~~~Walter Wingate~~~

Walter suppressed a sigh as he watched the drunken revelry of the youths.

"I can't get drunk," Adrian insisted for what had to be the dozenth time.

Master Daryl could most definitely get drunk, as he'd spent the last two hours demonstrating with extreme enthusiasm. This did nothing for his mental faculties, hence the repeated insistence that Adrian should join him in his inebriation.

"Just tell that bastard Donny to make it stronger already!" Daryl shouted. "Walter, tell that bastard to make it stronger!"

Walter suppressed another sigh and bowed slightly from the waist. "Of course, sir."

He strode through the door, and with no more effort than a single footstep, he appeared a few floors down from the penthouse. There, he strolled down the quiet halls while simultaneously watching the room he'd only just departed.

"Dude, your butler has a massive stick up his ass!" someone shouted.

Walter did not react to the comment. He expected the drunken mewling of children to be vulgar and crass.

"Don't talk shit about Walter!" Daryl said, standing and trying to loom over the other man as he swayed on his feet. "I'll fuck you up!"

Walter allowed himself a small smile, despite the vulgarities. It was the thought that counted. Now if only Daryl would listen to advice... speaking of which...

"We got some extra skills today," Adrian said into the lull. "None of us need them, so what if we look for more people in the tower that might…"

You brought it up now? Walter resisted the urge to groan aloud. Might as well reason with a wall.

"No one held my fucking hand!" Daryl exclaimed. "We all went out there and fought for our shit! I’m not wasting a single core on any one of those lazy, fucking..."

What did you expect?

"What!?" Donald Alegony shouted when Walter knocked politely.

Walter knocked again. He would not shout through the door like an animal. Nor would he enter uninvited. Not unless he needed to...

"Come in already!"

Donald Alegony stood over his homemade still, mana flowing from his fingers as he worked his magic to brew a liquor potent enough to inebriate E-grade humans. "Oh, hi Walter. Did they run out already?"

"Master Daryl has sent me to request that you..." He cleared his throat. "Make it stronger."

"Still trying to get Adrian drunk?" he asked with a wry chuckle.

Walter did not share his amusement. "Indeed."

"Don't worry, Walter. I'm done with that pipe dream. I think I might have made it too strong already."

"Indeed."

"Aw, come on! Don't look at me like that, Walter. I need the booze to fight... and they helped me out. I had to share!"

Walter saw the creature swim into his domain below. "If you will excuse me."

He left the room, then stepped into the basement thirty floors below. The harpoon was in his hand when he appeared, and it flew true, spearing the gargantuan eel through the head.

Walter pulled the creature from the water in time to collect its core, then carried it and himself upstairs. He left the corpse in the back room; the body of the creature was far too large for the coolers.

"Miss Rivera," he said upon entering the kitchen. "There..."

"It's Grace, you old codger! How many times do I have to tell you!?"

"Of course, Miss Rivera. There is..."

"More fish?"

Walter nodded. "Yes, Miss..."

"Thanks. I'll get started when I finish with dinner prep. And tell your brats and the rest of the stuck-up fucks to stop coming down here if they're going to complain about the food!"

"I shall carry your benevolent words to their ungrateful ears."

She smiled at him. "For all the good that will do... Now tell me how you got in here without going past me!"

It was Walter's turn to smile. A very small smile. "I would never presume to question your exquisite powers of observation..."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll figure you out eventually. Now get out of my kitchen!" Walter left, with her voice echoing through the open doorway behind him. "And thanks for the fish!"

The grand ballroom turned mess hall was already drawing a crowd, and Walter looked over the gathered people with a critical eye. For all that could be levied against his charges, at least they fought for their survival.

Most of those here were content to wait for a rescue that would never come. Primarily, the original residents of this tower. They thought their wealth and privilege carried weight in this changed world. They thought they could buy their way out of death...

Fools.

They would either wake up to reality or they would die.

Walter left the room quickly. He did not wish to listen to them complain about... well, everything. They would only stop the incessant nattering long enough to make impossible demands if he let them get started.

Upstairs, the party was still ongoing. Walter did not return. He would be there when he was needed. As was the way.

He would know if that eventuality came to pass because he saw all and heard all. This entire tower was his domain, and all who dwelled within did so with his permission. Many assumed his charge to be the one controlling the tower, and Walter was content to let them think so.

Master Daryl was still young, barely an adult, and unfortunately, not prepared for the rigors of leadership.

Walter had been there since the beginning, when his parents brought him home from the hospital, and every day since. He'd watched a sweet boy grow into a spoiled brat and then a party animal. Watched him buy his way out of every trouble that threatened his lifestyle. Walter didn't have to stay here and watch over the boy any longer. The world had changed. The old rules no longer applied.

Yet Walter had not left. He had chosen his class that first night to shelter and protect his charge from the danger that was sure to follow. He may have only been the help, but Walter would never abandon the boy he'd spent so many years cleaning up after. A playboy party animal. An occasionally irresponsible young man. Immature. Now potentially... a leader.

Of sorts.

Together with Adrian, he had rallied against the monsters. Not only did they embrace the new reality, but they ventured outside these walls repeatedly to rescue others.

It was... upsetting. Walter had expected him to hole up within the walls, demanding protection and to be cared for, not this. He'd chosen his class with that exact eventuality in mind. Now he was bound here while his charge roamed into danger outside.

Walter stepped upstairs and knocked on a bedroom door. Inside, an inebriated young woman lay on a bed and pushed ineffectually against the man trying to remove her clothing. "No... stop..."

The equally inebriated man did not listen as he pulled up her shirt. "You know you want it. You're gonna like this."

Walter knocked again, more forcefully this time.

"Go away!"

Walter opened the door and walked inside. "I believe your advances are unwelcome, sir. I would insist that you retire and leave the girl in peace."

"Walter!" the drunk man shouted, enraged, as he scrambled from atop her. "Get the fuck out of my room!"

"Of course, sir. I am only here to escort Miss Lopeli to her own quarters."

"The fuck you are!" The drunken man stumbled as he raised a hand that crackled with arcing lightning between his fingers. "I'll fuck you up, old man!"

"A pity," Walter said, sidestepping the reaching lunge and chopping the man's throat with a knife-edge hand. An elbow to the temple finished the job, and Walter left the drooling man on the floor.

He strode into the party a moment later, stepping behind Adrian and leaning down to be heard over the deafening music and drunken shouts. "Master Adrian, might I have your assistance?"

"Of course, Walter." Adrian stood, looking rather pleased to have an excuse to depart the party. The glowing bird that landed on his shoulder appeared equally aligned in purpose.

Adrian followed him to the room containing an unconscious man and a woman not far behind on her own journey of self destruction.

"If you would be so kind," Walter said, looking down at the disheveled woman. "I believe Miss Lopeli has had too much to drink."

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Red-gold light flickered off the walls, and the woman stopped moaning. She sat up abruptly with a yell that trailed off as she stared up at the two men standing over her. "Howie! He..."

"Might I suggest moderation in the future, miss? While it does not excuse his behavior, it would behoove you to protect yourself with more efficacy."

"I... okay." She looked away as she got up and tidied her disheveled clothes. Then she fled the room with a soft, "Thanks, Adrian."

"Want me to fix him up, too?" Adrian asked, scowling at the unconscious man.

"If you wouldn't mind, Master Adrian. He and I need to have a chat, and I detest trying to reason with idiot drunkards."

Adrian chuckled. "Man, I get that."

More light flickered over the walls, and Howie sat up with a yell. "You son of a... Adrian! What are you..."

"You're lucky I don't set you on..." Adrian growled at the man.

Walter placed a hand on his arm. "I will handle this, Master Adrian. Please return to your... party."

"Do I have to?" Adrian spared another glare before leaving with reluctant steps. The bird on his shoulder eyed Walter with a malevolent gaze that promised pain for the injustice of his suggestion.

"You got a lot of fu..." Howie stopped speaking when Walter's hand closed around his throat. Walter lifted the man to his feet, then off his feet as he carried him toward one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

There were some choking sounds and muffled protests, along with a few flickers of lightning that went no further than flickering.

The window swung wide on their approach, opening into a dark night sky, and Walter halted with Howie at the edge as wind whipped around both of them. He let go of the man's throat with a small shove... and caught his shirt before he toppled out on a long journey to the ground far below. "Might we have a reasonable discussion, sir? With no unnecessary vulgarity and threats?"

Howie nodded frantically. All traces of defiance had vanished from his face and his eyes were wide. "Y... yes... sir! Let's talk, my guy! I'm totally cool!"

"Excellent. Now, I wish to discuss your recent behavior regarding Miss Lopeli."

