ã€ŠSome Things Never Changeã€‹


 Teaser

    The skies were dark above the city, the moon and stars hidden by somber thunderclouds.

    Reaching for the obscured heights, their outlines blurred by the heavy rainfall, tall edifices of metal and concrete towered above their surroundings like giant petrified ghosts lit up from within by the poor souls still slaving away at the office despite the late hour.

    A distance away from the immobile colossuses, the buildings gradually lost stature and prestige while the streets below lost the bright colorfulness of the business district, the dens of entertainment and the closing shopping malls, replaced by the tamer glow of residential areas.

    Further South, a large band of sinuous obscurity cut the city in two. A river, bloated by Heaven''s tears, which for all intent and purpose could be likened to the mythical Styx. Beyond its waters, darkness ruled in patches, like a gangrenous disease, eating away at the urban lighting.

    Decrepit houses. Dirty pavement. Broken cars. Haggard faces of vagrants running for shelter from the sudden downpour. Scantily clad girls spitting blasphemously at the elements forcing them to retire for the night. Brutish men readjusting their jackets to keep dry their half-heartedly concealed weapons.

    What feeble radiance subsisted in this parts only revealed the telltale symptoms of a decaying society.

    * * *

    Hurried footsteps echoed in a dark alleyway indistinguishable from dozens of others. Despite the drumming of the rain, the irregular noise of heavy stomps reverberated loudly against the brick walls covered in graffiti, the dented garage doors, and the overflowing dumpsters.

    Around a corner, a man appeared in the flickering light of a broken street lamp. His shirt was soaked and clinging to his athletic frame. Blood not his own was splattered across his chest and face. He was limping. A hole pierced his right tight, source to a dark reddish stream staining his pants.

    He groaned and wheezed. The bullet had entered his leg but hadn¡¯t come out. Every step introduced him to a new realm of pain. Yet he didn''t slow down. He did not dare to. The terror in his mind overrode the distress of his body.

    For he¡¯d seen it.

    Hell.

    Mummified corpses. Skin rotting and falling off screaming victims. Ripped flesh. Broken bones. Severed limbs. Torrents of blood, everywhere, pooling on the ground, in the gutter, slowly washed away by the rain that had suddenly started. It was as if the heavens themselves were giving a hand in hiding the evidence of the massacre.

    And the culprit of the slaughter. A monster in human shape. Its soft chuckles still haunted the man. He remembered them exactly, as they had been ringing in the damp air when his accomplices were being torn to shreds with the ease and uncaring delight of a child pulling wings off a fly.

    Monster. Abomination. Demon.

    Those words were flooding the man''s mind as he recalled the silhouette that had suddenly ambushed his group on the way back from what was supposed to be an easy job.

    At first, he¡¯d thought the rumors were exaggerated. It was often the case with rumors. Suffice for the latest super-powered vigilante in town to act slightly more ruthless than average, and everyone began to swear the Devil had ascended.

    That was it, he¡¯d thought. Only rumors. Superstitions and urban legend. He''d believed he would be safe with the number of men he''d brought along. Strong, old hands, not ones to be frightened by some nutjob in spandex. He¡¯d also borrowed a couple of ¡°enhanced¡±, courtesy of the boss. Nothing could go wrong.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    He¡¯d believed it. He really had.

    Now he knew better. Or perhaps worse. Because he couldn¡¯t truly comprehend what had just happened.

    Monster. Demon.

    Death.

    And his own power was useless in the rain! Why did it have to rain?!

    As he turned another corner, he slipped on the watery pavement and almost collided with a meshed fence blocking the way. A dead end!

    ¡°Fuck!¡± He slammed his fist against the wires. ¡°Fuck! FUCKING FUCK FUCK!!¡±

    For an instant, he panicked. He felt trapped, helpless, and maddening fear gripped his guts.

    But it only lasted for an instant. Taking a deep breath, he forced his heart rate to calm down. Fuck it! He wasn¡¯t some cowardly greenhorn. He¡¯d been doing this for a long time. It wasn¡¯t the first time his life was being threatened, and it probably wouldn¡¯t be the last. People in this business rarely died from old age. The fence wasn''t even that tall. Just climb over it, he told himself.

    Ignoring the pain in his leg, he grabbed the meshed wires and started pulling his weight upwards. He was physically fit. He could do it. The slippery metal dug into his fingers, but he ignored that too. Soon his hands reached the top of the fence. He let out a small sigh of relief.

