Fonta wound up in a strange shop where various cubed boxes sat on shelves. There appeared to be exactly 6-inches long, wide, and high, perfect squares. To the degree that they could potentially cut open someone’s hand.
Sliding his finger along the edge of one he noticed an invisible shell around the item.
“Don’t touch the merchandise, " echoed a voice in Fonta’s head.”
“Who is this?” Fonta asked.
“A simple archivist. What do you wish to learn?”
“I’ve been hearing about these cubes a lot, but I don’t know what they do?”
“They transfer first-hand experiences recorded within and engrave themselves into your mind permanently. It allows someone to gain skills that take years, in days. They transfer knowledge, feelings, emotions, senses, and experience.”
“That sounds neat.”
“Is that all, just neat?”
“I hear the words but they aren’t exactly clicking.”
“Do you have something you want to learn?”
“Do you have anything that can teach me how to read the precursor language?”
“If I did, do you think I would be working here?”
“Yes. It would be something you kept for special clients.”
“You aren’t wrong.”
“Do you have cubes for fighting styles?”
“Yes, though those are notoriously difficult to comprehend.”
“Do you also do that gacha thing?”
“Like the minotaur?”
“Yes. Like a box of skills, people don’t want or care about? A bargain bin of sorts.”
“No, well yes, but they aren’t in a bin. Sensations of pain, fear, dread, hunger, sorrow, despair, and anger. Those as well as other powerful emotions can be transmitted and make some cubes less valuable to most customers and they are quite a bit cheaper.”
“Good, show me those.”
“How many do you want to borrow?”
“I’ll give you 75,000 credits for as many of those that you're willing to give me.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough.” Fonta tried to squint.
“You want to learn skills useful to yourself, correct?”
“Yes, mostly combat stuff, movement techniques. I can deal with pain, and most other trauma, Addiction, is not one I want to deal with.”
“I’ll remove anything I deem more harmful than understanding.”
“Do what you must, not all trauma is equal and there are some I’ve seen in the eyes of my siblings before they joined the family.”
“I see. Do you want me to put them in a bin? Or do you have a dimensional ring?”
“A what?” It sounded familiar, sadly his recall was limited by his interests.
“It's an item that you can use to put really big things into really small things,” Casimar stated having appeared out of nowhere.
“Where did you come from?” Fonta asked in surprise.
“I followed you from the music store. I thought you were going to learn an instrument.”
“Oh, right. Meh, archivist can you add some music stuff to my list as well.”
“That's already 25% of it. Lots of starving or threatened artists of all kinds have sold their memories for food.”
“Perfect.” Fonta nodded.
Casimar sighed as his savior agreed to put himself through massive amounts of torment to save some money.
Fonta nodded. “Fonta Pain, the branch director has my funds and he will pay for what I buy.”
“You said 75,000 Ducks, right?”
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“Of course. Where are you anyways?” Fonta looked at the floating cubes and bin in curiosity.”
“Doesn’t matter, your payment has been accepted now head out.” The archivist stated.
Fonta continued to look, finding no one in his search, he closed both of his eyes. He sensed nothing which was quite odd.
“Alright.” Fonta had received over 40 of the skill cubes forcing him to buy a bin from the Mal Dynamis for 400 Ducks.”
Casimar sighed. “Don’t tell me you plan on making a profit.”
“Eventually, but no, these are investments.” Fonta pulled one out and looked at it.
Captive Musician: Summary, imparts basic and advanced musical theory, advanced sight reading and memorization techniques, as well as the ability to play or act under the pressure of a deranged dark cultivator. Teaches saxophone play from beginner to master. Warning: Ends with a sudden violent death.
“Well…that sounds effective.”
“Wait until you get home. Speaking of that, where do you live?”
“With my current teacher. You are not invited, not unless you agree to eventually join my sect.”
“I’ll need to talk to my father about that. I have obligations to my homeland, those won’t allow for me to willingly join any sect my people don’t approve of.”
“Dang, guess you’ll miss out on founder bonuses.”
“Such as?”
“A training partner who is always ready for a fight. And some other things.” Fonta stopped by the man with the fox at the entrance.
“Can you purchase a Dimensional ring or something for me with the money I make here?”
“Any price limits?”
“Anything you know I can reasonably pay back,” Fonta added.
“Good, see you soon.”
Fonta nodded as he carried his loot home.
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“Let me get this straight. You went to the music store for an instrument, correct?”
“Yes.”
“But the person there was trying to fleece you for the one you wanted.”
“Correct, they wanted 100,000 for a piano. I didn’t have that much.”
“Yeah they usually cost half as much, and only if they are really nice. But then you spend all your cash on skill cubes. Not safe and necessary mind you, cheap, effective, and traumatic. Are you trying to lose your mind?” Zara asked.
“Can’t lose what you don’t have,” Yang said without thinking, seemingly he looked up and noticed Fonta didn’t budge.
“Right. My current intelligence is six, it was a bad idea to leave me alone with any money. But hey, it was only auction money, so it wasn’t a waste but an investment.”
“You’re right. Angel should have gone with you. Still, what about him?” Zara pointed to Casimar.
“75,000 credits isn’t much in the grand design. I get double that as an allowance. I didn’t realize you were so po– in need of Ducks.”
“We aren’t, I still have the money I get from working in the kitchen. Which is only 10,000 after 3 months but that's liveable here. “
“It’s just inefficient buying so many when you can likely only use 3 before going insane.”
