ANALYZE (LEVEL 3)

SPECIES

SVARTALFAR

Total Soul Capacity

1,443

Used Soul Capacity

1,389

Total Lifeforce Capacity

845

Lifeforce Production Rate

243/hour

Svartalfar.

Creatures from Nordic myth. A legendary breed of craftsmen who crafted weapons fit for the use of the Norse Gods.

And he was surrounded by them.

The grim, greying humanoid creatures circled him and Tanya with sharp, pointed weapons, and by the looks of it, had no compunctions about killing. It was patently obvious, considering how one of them immediately declared him a trespasser and swung an axe at him to decapitate his head.

And despite everything that was happening, he was acutely aware of Tanya’s weight on him. As was… his body. It was times like this that reminded him how lifeforce was more than the ability to throw kinetic blasts or shatter bones with a finger. It was a spiritual herald of all things primal and primitive. Survival, hunger, rage, lust—

His attacker let out a warbled warcry as he approached, which captured his attention once more.

Lukas took a deep breath, carefully exhaling so that it wouldn’t blast the creature back by ten feet. As it was, his first instinct wasn’t to run or hide, but to instantly attack whatever made him wary. It was a primitive reaction, one ingrained into him while fighting monster after monster for months with his bare hands.

Living in the Crypt had really fucked up his idea of proper reactions to fear.

But he controlled himself. Rather than trying to turn his attacker into a smear across the ground, he raised his palm instead. That, surprisingly, made the attacker pause in his swing. His leathery face turned sour, the lines at the corners of its mouth deepening.

“I’m a newcomer to this town,” he intoned. “And it was not my intention to create a ruckus.”

Now that Lukas was up close with one, he could see that the svartalfar all wore cloth, leather, and armor inscribed with odd geometric shapes in colors that were different, yet somehow similar, to black. Some of them were tall and emaciated, some were squat and muscular, some were medium-sized, and the rest were every combination in between. Some had no ears, huge ears, odd, saggy chins—

It was like every single one looked utterly different from the other.

In fact, the only thing they seemed to have in common was how well-armed they were. Each were adorned with knives, swords, axes, and other cruel-looking implements of battle he’d never even laid eyes on before. And, given how Tanya smacked her face with her palm, he couldn’t help but wonder whether speaking just made things worse.

“You speak our tongue?” the creature croaked in an eerie Minnesota-like accent. Or maybe it was the translation spell that was making him see it that way.

“How?” the creature went on, his red eyes shining like rubies. “How do you speak our tongue?”

“I, uh, I learned it.”

Lukas felt like slapping himself. Getting out of this one was gonna be fun.

His executioner shifted his balance to his right foot and slowly lowered his head. Despite the dim lighting, he was close enough to make out the most distinctive feature on the greyish, alien face— intricate tattoos that laced the skin around his eyes. They were enormous, reaching all the way across his brow and up the sides of his nose.

“Learned it from whom?” the creature pressed, brandishing his axe menacingly. Around him, the other svartalfar tightened their grips on their weapons.

Lukas weighed his options. What was he going to say? What could he say? That he’d met some other svartalfar kind enough to teach him? Literary interpretations of the race on Earth painted them as women-obsessed subterranean metalsmiths who crafted powerful weapons for the Norse gods. Nothing in the stories suggested they ever sent out colonies to other civilizations.

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When in doubt, bluff like there’s no tomorrow.

“How does that matter?” he replied, adding some displeasure to his tone. “Here I was, hoping to visit the famous svartalfar colony that my lady-friend here frequents so much.” Using the opportunity to pull Tanya off of him, he got onto his feet. “But if you’re going to be rude—”

“Have care how you speak, trespasser!” the svartalfar retorted indignantly.

“My kami specializes in the absorption of energy and the dissolution of enchantments,” he went on, ignoring the svartalfar and trying his best not to appear nervous. He’d be damned if he’d allow this hunter dog of a creature to sniff out his fear. “But clearly, you have no appreciation for my talents.”

“Lukas!” Tanya hissed, her face utterly white.

“Shut up Tanya,” he retorted, taking a page from Burger’s book and donning the most condescending sneer he could make. “Look at them! I demonstrate my best presentation, and instead of giving me the recognition I rightfully deserve, these twits donmmmhhh—”

Tanya slapped her sweaty hand onto his mouth, her eyes widening with growing horror. Clearly, she thought he was just trying to piss them off with no plan and was going to get them both killed in a spectacularly horrible fashion.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her how right she was.