    The whistle of something whipping through the air was all the warning he received.

    An iron grip caught his bad leg and it was abruptly yanked backward. Unbearable pain shot through his body. His mind blanked for a moment and he released his hold on the fence. When he regained his awareness, he was flying through the air.

    No. Not flying. He¡¯d been thrown.

    His body slammed into a wall with a sinister crack that came both from the bricks and his backbone. Like a disarticulated puppet, he slid to the ground, small pieces of hardened clay falling along with him. His face landed in a muddy puddle. He coughed, nearly choked, but he couldn''t muster the strength to move.

    A dark chuckle rose above the rumble of thunder and rain.

    ¡°You have been a very bad man, Donald.¡±

    The man flinched at the mention of his name.

    The smooth distinguished voice, with its undercurrent of casual playfulness, seemed to make a mockery of the carnage Donald had just witnessed. It was as if, for this monster, slaughtering a dozen people was just anotherFriday evening, then he¡¯d go watch football and fuck his pretty monster wife or enjoy a game poker with his monster friends over a glass of whiskey distilled from the tears of newborns.

    Then again, if the rumors were to be trusted, it probably was.

    With a grunt, Donald forced himself tobend his neck and look up.

    There he was. The Monster. Crouching low. Forearms resting on his knees. Staring down with his head cocked to the side in pondering. Dressed all in black from head to toe. Soaked black pants and soaked black hoodie dripping water undoubtedly mixed with gore. A hooded bloody black demon in the rain.

    Lightning split the sky, followed closely by rolling thunder. In the bleak flash that illuminated the world for a heartbeat, Donald caught again a glimpse what was hidden in the shadows of that hood.

    The white skull with oversized teeth stared back at him, its left side covered in blood-red tribal paintings looking like claw marks. It stared back at him with those damnable eyes. Oh Lord, the eyes! Twin slanted dark slits filled with bottomless abyss, so black it seemed to deny even the very existence of light, along with life and hope.

    Without moving, the demon talked again in its sweet voice.

    ¡°Tell me, Donald... Do you fear death?¡±

    The man heard, but he could not answer.

    A hand reached down for him, looking human but covered in pulsating black veins. In his mind, Donald saw illusory black chitinous claws overlapping with each digit. Sharp and curved, they were like scythes approaching him to reap his soul.

    ¡°Because you should.¡±

    The man whimpered, squirmed, tried to crawl away, but he was simply too slow.

    Cold fingers caressed his cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle.

    The pain that came after wasn''t.

    Donald screamed. He screamed until he couldn¡¯t form words anymore. Screamed until he vomited blood. His agony echoed into the night, amongst the fury of the heavens, lightning and roaring thunder, carrying both a warning and a promise to anyone able to hear, and to those who didn¡¯t.

    ¡°No matter how fast you run,

    No matter how far you go,

    Death always catches up...

    Some things never change.¡±

    * * * * *

 Prolog â€“ The Fall

    Year 13,402 of the Imperial Calendar. City of Empyrea.

    Holy Capital Empyrea. Centre of the human world. City of Everlasting Day. Jewel of the Goddess. A work of art erected by the greatest masters throughout History, and the largest settlement on planet Zarath. So vast it spanned from one horizon to another. So vast the saying went that one would need two lifetimes to see half of it. A symbol of pride and power for the Three Suns Holy Empire.

    Today, however, screams filled Empyrea, and blood flooded its streets.

    From time immemorial, the Great Wall that encircled the city¡ªa rampart said to bear the enchantments of the Goddess Herself¡ªhad held at bay every enemy to ever succeed in reaching the heart of the Holy Empire.

    Today, however, she had come. The one called the Daughter of Death. The Blightborn. The Walking Decay. The one named Meriataneesh Karstrev, Grand Queen of the Demon Realms. With one swing of her cursed Death Scythe, she had blasted a hole in the Great Wall as if making a mockery of its millennia of boasted invulnerability. Not only had the rampart been cleaved, but the surrounding area had been blown to smithereens in a radius that might look negligible to the abnormal expanse of the capital, but in truth encompassed the size of a large town.

