Rather than a secret base, the events that took place on this dark day happened in the comfort of a small house in Han'ei. Everything was immaculate, with a slight orange colour scheme and banners of oriental words hung up on the wall. In this living room stood an assassin, cane in hand, facing the keeper of the house - a matured, slightly grizzled man, with light brown skin, grey, stone-cold eyes and a scruffy bed of silver hair.

"So, the day has come...I knew you'd be sent after me eventually."

"Allowing you to live can prove dangerous. Thus, I have been ordered not to."

"There's no way I could take you on in a duel. That much is clear to me. And yet, I cannot help but challenge you, regardless."

"..."

No more words were exchanged, and they did battle. The housekeeper was a true warrior, and he battled with the utmost honour. But he couldn't beat the cruel hands of the assassin, and with the shattering sound of glass, he fell to his feet.

"You know, it's funny. Me, the informant, being executed for knowing too much. It's quite ironic."

"It's ironic that you didn't know resigning would be a bad idea."

"To be frank...I knew the whole time. I just...couldn't bear to be a part of this anymore. Even if the end-goal is good, I don't want any part of the journey anymore."

"...I don't understand."

"Maybe in due time, you will. But for now, don't you have a task to carry out?"

"...right. May your journey into the void be a peaceful one."

"...Father?"

The assassin briefly paused as he heard that voice - a young boy, just a little younger than him, sounding innocent, untarnished by the world. For now, anyway. As he looked at the source of this voice, he saw the speaker standing by the doorway. A teenager, sharing the light brown skin and scruffy silver hair of the man on the ground, while his orange eyes were shining with increasingly-fragile innocence.

And for a moment, their eyes met directly, before the assassin closed his blue eyes. Shaking his head, he raised his cane, looking back at the victim. It was a shame his son had to be here, but a job was a job. So without hesitation, he struck the finishing blow...

...and then he woke up, his eyes fluttering open wide as he looked around, sighing audibly. His hand on his chest, he sat on his bed, taking a few breathing exercises to calm his nerves and beating heart.

"...the same dream, huh?" he murmured, looking up to the grey ceiling with dead eyes. "...to think I forgot about this until now..."

Three days had passed since his encounter with Makoto, and ever since then, that memory, of which he had previously been given three lines, engraved itself into his mind, haunting him ever since. He had gotten used to the headaches, but not the guilt. The memory of him slaying Ryuto - and in front of Makoto, no less - just had him thinking. How horrible would he have to have been to do that?

Inigo never claimed to be a hero, villain, anything of the sort. He generally didn't care about that sort of thing. But he did have certain things that even he could agree was too cruel, and claiming a man's life in front of his father? No wonder he was so mad at him.

"Just...who the hell am I?" he asked, now looking down at his pale, uncovered hands. The hands that had killed a boy's father. Slowly, he began to climb out of bed, listening to the subtle sound of drizzle from outside. "Why did I..."

At that, he changed out of his grey nightgown and into a lavender hoodie and an off-black pair of slacks. Throwing his hood up, he walked out of the inn he was staying at and into the night. He didn't pay attention to the others nearby, and he was certain most of them weren't paying attention to him, either. They weren't important right now; he simply needed his nighttime walk right now. So he walked out of the inn and into the streets of Arc Town, heading towards one of the exits.

.........

The rain fell gently onto the earth - just heavily enough to be bearable without an umbrella. He could hear a car or two in the distance, and the smell of soaked earth filled the nostrils of anyone who was out, though the combination of the rain and the time made it so that there were only relatively few, with some drama queens dashing into the nearest buildings.

But not Inigo. He strolled through, seemingly casually, with his hood up and his hands in his pockets. He felt the rain on his clothes and saw it in his surroundings - right now, he was passing a marketplace with a plethora of stalls. At daytime, these would have been colourful, with people selling candy, meats, fruits and whatnot. But most of those people had packed up shop for the night, and their stalls were covered up and presumably empty.

As he walked out of the market and into the long, charcoal-coloured pavement leading to the next town, he sighed, looking down to the ground.

Being surrounded by water was nothing new to him. For he was always fully submerged, he found. His existence was one spent sinking in his own little ocean of confusion and doubt. And ever since meeting Makoto, he only found himself sinking further, doubting his identity, loathing his identity. Because the one who did that to Makoto was him - but at the same time, it was different...right?

So he liked the rain. It felt different from the ocean. It allowed him to take his mind off his predicament a little and focus on his surroundings. It wasn't quite as effective as he might have hoped today, but it did manage to soothe him somewhat. With these doubts swimming about in his mind, he wandered across the road. He heard a car passing by the road next to him, and saw many indistinct buildings come and go as he walked, trying to ignore his gloomy thoughts and focus on his surroundings.