“Recognition?” one of the other guards asked. “For what?”

“Mmmmbmmm—”

Another guard yanked away Tanya’s hand. “Speak your fill, trespasser,” he said.

“Well,” Lukas lightly coughed into his fist, “I believe I’ve demonstrated some large holes in your security system.”

“The same security system that led us to you before you could escape, trespasser?”

“Escape?” Lukas drawled, as if explaining something to a child. “I stood in the same spot and drained the power from the stone. I casually stood there, waiting for someone, anyone, to come and catch me. Even when you did, I had to keep myself from accidentally injuring you.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I couldn’t have pulled off a worse security snafu if you gave me a year to plan.”

Tanya audibly sighed. “We’re so going to die.”

The first guard narrowed his eyes. “You speak like a barbarian, but… your words hold some merit.” He looked around at the other guards, before meeting his gaze again. “I speak for all of us. We want to see your supposed skills first hand.”

Lukas stuck out his chin and stood up straight. He was easily two feet taller than the guard, if not more, though the creature outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. “I am willing, but upon the condition that—”

“You are our captive. You do not make demands!” he barked back. Lukas’s lifeforce eyes glinted as he considered killing him again. But instead, he just tilted his head and spread his arms out wide. “I’ve showcased my talents once. I don’t do free second shows for those who are ungrateful.”

“You expect compensation?” another guard rumbled.

Lukas nodded. “Normally, I charge up-front. But in this case, I will be satisfied with the promise of more work in the future. Especially in light of the skills I demonstrate.”

“And what can you do, Asukan?” the first guard questioned.

They think I’m an Asukan? Lukas mused. Must be the attitude.

“My mate and I,” he grabbed Tanya by the waist and pulled her close, ignoring her look of surprise, “are freelance adventurers. She came to this town ahead of me, but I arrived recently. We are…”

“We’re looking for work,” Tanya continued from where he left off, plastering a smile on her face. “Difficult, but good work. Anything that pays a lot of coin. I’m a wind spiritist, and he’s—” She looked at him. “He’s a flame spiritist.”

“A flame spiritist who is also capable of dissolving enchantments?” another svartalfar probed.

“It’s as I said,” Lukas grinned. “I’m skilled. Both in spellcasting as well as melee combat.”

“A foolish bluff,” the first guard scoffed. “Any Asukan worth their salt would know not to test their mettle against our kind in melee.”

Lukas smirked. Bingo.

“Then you should have no problems accepting my challenge. You and me. Let’s take this to the battlefield.”

“A battle to decide who is more worthy?” one among the crowd spoke. “Trial By Blood?”

“A battle to end this mess,” Lukas clarified.

“Without your flames, Asukan?” the guard snarked.

“Whatever gets you to sleep better.” He didn’t really need the flames. Even without it, he had more than enough firepower at hand for a single fight. “But I would like to select a weapon for the fight. And if I win—”

“State your terms.”

“Both of us go free. And,” he smirked, “you craft me a weapon. An axe, much like your own. Plus, both of us get hired in the service of your nation for the foreseeable future.”

A wave of whispers erupted around him, as if Lukas had just done something impossibly impudent. And it seemed Tanya shared the sentiment, as she tightly gripped his wrist and leaned in.

“This is madness,” she hissed in his ear.

“Do you have a better idea?”.

“Yes! If you had just let me do the negotiating, we wouldn’t be in this mess at all. And what’s all this ‘mate’ nonsense anyway?”

“How’d I know they’d get all twitchy over the language thing?” he retorted, ignoring the latter half of her statement.

“What do you mean? That’s just common—” Tanya paused, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know what? Never mind.”

The whispers slowly began to abate.

“And what if you lose?” came a query from a svartalfar in the crowd, likely the only rational one among them. Lukas glanced at Tanya, and found her biting her lip. At least she still had the smile on her face. Hopefully it meant she was more startled than truly afraid.

Did Tanya think he would actually lose? After seeing firsthand what he was capable of?

Lukas’s vicious, axe-wielding opponent sneered at him, his smile showing off his white, jagged teeth. Power and confidence alike seemed to ooze from his every pore, and he spoke with the voice of a predator, one who never failed to bring down his prey.

“If he loses, then I finish my swing. I place his head upon the outer gates as a warning to any who dare to follow.”

His lips twisted.

“And then, I claim his woman as my own.”

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