    Through the opening, the Dark Ruler had marched boldly into the holy city, leading the way to legions of demons, undead, monsters and other races allied under her banner. Like a dark wave, the Queen¡¯s army had poured into the streets. Overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the enemy, the guards, clerics, templars, and paladins tasked with protecting the Holy Land had opposed but a symbolic struggle. A decade of brutal war had already bled dry the resources of the Empire, leaving only a small number of elites to defend its core.

    The assault had not come solely from the land. Breathing fire and death upon the world below, the revered kings of the skies had followed in the wake of the Demon Queen, unhindered by the magical barrier that had been shattered along with the Wall.

    Giant winged reptiles, obscuring the heavens with their unequaled mass like flying warships. Their scales outshone the gleam of any jewel and were worth more than any treasure, yet no creature was greedier. Famed for their wisdom as much as they were feared for their ruthlessness, they were creatures of selfishness. They were the dragons, arrogant monarchs known to bow to no one, not even their own.

    Yet they had bowed to her, the Harbinger of Pestilence, and to the mightiest amongst them, the Black Dragon, united in their hatred, promised blood in return, their legendary pride overshadowed by wrath.

    Flames devoured buildings and people alike. Houses collapsed. Temples crumbled. The smell of roasted flesh and cries of agony filled the air. Thick clouds of black smoke rose and covered the sky, bringing Night to a land which had known only Day since ages untold by the blessing of the three suns.

    Today, the Holy City burned.

    * * *

    In a street less touched by destruction, a woman was running as fast as her thin legs allowed her. In her arms, a frightened little girl was desperately clinging to her clothes.The hands holding to the child¡¯s back were caked with drying blood which belonged to neither of them.

    At one glance, one could tell the two were not related.The woman had reddish brown hair and sported fox-like ears on top of her scalp. Each of the short breaths she took revealed sharp pointed fangs hidden behind her lips. The nails of her bloodied hands extended longer and sharper than expected for any human. All these features designated her as one of the beastkins. Similar to humans in many respects, they also shared various traits with animals and possessed keen instincts.

    The little girl, on the other hand, had hair that shone an ethereal shade of silver. Her ears, though long and pointed, were on the sides of her head. Her face still retained the roundness of infancy but already showed traces of an inhuman beauty. She was an elf, a long-lived race ordinarily found in the depth of forests, where they lived peacefully in harmony with Nature.

    What both had in common were the torn rags they wore, and the thick metal collar encircling each of their necks. They were slaves, people reduced to the rank of property, regarded as no more than cattle and treated as such, sold and purchased openly like any common goods.

    A loud scream echoed from behind the fleeing pair. The woman risked a glance over her shoulder and gasped in fright at the sight of three figures, two men and a woman, all humans, rushing after her.

    Looking back had been a mistake. Because she stopped watching her step for an instant, she missed the hole in the pavement. Although maybe she might have missed it anyway in the dark despite her eyesight surpassing a human¡¯s.

    She tripped and tumbled down. As she fell, she barely managed to twist her body to shield the child from the impending impact. The woman yelped when her back scraped against the rough cobblestones, her tattered tunic doing little to prevent the rocks from ripping her skin to shreds. The little girl cast her a worried glance, but she responded with a forced smile and hurriedly tried to stand up.

    Unfortunately, the trio of pursuers caught up before she could. The taller of the two men was quick to kick her back down. The boot hit her head with force, but again the woman ignored the pain, in her head, on her back, and protected the child with her battered body. She placed the little girl behind her and growled at her assailants, baring her sharp teeth.

    ¡°Disgusting beast!¡± the man spat as he unsheathed the sword at his side.

    The weapon swooped down and, with no time to think, the fox-eared woman threw herself over the smaller girl. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth in anticipation of the pain to come.

    But the pain never came.

    After three heartbeats spent awaiting the cold bite of steel, the woman fearfully raised her head. What she saw then left her speechless.

    The man, who had without a doubt been about to slay her, had dropped his sword. His hands were clutching his shoulder, pierced by the quadruple pikes of what could only be called a pitchfork.

    Holding to the shaft of the tool, a trembling elderly stared aghast at the blood dripping from the wound. He looked human and was wearing clean but simple commoner clothes. An ordinary Empyrean citizens like thousands of others. Likely, in his long life¡ªat least long for a normal human bereft of magical power¡ªhe never had seriously hurt anything larger than a stray dog, maybe a horse or a cow if he worked at the stables or the abattoir, but not a fellow human, and certainly not so purposefully.