Yes, he focused on all these sensations. The sound of the rain, which wasn't dying down and instead got ever so slightly heavier over time. The puddles forming on the ground, and the sound and feeling of splashing water whenever he'd step in one. The earthy smell filling the air. The sight of a shady-looking man disappearing behind an alley, followed by the sounds of chattering and sinister giggling...

"Only in Erdeland." he sighed in annoyance, physically and mentally preparing himself for a fight he knew was coming. He knew how bandits operated. Maybe a quick scuffle would help take his mind off things. And he wasn't running low on money, but one could never be too safe in that regard.

He walked past the alleyway, doing his best to ignore them, but he couldn't resist taking a small peek inside, finding three punks standing by, with black leather jackets and wildly-styled hair of different colours. One of them held a crowbar, one a pitchfork, and one an umbrella. They all looked unpleasant, so he decided to simply let them do whatever it was they planned to do. And sure enough, the second he looked away;

"Oi, mate! The fuck are you looking at?"

Narrowing his eyes, Inigo turned around to look at the trio, taking in their features and seeing that they weren't quite as indistinct as he might have expected. Pitchfork Guy was short and stout, with bright red spikes on a chrome dome. Mr. Crowbar was tall and lanky, with a green mohawk. And their presumable leader, Sir Umbrella, was muscular and roughly the size of a barge, with his hair styled as a neon yellow pompadour. He stood out because his jacket was closed and had no sleeves, showing off his arms covered with tattooed-on scars, while the other two bared their chests and stomachs, for better or worse.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Nothing much. Just passing through." Inigo sighed, his face as apathetic as it could be. Internally, he had fun watching as their smug faces grew enraged in the blink of an eye, Pitchfork Guy and Mr. Crowbar staring at each other in disbelief.

"Did you hear that?"

"He said we're 'nothing much'! You gonna have that, boss?"

"I won't." Sir Umbrella growled, glaring down at the noticeably shorter Inigo. "Strange skeleton, if you knew who we were, you wouldn't be calling us 'nothing much'."

Inigo stared back, shaking his eyes as he observed the man closely. "...are you Libera?"

"Hah! Look at this moron! He thinks we're Libera!"

"We're so much better than those posers, ain't that right, boss?"

"It is." Sir Umbrella replied, closing his umbrella and pointing it towards Inigo, who raised a quizzical eyebrow in response. "We are the Caricatures, and this is our turf!"

"...right." Inigo replied calmly, choosing not to remark on the unfamiliar name just yet. "As I said, I'm just passing through. Maybe we can play nice here."

"Of course we can." Sir Umbrella told him, while Pitchfork Guy and Mr. Crowbar brandished their namesake weapons threateningly. "But there's a toll for trespassing on our domain. Empty your pockets, skeleton."

"...I'm broke." Inigo lied.

"Hmm, strange. I don't believe you." Sir Umbrella said, crossing his arms. "Because I've come across five different 'broke' bitches just tonight, and they all happened to have a little something on them."

"Fascinating." Inigo replied, turning back in the direction he'd been walking in and continuing his stroll, causing Pitchfork Guy and Mr. Crowbar to audibly gasp.

"Any second now..."

And a few seconds later, a furious Sir Umbrella finished processing what had happened and gripped his umbrella handle tightly, looking down on his underlings with three, calmly-spoken words hiding a silent indignation;

"Get him, boys."

Still on the pavement, Inigo heard the hooting and hollering of two insipid lackeys and footsteps from behind him. Not having made it too far, he turned around and saw the rabid Mr. Crowbar and Pitchfork Guy charging at him.

Wordlessly, he generated a bubbling pool of water beneath his feet and flipped backwards, landing on one hand. With his movement, he sent forth a fast wave of water that the two stooges tried to brave, running through it only to feel the damage dealt by the magic water. They didn't let this deter them and continued their pursuit.

Inigo jumped off his hand, leaping back into his personal puddle and sending another wave towards them upon landing - this one wider than it was tall. They didn't manage to jump over it, and instead took the hit standing.

It took a very short time afterwards for them to enter melee range, and they sneered at him. One shout later, and the pitchfork's prongs were lit on fire, while the crowbar was covered in a swirling green wind.

"Now! Pattern Alpha!"

At that, Mr. Crowbar fell behind his partner and whacked him in the shoulder, the wind magic propelling him towards Inigo with his flaming pitchfork in hand. Pitchfork Guy, with the boost, jabbed Inigo in the chest, the speed and strength of his attack hurting him noticeably. As he struggled to stay on his feet, he noticed the fire flaring up wildly and stepped back to create some distance.

At once, the pitchfork struck again, but this time he was just about able to swerve out of the way, using the opportunity to trip his assailant over. But these two weren't giving him even a moment to breathe, as immediately afterwards, he had to move away so the flying crowbar wouldn't hit him. Smashing and grinding his foot into Pitchfork Guy's shin, he divided his attention between Mr. Crowbar and his weapon, which was enveloped in a miniature whirlwind and was now flying back towards him.

