Russell opened his mouth to thank him only to jerk his head backward in surprise.
Scanning shard…
He nearly dropped the shard as something new popped up in his vision. He clicked his tongue, wondering if these “messages” would keep appearing without any warning. Would he have to live with real-life pop-up advertisements from now on?
[Savage Might]
Type: Attribute Shard
Nobody had mentioned anything about the shard’s name. It must have reacted for him alone.
Calculating compatibility…
For now, it was safe to assume no one else could—
He hissed as his skin tingled. A static charge shot down his arm, coursing through his veins, spreading throughout his body.
Numbers flashed before his eyes. The digits shifted like reels spinning in a slot machine as the skin on his palm grew warmer by the second. He couldn’t quite read the numbers. All he could tell for sure was that only two digits were in play. At first, new digits replaced the old in the blink of an eye, but the rate they changed drastically slowed. And in a matter of seconds, the digits stopped moving altogether.
Compatibility: 98%
Would you like to assimilate this shard? [Y/N]
Russell shook the numbness away his other hand, thinking. He knew “assimilate” was just some fancy word for “absorb.” Could it mean that he was able to somehow consume this thing? But the more important question was—should he?
“There's something new here,” he muttered as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“Whaaat?” Clayton asked, enthusiasm overflowing in his face. “What is it? C’mon! Tell us!"
“It says I could assimilate it. That I could absorb the shard.”
“Absorb it?” Serena repeated with an incredulous look. “You can’t be serious?”
Russell took in the people around him. Serena and Clayton stayed loyally by his side, with Harper remaining close by, her intentions still unknown. The previous powder keg of an angry mob had been transformed into a captivated audience, and Russell couldn’t help but grin at the turn of events. Not too shabby for a mere magic trick.
He wasn’t a math whiz, but even he knew 98 percent was pretty darn good. Whatever it meant. And after everything he had been through tonight, what was the worst that could happen?
“What do you say?” he asked. “Should I do it?”
"For real?" Clayton gushed like a huge child. “Does it say you have to swallow it?”
“What?” Harper barked. “Are you insane?!”
Serena gasped. "Don't you dare!"
Russell looked at the three of them and shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. He clenched the shard in his hand and mentally accepted. But this time, the shard didn't simply vanish.
The crystal let out a burst of bright light, pushing his fingers open. A flurry of wind blew by, spreading outward from his hand, encompassing his immediate surroundings. A wave of shocked gasps followed as hair and clothes fluttered about for a brief second.
His breath caught. Like a chunk of ice thawing with his body heat, the shard melted into his hand. It glowed brightly for one final moment before the waning light diffused into his skin, sinking underneath, disappearing deep into his body.
A familiar charge of energy coursed through him, passing through his veins, saturating his bones and muscles, reaching every cell in his body. He gasped as a bout of sharp, intense pain came from nowhere, like a thousand needles piercing him through his pores, impaling him all at once, stabbing every inch of his being until the unbearable sensation threatened to overwhelm him. Yet by pushing through the pain, by overcoming his limit, by squeezing out whatever drop of willpower he had left, he endured in the end.
And then Russell felt it.
The change.
It came from within, from the very center of his being. Something inside him had snapped into place with a metaphysical click, and the last vestiges of the soul shard merged with him.
Assimilation successful.