    A glance at the woman and child curled up on the ground, however, and his horrified gaze hardened. He retracted the fork, then shouted to give himself courage and charged again at the wounded man. Although, resolute or not, he was but an old man way past his prime. The other, young and strong, caught the improvised weapon by its shaft with ease despite his injury and tore it out of the elder¡¯s grasp before angrily flinging it aside. A kick to the stomach sent the old man reaching on the ground next to the two slaves.

    ¡°Beast lovers and traitors. You make me sick!¡± the younger man spat, literally this time, on the senior.

    He bent down with a grimace, to pick up his sword, then once again prepared to cut down the fox woman, mad hatred in his eyes.

    This turned out to be the last action he ever performed. Or tried to perform.

    Before he even finished raising his weapon, two black blades suddenly erupted out of his chest. He vomited a mouthful of blood, his gaze disbelieving for a heartbeat, then slumped, lifeless. His sword clanked loudly on the pavement in the stunned silence. His two companions were staring with terror at something standing behind the dead man.

    The black blades retracted as abruptly as they¡¯d appear. Deprived of the only support holding it up, the bulky corpse crumpled down like a dislocated puppet, revealing a nightmarish creature to the eyes of the slaves and the old man. The being looked like an unholy crossbreed between human and some kind of monstrous insect. Chitinous blue plates covered its tall body like an armor. It had no eyes or nose to speak of, instead, a helmet-like carapace encased the whole upper half of its head, which sported two long horns curving backward. Under its headshell, a huge disproportionate maw opened vertically, framed by twitching mandibles.

    The creature possessed two pairs of arms similar to human¡¯s¡ªif one excepted the length and the fact each hand only had three thick clawed fingers¡ªas well as two appendages growing from his shoulders, reminiscent of the front legs of a praying mantis. Only those were much deadlier, ending in long and thin curved blades dripping with blood, which the creature removed by nonchalantly whipping the blades sideways.

    Demon. The race both most feared and shunt on Zarath. Amoral creatures, notorious for their penchant for slaughter, pillage, and rape¡ªeven amongst themselves. There existed a great many different demon clans that shared little in the way of appearance or culture, and the only law in the Demon Realms was that of the strongest.

    And the title of Strongest belonged undoubtedly to the Demon Queen.

    The insectoid demon ignored the two standing humans frozen in fear and took a step forwards in direction of the old man, balancing itself on tripod-looking feet. To everyone¡¯s surprise, however, instead of tearing the elder apart, the monster reach out and pulled him up. Then, balling another of his four hands, it hit its torso where the heart would be in a human¡¯s body.

    From up close, a symbol could be seen painted on its chitinous chest, faintly glowing in the obscurity. The image of a black scythe surrounded by two golden bird wings.

    ¡°For the Queen!¡± the demon exclaimed.

    The old man was taken aback for an instant. Understandably so, since the creature¡¯s mouth clearly was not suited for human language and thus its words sounded, in fact, more like ¡°Orsh hah Krrreen!¡±

    ¡°A-And for the Princess!¡± he eventually stammered, mimicking the salute.

    The demon nodded, apparently satisfied, much to the old man¡¯s relief.

    ¡°I¡­Thank you. I¡¯m¡ª¡±

    The demon interrupted by waving a hand dismissively, as if saying it did not need gratitude, or that it did not care, difficult to say. Then it glanced back. In fact, the whole upper half of its body pivoted since its short neck did not seem to allow much flexibility.

    Meanwhile, another man had arrived at the scene and had already made a short work of the two remaining pursuers, now very dead by lack of a head attached to their shoulders.

    The newcomer¡¯s traits resembled the little slave girl¡¯s. Fair skin, surreal beauty and pointed ears. An elf. However, his hair was a midnight black instead of moonlight silver and was tied in a ponytail. He also wore a full set of wooden armor, so fitting it seemed to have grown around his body. Which happened to be exactly the case. On his breastplate was carved the same winged scythe the demon sported. Without even a glance at the bloody corpses sprawled on the ground, he approached the four living. His gaze briefly landed on the girls¡¯ collars before moving to the demon.

    ¡°Those were the last in the area?¡± he said in the human language, with only a slight accent.

    Instead of bothering to form words, the insectoid creature simply nodded once more.