So he ducked under it and rolled away from Pitchfork Guy, who had decided to go in for a sneak attack. Then, when he saw the crowbar returning to him, still wrapped in wind, he summoned his cane and knocked it away, before running towards its owner. In the process, he made sure to disrupt Pitchfork Guy's recovery in the process by treading all over him.

He ran towards Mr. Crowbar, who was panicking and firing recklessly-aimed blades of wind at him. These he simply allowed to hit him, when they didn't go wide on their own. He jumped up and kicked his opponent in the face, and on landing, he performed a flurry of spinning kicks, which Mr. Crowbar couldn't defend against. Once he heard Pitchfork Guy's footsteps, however, he quickly kicked the man of the crowbar onto the ground and turned to face him.

He evaded a few powerful thrusts by moving backwards, watching his moves closely before hearing a car in the distance and pointing at him with a surprised expression. "Look, behind you!"

"Hah! Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"No, seriously. It's the cops. You don't wanna deal with them, do you?"

The man narrowed his eyes, watching Inigo slowly backing away. He raised an eyebrow and slowly turned around, finding no cops. While he was distracted, however, Inigo snapped his fingers, surrounding him in a pale purple glow. He struggled to break free, unable to move much, and Inigo, visibly strained, moved his arm to the side, quickly tossing the short man into the road.

He heard more footsteps, these ones belonging to Mr. Crowbar, but these ones were getting further away, and he turned to see him fleeing the scene. That was what a coward looked like, he thought.

He stepped forth, catching his breath, only to see Sir Umbrella emerge from the alleyway, holding his umbrella over his shoulder and shaking his head, tutting. "If you want something done..."

Inigo kept his distance, holding his cane like a rifle and firing water jets at him. The first couple of blasts struck the leader, but after that, he opened his umbrella and held it out in front of him, defending him like a shield.

Inigo continued firing, only to be effortlessly defended against. He tried aiming above and below the umbrella in quick succession, but it didn't take very long for him to wise up and move his tool up and down.

After a few more hits, Sir Umbrella spun his umbrella around, generating icicles on the ends of the ribs and firing each one at him. They flew fast, and as some of them hit Inigo, they struck like knives. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to dodge the onslaught, and Sir Umbrella gave a very satisfied grin as he looked at his victim.

But this satisfaction was short-lived in light of an unexpected strike from behind. A mighty slash from a flaming sword. The unknown assailant got in a few more hits before Sir Umbrella turned around to shove them out of the way, forcing them to draw back as Inigo got a good look at his saviour; only to recognise them right away. Though her hair was mostly concealed by the red, thigh-length raincoat she wore, he could see her fair skin and pink eyes from beneath the hood. It was that Scarlett girl from the other day, flashing him a smile once she saw him looking at her.

"Need a hand?" she asked, giving him a cute wink. A little surprised at the intervention, Inigo nodded, generating a bubbling water puddle beneath his feet while watching Sir Umbrella look around in angered confusion.

"I'd appreciate it."

Scarlett smirked a little in response. "Then let's take down this Caricature!"

Realising it was now two on one, Sir Umbrella turned around and swung his closed umbrella at Scarlett, spraying a heavy wave of sleet at her that she twirled out of the way of before moving in with a flaming slash to his stomach in the same motion. Crimson flames danced around her feet, allowing her to navigate the frozen ground.

Meanwhile, Inigo had leapt up with the aid of a geyser and was now standing on a rooftop, where he focused on gathering raindrops into a deadly array of feather-shaped flechettes. Watching Scarlett as she danced around the giant icicles Sir Umbrella sprouted from the ground, he moved a little closer to the scene, firing his feathers in quick succession.

While the gangster was distracted by the aerial assault, Scarlett, who was in front of him, jumped off an icicle and kicked off his face, propelling herself backwards as she landed gracefully on top of one of the icicles further back. She watched as Inigo jumped from the building and did an axe kick to the man's head, and decided it was time for a coup de grace while he was disoriented.

So she brandished her sword into reverse-grip and began jumping from icicle to icicle, her body becoming more engulfed in flames with each leap that caused the sparse raindrops to sizzle and steam on contact. She was quite a spectacle, surrounded in beautiful red and pink flames that took the vague form of a peacock.

Once she was in front of him, she saw him scrambling to defend himself only to have his umbrella attacked by Inigo, who locked it in place with his cane. Scarlett leapt into the air and spun around rapidly, so when Inigo moved out of the way, she slashed Sir Umbrella countless times in her descent. As she landed, she gathered all the flames she had harnessed into her sword and performed a mighty slash coupled with a backflip, releasing the fires.

And so, as Sir Umbrella fell to his knees, his body was covered in a layer of yellow Natura that promptly shattered like glass. As he looked up, assessing his situation and trying to catch his breath, he at once scrambled to his feet, only to be interrupted by Inigo kneeing him in the face and smashing his cane over his head. Taking the assault, his vision grew blurry - and then it all faded to black.