“That won’t be much of a problem,” Yang stated.
“See, have some faith, Zara.”
“He’s already insane, that's why you’re alive. Let him be himself.”
Fonta went from happy to mad, then landed in confusion. “How do I use one of these anyway?”
“You need to enter a sensory deprivation room. Your eyes and ears will be covered, and an incense will be lit. While Lit you will place a cube at the base of your neck and the memories will be played. How long it takes won’t matter, some take seconds, and others may feel like years. But both will end before the incense stick burns. As a precursor, the memories won’t burn into your mind the same way. You will know who you are, and the knowledge you need will be learned, the trauma will be dulled but still present. But you’re used to trauma.” The puppeteer spoke directly into his head.
Fonta dodged as the puppet suddenly stood and led him to a back room.
“Is this normal?” Casimar asked.
“Telepathy, and yes, those two tend to have secret conversations a lot. I don’t think Fonta thinks too hard about it.”
“I take it he forgets not everyone can hear the other side.”
“He’s getting better. It used to be worse before he’d threatened Zara with a fight for trying to teach him things.” Yang nodded.
“It wasn’t that bad. But yes, he is a bit primal. Like a condensed ball of violence.”
“Does he fight all of his friends?”
“He hasn’t fought Angel. Though that has more to do with the both of us coming off on the wrong foot.”
“What did you do?” Casimar asked.
“He thought I hit on his sister.”
“Thought?”
“It’s a long story.”
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Fonta did not like having his eyes and ears covered. Nor did he like the incense lit while the puppet.
“How long have you dealt in skill cubes?”
“Elaborate.”
“I just bought these from you, didn’t I,” Fonta stated.
“Oh, no. The thing with second generations is that we tend to have large families. Polygamy tends to be the rule if not the expectation when first generations show up. Everyone wants a piece of the innate power. What did you notice?”
“Telepathy, or possession, or whatever it is you do.”
“Possession, is likely what it is. My precursor trait lets me possess objects or project a portion of my soul repeatedly. So I learned early on how to manipulate limbs with the energy, though each split is much weaker than the last. My gourd for and the one prior were elpmet stage, while this form was awakened. Precursor traits are genetic and usually appear once you reach maturity. Maturity is not the same as age. It's more the ability of your body to handle that power. Did you get all that?”
“No. Lost me around the point where you admitted to being at least Nascent realm.”
“That's far enough. Which one do you want first?”
“Captive musician.”
“Alright.”
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The smell of incense faded yet everything stayed dark and silent as his heart rate shot up. He tried to breathe and struggled. His head was pounding heavily as he tried to recall what happened. Then the scene changed as he was playing a golden saxophone in a tavern.
His fingers moved naturally across the instrument as though it was a part of himself and the music he played soothed many of the people present. He played his heart out and eventually his song ended in applause as he left the stage. Receiving his payment for performing.
As he left through the back, something hit him on the head and everything went dark.
The scene continued and the man thought through everything he learned to calm himself down, from the situation he was in even as the stench of rot snuck into the bag over his head.
Years of practicing on his saxophone, decades of refining his path, and even teaching others to play like him on occasion. Liu was a talented musician who’d done some cultivation to stay young but didn’t bother learning to fight or much situational awareness. And for that, he’d been taken.
After two hours of darkness the bag was removed as light entered his eyes and a figure in a plague doctor mask eyed him with slitted scarlet spheres. Looking down, the man noticed he was wiry thin, and starving as various corpses lay on the cart around him. Their heads were also covered.
“How long?”
“About a week. A shame the others didn’t make it you work for me now.”
The musician had become a servant, playing for the masked cultivator, going along with their whims, and even being used as a punching bag when they were in a foul mood. As time went on, the harsh treatment lessened and the musician felt weird. As though he’d miss it.
Another year passed and by some chance, he’d seen his captor without the mask. The entire front had been torn off and burned as scars traveled down to their neck. The appearance the musician had seen was that of someone who’d been harmed greatly by another.
After that incident, the beatings did return for a while, as he returned to being her captive magician. Years then decades passed as the musician was no longer in his prime when he put on one final show using what he’d experienced over his long life. A song of pain, terror, despair, depression, and love. There was no light or hope at the end of the tunnel. Then there was a sharp pain in his arms, then his legs, as they were impaled by black vines. Finally, his heart was impaled and the memory ended.
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Fonta began to hyperventilate as memories and knowledge were separated as the phantom pain in his heart faded and knowledge of music was engraved into him as well as practices to increase pain tolerance. “What in the Serpent was that? It was horrible.”
“Did you learn something?”
“I really should not have agreed to come along with you alone, fear of the dark and a simple request. Please don’t kill me if I see your face on accident. Oh, and I have a basic understanding of music.”
“How about another?”
“Nope, I need time to remember who I am. I am not the guy killed by the woman he fell in love with after she kidnapped him for decades. I don't need that confusion.” Fonta added,
“So that's your limit?”
“Just need some time. The way you described it, the raw emotion and dread at the end, it was hard to shake off.”
“So it wasn't physical pain that got to you?”
“What felt like years flew by in what feels like seconds.”
“So you aren’t.”
“I’ll get to them eventually. Actually, It’s fading fast. What’s going on?” Fonta scowled as he passed Chi through his pathways and let out a deep breath.