    ¡°Good. Do your thing, then we¡¯ll meet up with the others.¡±

    The demon stepped to the slaves, still on the ground and more than a little confused and frightened. It kneeled down by their side and extended its bladed appendages towards their necks. Evidently, this frightened them even more, but a stern look from the black-haired elf kept them from moving. The tips of the deadly cutters delicately touched each collar. With an audible snap, like miniature thunder, the accessories opened in two and fell to the ground.

    ¡°¡­Eh?¡±

    The elven girl let out a small exclamation, while the beastkin woman silently brought a shaking hand to her throat. Feeling the skin under her finger and not the accursed band of metal, tears welled up in her eyes. She looked up at the demon and suddenly its hideous face was looking like the most sumptuous vision she ever witnessed.

    Her mouth opened as she struggled with words, unable to find ones sufficient to express the amount of gratitude she felt.

    Her attempts were cut short when a shrill abominable cry pierced the relative silence. The four amongst the group with visible ears winced and covered them, while the demon appeared unfazed. All raised their eyes towards the thick clouds of smoke darkening the sky. From time to time, flashes of colored light broke through, sole testaments of the savage battle waged above, along with the occasional orb of fire and giant corpse raining down on the city.

    ¡°We need to get moving,¡± the armored elf said, looking at the demon. The latter nodded and picked up the two slaves. The little girl gasped but did not struggle. The woman simply held herself to the plates covering their porter¡¯s shoulders.

    The long-eared soldier then turned to the old man, who had picked up his fork and was clutching the bloodied tool as if his life depended on it, despite how useless it had been earlier.

    ¡°What about you, human?¡±

    The elder only hesitated briefly, then showed a resolute face.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you, elf.¡±

    The other only nodded in acknowledgment, proving as locations as his demonic companion. But no more words were actually needed.

    Or so it should have been.

    ¡°¡­Old Man, can you run?¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    Instants later, and a bit of shuffling, all five were moving fast through the deserted streets, the elf holding the little girl while the demon carried the two others. The demon appeared to be slightly sulking, although it was difficult to confirm given his strange facial structure.

    Simultaneously, similar scenes were occurring all over the city. This was because not only the invaders, but the Empyrean citizens themselves had taken up arms and were fighting and dying against their own countrymen.

    Today what had befell the Holy City was not a simple invasion.

    This was an uprising.

    * * *

    At the very center of the Holy Capital rose the Imperial Palace, immense, towering and intricate construction of white stone, the crowning jewel of Empyrea the Magnificent, home to generations upon generations of Emperors and Empresses of Mankind. Its size was such, the castle grounds alone made up a tenth of the boundless city. The Eight Spires of Life, the tallest buildings on Zarath, made up its heart and thusly the heart of the Empire.

    Some said the Spires had been erected by order of the First Monarch of the then Three Suns Kingdom. Other claimed the Goddess of Life Herself had shaped them from the bones of the Eight Elder Titans, cruel monsters who ruled the world before the Age of Gods.

    The truth of their origin mattered little, however. Sufficed to say these structures were so old, they might as well have dated back to the very Dawn of Time. Over the eons, they had protected the area the capital now occupied, creating an inviolable sanctuary where humanity had prospered, safe from the merciless environment of Zarath. In the midst of the towers, the magical power was so thick that liquid streams of energy circled them perpetually, like ethereal ribbons floating in the air, their brilliance visible always in the distance even during the brightest of days.

    Yet, today, even though darkness plagued the capital for the first time in its history, no light could be seen coming from the palace.

    Across the vast gardens, through the white hallways now marred with red, human soldiers were fighting ardently against the heteroclite, seemingly endless numbers of the invaders. They were the Imperial Guard, elites amongst the elite, the strongest of mankind, bearers of the Blessed Lances, second only to the Hero.

    And, truthfully, their fame was warranted. Despite the overwhelming odds, it seemed they were succeeding in keeping the Queen¡¯s horde from stepping into the Inner Sanctum of the palace. Under their strikes, countless assailants were turned into countless corpses on the steps of the High Shrine of the Goddess. From the start of the battle, one, only one single demon had managed to break in. An impossible military prowess these guards seemed to be accomplishing with ease.

    However, if one were to take a closer look at the expressions of those mighty warriors, they would see no determination, no fighting spirit, nor even a shred of hope, only horror, and despair. From an outsider point of view, it might appear as if, against all chances, the defenders had the upper hand in this hellish stalemate. But in their heart, the knights knew the truth. They were not blocking the enemy outside.

    It was them who could not move in!

    One. One single demon had broken in since the very beginning.

    And it was the one demon that should not have.

    Before her, even the strongest men were like ants. The Monster had breezed past them with such nonchalance, they might as well have been air! She had stepped into the Inner Sanctum and the Imperial Guard had been unable to give pursuit, trapped outside with her demonic minions.

    She had stepped into the Inner Sanctum.

    Her Death Scythe was swung.

    And the Eight Spires had become seven, their timeless power dissipating into nothingness.

    The Lights of Empyrea had been extinguished and with it the last hope of Mankind.

    All the guard could do was cry, and fight. Fight to the last.

    One last stand.

    For the Empire.

    * * *

    Blood, Fire, and Death.

    Wherever her solid black eyes fell, all she could see were broken ruins of a once-lavish hall, filled with burning banners and tapestries, shattered ornaments, fallen columns, and an ocean of red in which were floating dozens of cooling corpses, some wearing robes, others clad in radiant silver, all pitiful isles, collapsed long before their time, all for the sake of one single man and his greed.

    She sighed. Then started coughing, pieces of flesh escaped through her dark blue-grey lips. Black tar-like blood trickled down her chin. When the fit subsided, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the hulking form laying immobile behind her.

    Ravens and Crows, I¡¯m tired.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    She had never needed much sleep. But now, she could not even clearly remember the last time she¡¯d simply laid down and rested. Granted her mind was growing increasingly muddled, so her memory wasn¡¯t at its best right this moment. She felt exhausted and so, so weary. This war had stopped being fun years ago. Or maybe she¡¯d been the one to change, she wasn¡¯t sure. She¡¯d used to enjoy all the bloodshed, at some point.

    It doesn''t matter now. Maybe I can finally sleep. A quick nap should be fine.

    But she knew she couldn¡¯t. Not yet. Through jagged holes in the walls of the shrine¡ªwhite walls marred with gore¡ªshe could still perceive the sounds of battle rising from the city bellow and falling from the skies above, accompanied by the smell of smoke and ripples of power caused by the clashes of magic.

    She groaned. She had to stand up and leave this place. She had to tell them it was over. If it was to be the last thing she did, she needed put a stop to this senseless massacre. For the sake of her own troops, surely, but for those stupid apes of the Empire too. While she held no sympathy for the human race as a whole, she nevertheless acknowledged that most had committed no worse sin than being born under the iron fist of a madman, a sin they could hardly be accounted for. In fact, she actually did not hold much sympathy for any race, not even the demons she technically ruled. But that was alright¡ªbecause the feeling was essentially mutual.

    Nobody liked the Daughter of Death, not even herself.

    Well, perhaps not ¡®nobody¡¯. Her lips lifted in small half-smile, but even that much hurt and her smile quickly turned into a grimace. The curse was eating her from the inside out. She¡¯d expected the pain, but expecting and experiencing were two very distinct things.

    In any case, I should make haste, she told herself. However, she did not move. She could not move, unable to muster the strength to do so.

    ¡°Damned Ptaeesh!¡± she spat hoarsely, prompting another fit of bloody coughs.

    Swearing would not help, but it did feel relatively good. She also found a modicum of humorous reprieve in the irony of cursing the Death God¡¯s name, when most of the world was convinced said evil god had sired her. Not that she could refute those accusations. She herself had not the faintest clue about her ancestors. As far as she could remember, she¡¯d been alone. Which was very strange for a demon. Orphans were common¡ªZarath was a harsh place¡ªbut demons had a strong sense of community. Or at least they did within their own subspecies. No child of a clan would be left to fend for themselves. And if that clan was wiped out, another clan of the same species would take in the younglings and babies.

    However she alone belonged to no clan, nor had she ever encountered or heard of any similar to herself. In many ways, she was an anomaly. So the possibility of her being, in fact, the offspring of the one existence whom in this universe was more loathed than herself might not be such a far-fetched hypothesis after all, even if the Divine Reaper himself had seemingly vanished several millennia ago. Ptaeesh¡¯s temples had long since crumbled to dust.

    The fact people still recalled and cursed his name, even after all this time, was actually an impressive testament of the hatred directed at the Death God. Hatred she herself had partially become the living recipient for the past ten centuries or so.

    ¡°Ahhh¡­¡± She wheezed and shook her head. The movement caused her dangling broken left horn to tap against her cheek, and her long dark hair fell before her eyes, its purple shine revealed whenever it caught the lights of the fires. She berated herself. Now is not the time to wallow!

    She needn¡¯t go too far. Her army was encircling the Inner Sanctum. If she could only drag herself to the shattered doors of the shrine, down the spiral staircase and to the gates of the outer ring, she could get hold of one of her generals and have them relay the information. It wasn¡¯t much. She also was far beyond caring to let others see her tattered state. What use was pride to the dead?

    But she was tired. So tired. Her body felt impossibly heavy. Her imposing frame, usually so nimble, had turned into a cumbersome mass of dead weight pinning her down. Her sensations were growing muffled. Sounds, smell, touch, magic senses, her own thoughts, even the pain permeating her every muscle and bone, by the minute everything became more distant, duller, fading like the memory of a dream¡­

    Her nightmarish eyes, the bottomless abysses of darkness that made even the mightiest demons cower in fear, roamed aimlessly across the devastated High Shrine filled with bloodied corpses. The most sacred place of the Life Goddess had become a temple of Death, god or no god to be worshiped.

    How ironic. I believe that whore should be quite displeased right now. Serves her right.

    Her wandering gaze slowed down over one specific butchered body, one clearly smaller than the rest, and not solely because many pieces were missing. Clad in shredded white metal, lying face-down in his own fluids, his inky black mane, usually held tight in a ponytail, now floated in the blood like a mocking halo around his head. The ¡®Hero¡¯ of Mankind.

    ¡°How utterly stupid¡­¡± she scoffed softly, before succumbing to yet another short attack of coughs. She noticed dejectedly that the pieces of rotting flesh coming out of her mouth were quite large now. She could only imagine the disastrous condition her innards had to be in. She repressed a sigh. That was what she got for messing with a cursed divine artifact. She could only smile bitterly, thinking that the Life Goddess was not sole to be struck by irony on this day.

    Resigned to her immobility, and to waiting for someone to be courageous or foolish enough to disobey her order not to enter the Inner Sanctum, she allowed her hazy thoughts to return to the so-called ¡°Hero¡±. A rather pitiful existence. So young, less than a babe by her standards. A child with mysterious powers kidnapped from a foreign world, then thrust into a conflict he knew nothing about by people who had no scruples feeding him with half-truths and outright lies.

    She had tried to spare the child. Not exactly out of mercy¡ªmerciful, she was not¡ªbut because killing pure-hearted imbeciles of his sort always left her with a bad aftertaste. She herself was far from a saint, obviously, but the desire to protect something precious to oneself was one she could get behind. Seeing such feelings twisted and used both saddened and sickened her.

    Unfortunately, that na?ve idiot had been far too strong for his own good. In the first place, the title ¡°Hero¡± was not an empty one. He was not someone against whom she¡¯d had the leeway to hold back. This had been their first time crossing blades in person, but the war had lasted a long time and spanned an unprecedented scale. Even with unequaled powers, she was only one person and could not be on every battlefield. She had, however, read many reports on how the young Hero would tear through even her prided Undying Guard, the elite of the Demon Realms, as easily as a child collapsing a sandcastle. So much for ¡°undying¡±.

    If anything, the kid had been a great warrior. Sadly, that only made his death even more of a waste.

    ¡°I hope¡­ you are¡­ proud of yourself¡­¡± she croaked venomously. Her own weak whispered voice sounded foreign her ears.

    She was not insulting the fallen youth, but another who had shared his demise, albeit two heartbeats later. Painfully, she tilted her head to look in direction of the round altar occupying the very center of the vast room.

    On the stone cleft in halves, laid a corpse clad in regal robes. Imperial robes more accurately. The splendid vestment, made all of golden brocades and once-pure-white cloth, was now torn and soaked with thick red. From his chest protruded the blade of a huge pitch black scythe. The design of the weapon was simple, plain even, but it exuded a tangible feeling of dread that even she was not insensible to. She¡¯d always hated wielding the thing.

    That said¡­ she mused. Nailing the Emperor, officially the First Servant of the Life Goddess, to the Altar of Life with the Cursed Scythe of the Death God. She must have broken a new record of blasphemy. Despite the situation, she could not help to be quite proud of herself.

    She had no proof the weapon had indeed belonged to Ptaeesh, but there was no doubt about its power. And knowing the Hero had managed to counter the power of that scythe, be it for an instant and when its wielder had already been severely weakened, she unwilling shivered at the thought of the monster he would have become had she allowed his talent to mature in the hands of the Emperor.

    Another strike of irony. If not for the Hero, the demon army had had no plan of assaulting the holy capital for several more years. If she had to be honest, they had not been ready. But this single threatening existence¡ªwhose strength kept increasing ever passing day¡ªhad forced them to hasten their plans instead of gradually reinforcing their ranks. In turn, this had forced her to unseal the true powers of the Death Scythe to palliate to their weakness.

    And now she was dying.

    I knew this war was a bad idea. She chuckled, quickly regretting her action when blood and pieces of entrails erupted from her mouth in another violent series of spasms.

    In a very roundabout way, the young idiot had succeeded in killing her. Actually, he had unknowingly stumbled on probably the only way to do so. Oh, he might have defeated her, had they faced off in a few years. But slay her? Nay. Seal her at most. She highly doubted anything but a curse from the Death God himself could bring down the expert user of Death Magic she was. Fortunately for everyone on Zarath, there were no two users of said magic, for the simple reason that a living being wielding the power of Death was an impossibility in itself. She was the first in known History, a true aberration in the mortal plane, and without the presence of Ptaeesh in this world, she likely would be the last.

    Darkness was creeping at the borders of her vision, and her eyes were fluttering shut once again. Sleep. If only she could sleep a little, she would be able to go tell everyone about the Emperor¡¯s demise when she woke up.

    But then a distant dying scream jerked her back awake.

    Ravens and Crows! What am I doing?!

    Anger welling inside her, she raised an arm, and violently stabbed her black claws deeply into her opposite shoulder! Digging in, she felt her fingers close around the bone and, without hesitation, snapped it, then brutally retracted her hand. She roared in pain, causing the last remaining windows of the shrine to shatter. Stained glass shards rained inside the room, sinking into the thick layer of blood covering the floor. Stars exploded in her mind, momentarily dispersing the haze that had been spreading over her thoughts. For the first time since she¡¯d let go of the Death Scythe, she felt somewhat lucid.

    ¡°Dammit. I¡­ cannot die¡­ yet... I must.. tell... them... Argh! Cough! Dammit!¡±

    Coughing uncontrollably, she attempted to stand up, leaning heavily on the dead beast behind her. She managed to raise herself off the ground. However, to her surprise, she could not seem to put any strength into her left leg. She slipped, fell back down, and let a groan of pain escape through her gritted fangs.

    What the¡­ She glanced down, and couldn¡¯t contain a cynical laughter despite the agony it put her through. Well, obviously I shan''t go very far in such condition. Damned Ptaeesh! Just how out of it am I?

    Her own injuries had escaped her dazed mind for a moment. Of her left leg, only a mangled stump remained, oozing the black tar that filled her veins. Sighing, she gave a weak punch to the humongous reptilian creature she had been using as a backrest.

    ¡°Imbecile¡­¡±

    She was not certain whether her invective targeted herself or the dead monster, who had mistakenly thought a good idea to swallow her limb. Both seemed to deserve the title at this moment, although especially the beast. Who was dumb enough to bite into someone nicknamed the Harbinger of Pestilence and the Daughter of Death? Her touch killed a normal grown man in two heartbeats and a few drops of her blood would poison an adult dragon to death.

    One would think any being with a modicum of survival instinct would stay clear from her. And they would be right, for the most part. Unfortunately for both of them, however, the creature which had gulped down her leg had not possessed even this ¡°modicum of survival instinct¡±.

    The beast was called a draith. Many considered them nightmares of the skies, but in her opinion, draiths were just pitiful existences. Born from magic and alchemy in an attempt by the Empire to artificially raise an army of mindless obedient dragons, they were flawed creatures, constantly in pain and enslaved through complex hexes. Botched tools of slaughter with a lifespan of barely above one full year.

    As pitiful as they were, they still were frightening as living weapons, and they might have turned the tables of the war if not for a slight miscalculation. To develop the draiths, the Empire¡¯s alchemists had experimented on many dragon eggs, stolen from all over the continent. