The abilities all sounded interesting. It was particularly nice to know that his current abilities could get upgraded with new aspects that could change how they worked.

Flowing Flames piqued his interest. Being able to move his flames down the length of his weapon would not only significantly increase the lethality of his blade, but would also make it easier to gather more Souls. More Souls also meant more skills according to the words that had just floated before him. It was tempting.

Nathan and Arnold continued down the street. Nathan was doing his best to figure out which skill to choose while also keeping one eye open for any threats lurking within the shadows.

The remaining two were completely new skills. In the future, they would likely come with their very own set of upgrades as well.

Mists of the River could make stealth, combat, and escape significantly easier. It would be just like having smoke grenades back on earth – something that he could make very good use of. It didn’t seem super flashy, but flashiness often got people killed. Nathan preferred the simple methods. Quick and easy.

But Aspiring… Nathan had no idea what the Ability was even implying that it did. If it did anything at all. His best guess was that it was something that assisted in his growth, allowing him to go further, faster. But all the same, it called to him. It was like the Threads had looked inside his heart, his soul, and acknowledged what he felt.

I want to be stronger. More.

God, or the gods, or the Threads, or maybe they were all one and the same, had seen what he wanted and felt it worthy. That he had potential.

Plus, how could he ignore the God Class Ability tag. Anyone who’d ever played a video game back on earth would scream at him if he didn’t choose it.

Nathan reached out his hand, finger extended, and brushed it through the Aspiring skill. It felt like sinking his finger into warm syrup.

The words shimmered away, fading into motes of light that drifted out of sight. A sensation filled his being. Like a pot of water just moments from coming to a boil. Or a seed buried in the earth, holding the promise of sprouting into a towering tree. Potential.

New Ability gained: Aspiring.

Total Echoes Ushered: [2/5]

Arnold shot a look toward Nathan as they approached a building at the end of the street. “Last chance to turn around, son,” the man said. Nathan could tell from his voice that no matter Nathan’s decision, Arnold would not be turning around.

“I made my choice back at the tavern,” Nathan replied, eyes set on the large manor before them. “I’m helping you. Besides, I don’t like leaving things unfinished. I got myself involved with this the moment I killed that mugger in the alleyway. I doubt Night Hunt would just let me walk away.”

“You’re a good man.”

Nathan suppressed a laugh. He doubted many people would agree with that statement, least of all him. But, maybe someday. Maybe.

The manor was different from the other buildings they’d passed. Larger, more imposing, a few more spires here, several wider windows there. A tall, black spiked fence surrounded the entirety of it, like spears jutting from the earth. But the street it was on was much the same as all the others they had walked. Broken windows, dangerous alleys, the rare beggar sleeping on the street.

Looks like a warm, and welcoming place. If I were alone, I could break in and take back David without them ever knowing… Actually, probably not. I’m sure they have some sort of detection magic or magical barriers. It’d be like back in Belgium when I had to break into that mansion naked. He smiled. Ah, good times.

Arnold stepped up the front gate and banged his ax on it with several loud clanging sounds. Two beggars that had been sleeping, leaned up against the fence, shot up and ran off into the night. Smart.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Knock knock, Fallon! You mangy bastard!” Arnold bellowed, smacking his ax against the gate one more time for good measure. If they somehow hadn’t seen them before, stealth was definitely out the window now. “I’m here for the boy. Bring him out here or I’ll knock this flimsy fence down and drag him out myself!”

Two guardsmen that had been standing on either side of the front door to the manor walked up to the other side of the gate, long halberds in their hands.

“Do you have a plan? Or are you just planning on just fighting your way through all of this?” Nathan asked, one hand on his chin. Arnold seemed to be fairly level headed, but he had only known the man for less than a few days, he could be hiding a chaotic streak. Attempting a head on assault would more than likely just lead to their deaths – Cleo would kill him if he got them killed.

“I ain’t a fool,” Arnold said as the two men approached. “I just want to talk to him. Make him see reason and let David go.”

Nathan had a sneaking suspicion that any talking they did would be at the sharp end of a knife. Conversation always flowed better with a blade to someone’s throat. There was no subtlety that way – and Nathan liked that, everyone knew what was on the table, they got to the point. A man was much more likely to be honest with five inches of razored steel as encouragement. Plus he’d already given Arnold his word, and as he’d said, he hated leaving things unfinished.

“Business?” one of the guards asked. They were dressed the same as the ones that had come to the tavern. Scarred faces and dark cloaks. Nathan still had his own hood up, hiding his face – not that it likely mattered.

“You know what in the hells I’m here for,” Arnold said. “Where’s the boy?”

Nathan expected the men to protest, but instead they just brought out a key, unlocked the gate, and led them inside. They made their way down a path made of paved stones and to the front door of the manor.

“Your boy’s really done it this time, Arnold,” one of the men said with a smile as he swung open the main door.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Arnold said, striding in without a second glance at the men.

Nathan followed inside and found himself in a wide, rich looking room. Deep red couches ringed low tables within a wide room. Chandeliers of candles hung suspended above the room. The massive head of a stuffed wolf placed above a lit fireplace on the far side of the room. The wolf’s eyes had been replaced with rubies or red glass, and its snout was permanently frozen in a snarl, revealing its wicked teeth. Several men sat on the couches, drinking or playing cards, and they all looked up as Arnold and Nathan passed through the room.

It was eerily silent, the sound of their footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed through the room. A long carpet the same color as the couches led through the room to a door near the fireplace. If this had been a videogame, the door would have had big red letters saying Boss. Arnold stalked toward the door with the confidence of a man who had been here many times.

“You’re dead, Arnold,” a man playing cards sneered. He had a shaved head and a missing tooth. Chuckles and jibes echoed around the room as each guild member took their turn berating Arnold or Nathan as they passed, though none moved to stop them. Nathan spotted Raff sitting on the edge of a couch, cradling a bandaged hand, and refusing to look up at them.

Most of the insults were directed at Arnold, but one man missing a hand dared call Nathan a lapdog. A drop of heat fell like lead in his stomach, threatening to boil up with anger, but Nathan smothered it. No, he thought, I’m not one any longer. Had he been, the man would have lost his remaining hand. Instead, Nathan did nothing except take note of the man’s face.

“You boys have been telling me the same thing for years,” Arnold said. “I stopped believing you ages ago.”

Arnold slammed his hand against the door with a thud. It slowly groaned open with all the grace of Nathan trying to get out of a low chair before he’d gotten his new body. No light seeped out from the other side.

Nathan turned back to face the crowd of watchers. They watched him with rapt attention, hands ready to reach for weapons at their sides. Arnold had already stepped into the room beyond. It was just Nathan and nearly a dozen men that deserved no mercy. Deserved to die.

Calm yourself. Fighting right now only gets us killed.

He let out a deep sigh.

“Baldy over there is cheating,” Nathan said, before slipping through the doorway, following Arnold into the dark room.

“Am not!” the man with the shaved head yelled with all the confidence of a man who had been caught cheating on multiple occasions and was still convinced that people would believe him.

The door ground to a close behind Nathan, shutting out the yells from the other room. Low flames were situated on the walls of the room, leading to the other side like the lights on airstrip. It took several seconds for Nathan’s eyes to adjust to the light, but he soon spotted Arnold’s silhouette just several steps ahead.

The air in this room was different. Staler. Everything smelled of dust with a faint undertone of rotted vegetables. It was all too familiar to Nathan, the scent of slowly encroaching death, like a nursing home. He hated it.

Nathan stepped up beside Arnold, his eyes focusing on the other end of the room in the dim lighting. There, within the recesses of the shadows, sat a man on a throne.