"Um... I... I was just drunk! It won't happen again! I swear!"

"Indeed, it will not." Walter said nothing else as he gazed at the man dangling over the edge of the abyss.

Howie's eyes moved more frantically as the silence stretched, and his hands clutched at Walter's arm desperately. "Walter... I... I won't drink again! Never! I swear it was the booze! I'm not a bad guy!"

Walter waited patiently with an impassive gaze as he weighed the life in his hands. Then he pulled the man back from the edge, slightly. "Your terms are acceptable. Allow me to add my own. You will apologize to Miss Lopeli." Howie nodded rapidly. Frantically. "If you fail to uphold your end of this deal, I will evict you from this place. Permanently."

"You got it, Walter!"

"If you attempt another assault... on anyone, I will evict you..." Walter pulled him closer, holding his gaze. "In pieces."

Walter held him there for another long moment. "Are we in agreement?"

"Y… yes," Howie wheezed. "I agree! Please don't kill me!"

"Very good, sir." Walter released the man and stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back. "It is late. Might I suggest turning in early? Tomorrow is bound to be a busy day."

"Th... thanks. I'll do that... I am tired!" Behind Howie, the window swung shut.

Walter nodded and strode from the room.

The party had only devolved further in his absence, and Walter surreptitiously removed two of the three remaining bottles of liquor from the bar. He also retrieved dinner from downstairs but didn't attempt to feed any of the guests.

Walter placed one dish on the floor in the bedroom, where a brilliant fox lounged on the bed. Or rather, she sulked. She perked up as the scent filled the room, but played at nonchalance until he departed. Walter smiled to himself as he watched her daintily yet voraciously devour her food. So much like her companion, in so many ways.

Two plates made it to the table where Adrian lurked away from the chaos filling the penthouse. The bird hopped eagerly from his shoulder at the first whiff and showed none of the fox's restraint in gobbling down his dinner.

Adrian smiled at the bird and pulled his own plate closer. "Thanks, Walter."

"Of course, sir."

"You're the only reason this place is still standing, Walter."

"As you say, sir."

Walter watched him, and Adrian wouldn't meet his gaze. The silence stretched until Adrian finally said, "I talked to him, Walter. But you know how he is... I can't make him do anything. You'd probably have better results talking to him yourself. Or just straight up tell him to do what he needs to!"

"You..." Walter chose his words carefully. "You hold a connection which I cannot match. I fear he may disregard my advice where he might otherwise listen if it came from another."

"Walter, you're selling yourself short. I sometimes think you're the only one he truly cares about... Don't tell him I said that."

"Said what, sir?"

"He does care, Walter. I know he's not the best at expressing himself, especially emotionally... but he loves you. He'd never say it, but I see the way he looks at you. I hear what he says when you're not around. He will listen."

"As you say, sir," Walter said stiffly.

Adrian chuckled. "Sorry, Walter. I know you don't like to talk about stuff like this. Just like a certain someone we both know..."

"If you will excuse me, sir." Walter bowed slightly before turning for the door.

"I love you too, Walter!" Adrian shouted as the door closed, and then Walter was on the ground floor.

A make-shift spear appeared in his hand and blasted a straight line through four bestial skulls. The weapon vanished, and Walter stepped next to another of the surprised beasts as he swung the cleaver abruptly in his hand.

He vanished ahead of the spraying blood, reappearing further away with a now clean spear in his hands, and threw it again.

Only three of the beasts lined up this time, but their deaths were enough to send the remainder fleeing for the entrance.

Walter blocked their retreat. He'd let them stray deeply into his domain for a reason. Now it was harvest time.

No tooth or claw reached him as he moved among the monsters. No spray or drop of blood marred his pristine clothing. Even his white gloves emerged clean and unblemished by the fighting.

It ended quickly, and Walter left some pieces of the creatures behind as bait for future intruders. He deposited a handful more of the creatures for Miss Rivera and tossed the rest into the water beneath his home. They would serve to feed and draw more in the long run.

Then he stood at the threshold of his domain and looked out into the dark streets of Boston as he thought over Master Adrian's words.

Everyone here had felt that terrifying power to the north. None knew what it meant beyond the notification of an invader's defeat. Was it the invader using that power? Was it the Beast Lord? Was it a human?

Adrian and Daryl were strong. They fought and flourished in the new world. But something else was out there. Be it an ally or a monster that would come for them, it was trouble.

If it came to his door, Walter would fight. But if it came upon them while they were beyond his reach... what then?

~~~Daryl~~~

"Come on, Adrian. Please..." Daryl groaned as he tromped down the stairs with his eyes closed. But the beautiful bastard just laughed at him. He was pure evil. A demon! The single shot he'd downed wasn't working... and he thought he might throw up if he drank another. Maybe he should just go back to bed.

"Hangovers are nature's way of telling you to drink less." Adrian was acting petty. Probably because he'd gotten left out of the party... It wasn't Daryl's fault that the guy couldn't figure out how to not heal himself!

"We have magic. Nature can go to hell! Right, guys?" The only reply was a chorus of groans to match his own sentiments. Adrian laughed again. He was Satan. Lucifer himself.

Daryl was ready to scream at the man when they reached the ground floor, even if the exertion unleashed the threatening vomit. Until finally, Adrian relented, and fire bloomed out to encompass the group.

Debuff Removed: [Extreme Dehydration]

Debuff Removed: [Liver Damage]

Debuff Removed: [Hangover]

There was a fresh chorus of noise from his team, but this time it was only sounds of relief. All except Howie. That bastard had vanished from the party last night and never came back. The fucking quitter. He had a lot of nerve to come sauntering back this morning, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Daryl wasn't exempt from the wonderful rush of relief. "Oh, that's better. I think I love you, Adrian. You dick!"

Adrian looked off into space while scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I could have sworn there was someone last night telling me to keep my stupid sobering fire away from them... If only I could remember who that was."

"After all the work Donny put into it... I couldn't waste... I mean, disrespect his effort like that."

"Do not drag me into this," Donny, the traitor, said. "I maintain I was bullied and coerced into everything." He spouted his treason while chugging from a ridiculously oversized ceramic jug. At least the smell wafting from it no longer made him want to hurl. Speaking of which...

Daryl pulled out his flask and took a hearty swig. It burned like acid down his throat and settled into his belly like a hot coal. Warmth spread quickly throughout his body, and Daryl sighed in pleasure. "I love magic healing."

He ignored Adrian's exasperated sigh.

Walter was waiting for them at the exit. How had that old bastard beaten them down here? He also had a gaggle of hanger-ons lurking beside him. "Master Daryl..."

"I'm not babysitting any more newbies. Especially not F-grades. They can pick up a stick like everyone else." He stomped out the door before anyone else could start whining and took a smaller sip from the flask on the way.

Outside, with downtown Boston arrayed ahead of them, mana spilled from Daryl’s free hand and into the shape of a massive broadsword. The weapon shimmered slightly before solidifying, and he gave it a few practice swings; the weapon moved far easier than its size would suggest. Then he set it on fire.

Adrian caught up. "We could help..."

"Help what? Help them die? Because that's all they're going to do."

"It wasn't your fault..."

"Come on, Princess." Daryl ignored him and stalked further down the street. "Let's hunt." She didn't reply but followed as fire burst to life around her neck and tails. Behind him, he heard the others coming along as well.

The zombies were rather sparse on his street, but only a block over, they thickened up. Daryl waited for the rest of his team to catch up before wading into the mess. Not because he had to. It was just better that way.

Adrian started it off with a wave of fire across the ground, and Daryl wadded into the horde with Princess beside him. Together, they hacked and burned their way through the zombies. It was a slaughter.

Daryl led the charge into the new lair. A lair they'd only scouted the day before. It wasn't far from the tower—only a couple blocks—but it was the nearest lair they hadn't defeated already.

Donny came in behind him this time, deep into his bottle already and staggering his way drunkenly toward the monsters. It would have been worrying if Daryl hadn't seen him in action before.

The first monster to reach him, something akin to a giant rat but scaley, leapt right for his throat. Donny staggered sideways, his movement taking his neck just out of reach. He flailed his arms as if trying to catch his balance... and slammed an elbow into the monster's face, dropping it to the ground. Then he kicked its head in with his next staggering step...

Howie waded in as well, lighting-wreathed fists lashing out like hammers as he blasted a path through. Kira followed behind him, her spear snaking out to finish any electrocuted monsters that weren't yet dead.

Their final member entered the lair draped limply over Adrian's shoulder. Or his body did. The ghostly version of himself was much more active as it ripped its way through the rats using the foot-long claws that adorned the spirit. His class was pretty terrible... but with Adrian already acting as support, it worked well enough.

Daryl didn't limit himself, unleashing a variety of different magic against their enemies. Primarily, he copied every one of his teammates' powers. Lightning and fire alternately wreathed his blade, while a ghostly copy of himself fought alongside him, albeit rather clumsily.

It was all an illusion.

He only pretended to have real power, like his teammates. Something only Adrian knew. Because if they all knew just how weak he was... how useless... then they would know that it was his fault. They would know he'd gotten a dozen people killed...

Daryl took another drink, letting Princess intercept his attacker so he could do so. She was the only one who understood. She didn't judge him. She didn't ask him to take more weaklings outside the tower. At least with this group, it didn't matter so much what he did. They could handle themselves if everything went wrong.

He was feeling better by the time they finally emerged from the lair. Ready to take on another one. Like, say, the lair where a bunch of undead were outside attacking it.