Laid out on the table in front of him were freshly sliced organs, specifically the heart and lungs. Dasha's expression was unchanged as he gazed down at them. In his head, he wrote down a series of notes. Details and inquiries that he was combing over like he would a thesis. His fingers flexed and twitched as if rolling a pencil in his hand.
“The hearts of the humans created from the Heavenly Tower are identical to humans on Earth. That must mean they are human. The Architects of the Heavenly Tower aren't replicating, they are creating. The question is how? From what? Who are the Architects? How does one become an Architect?”
All questions he asked out loud. None received an answer. Alone, there was only so much Dasha could do. Tools were necessary. People willing to serve him. The Whispers were not one of those people yet. He needed to grow stronger as Daughter commanded.
“Charles has taken the bait.”
The flash of surprise on Dasha's face was hidden by the mask stuck to his face. Emerging from his shadow was Xavier.
“You've confirmed consumption?” Dasha asked. Did he hear? Did it matter if he heard? His thoughts calmed down and he focused on the conversation.
“Yes,” Xavier replied. “He is currently fast asleep at Lowkey, dreaming soundly.”
Dasha didn't speak again, his mind promptly returning to the organs in front of him. Xavier, holding his hat, looked around.
“I see the modifications are complete,” Xavier said. “You are a man of many talents.”
Light adjustments were done to his lab earlier this morning. The walls were white and made of with ventilation added. Cohesive LED lighting was installed into the ceiling, transforming the dimension into a modern lab. All of it was done by Dasha and the handy man of the Whispers, Handy. His left arm was a poorly conditioned prosthetic and his understanding of modern architecture was limited. Dasha suspected he came from the Golden Generation, the eighties, judging by the level of respect Grace uttered his name.
“Tell me about the Dark Sector's organ market,” Dasha said. “Who are the largest buyers?”
“The Imperial Sovereign Sect and the Unorthodox Sect are the biggest buyers and sellers, with the Asuras in third place.”
“Why? I understand the Chinese guilds. The types of potions they employee require unsavoury ingredients. Why the Asuras?”
“I suppose the rise of the Asuras came after your time. You see, the Irregulars within the Asuras are those of demon blood. Some demons consume flesh and blood for survival. The numbers are few but among their mightiest.”
“Human-demon hybrids…” Dasha muttered. “I'm curious about their biology.”
“There are many, many types of demons. I doubt you will find a comprehensive book on all their biologies.”
“Noted.”
Xavier stood there, quiet. The organs of his fellow humans were laid out in front of him. As a former researcher in biology, this was nothing new to Dasha. He had seen much worse. For Xavier, the view must have been hell-ish. A cruel display of his victory. Dasha cared little for his perspective, however, and declared, “Equip.”
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A knife appeared in his hand, seemingly ordinary and identical to a hospital scalpel. In reality, it was a specialized tool made of Adamantite that he had Grace buy him from one of the nearby stores close to the Tower of True Magic.
[ Weapon Name: Adamantite Scalpel
Rank: B
Attack: 270
Current Value: 50,000
Description: A scalpel made of Adamantite intended to penetrate the organs and scales of mythical beasts such as dragons. It gains a 50% effectiveness on monsters of Greek descent. ]
Adamantite was an artificial version of the mythological divine metal known as Adamant, a diamond-like Greek metal once used by Cronus to castrate his father Uranus. A metal given only to the chosen. Adamantite was an attempt by the people of the White Abyss to replicate the intensity of that incredible metal. The scalpel in his hand had a seam ripper pointed tip and was eighty millimeters long and two millimeters thin.
Xavier didn’t want to ask but he did. “What are you searching for?”
“I’m checking for blood clots,” Dasha replied. “Giovanni Bruno once spoke of magical blood clots in the hearts of mages. I want to see the differences between different types of humans. Those that are sensitive to magic, those that are unaware of it, those that are mighty, I want to draw sketches of them all.”
Cameras in the White Abyss were inconvenient and low in quality. Sketching was the best method of keeping records of his findings.
“How thorough,” Xavier remarked. “I do not mean to question your methods but with your knowledge and skill why not make monster meat?”
‘Monster meat…?’ Dasha had no idea what he was talking about. However, through a synergy of intuition and deductive reasoning, he figured out the jist of his inquiry.
Opening up the heart of Plait the Brave which he noted was indeed more difficult to slice, Dasha said, “What are the consequences to monster meat?”
Xavier’s reply was immediate. “Mana Break.”
Now that was a term Dasha knew. “Precisely. Generally speaking, the System can digest extreme increases in mana but like all things there's a limit. If I consume too much, everything I have cultivated will break. My veins, my nerves, my organs—everything will either become extra sensitive or numb to magic. I'll be useless.”
Jack's mask was an example of a piece of equipment capable of Mana Break. The principle of Mana Break applied to why players didn't chug a hundred of the same elixir before a battle. Too much was too risky. It wouldn’t be a temporary affect either, it would affect your soul for the rest of your life.
“Noble families are aware of this and eat monster food in moderation. They give their children specific amounts out of it spaced out through the weeks, slowly building up their reserves of mana,” Dasha said. “It is why cultivators prefer elixirs. The effects are specific and carefully administered. Monster meat is merely a mass of magical energy, nothing more—”
He stopped, observing the spliced heart. Xavier sensed his trepidation. “Something wrong?”
It wasn’t the heart that had surprised him. It was his mind. An idea had popped into his head—a long, crazy idea that, if successful, would change everything. “Xavier,” Dasha echoed, “I want you to bring me a list of survivors of Gate 10.”
“That is already being conducted. I surmise it will—”
“Take a month, I understand, you need to be thorough. I will be patient. Just let me know when the list will be finished.” He imagined a cauldron full of red and black. His vision flickered back to the table and the open heart. “Where in the Dark Sector are organs sold?”
“It is more of a person-basis deal. A representative from the Sects comes in and buys in bulk. No Dove Pigeons.”
“I'm interested in dealing with the best, either the Imperial Sect or the Unorthodox Sect.”
“That is…the Unorthodox Sect is the better option, I believe.”
“Why not?”
“The Imperial Noble Consort. She is…” Xavier trailed off. “You are better off not knowing, Jack.”
That caught his attention. What was so bad about this woman that Xavier refused to tell the man that he perceived as Jack? Dasha turned to face him. “What is your advice?”
“If you wish to sell or buy organs, do so with the Unorthodox Sect. Avoid the Imperial Noble Consort at all costs. She will smell death on you and end you without thinking twice.”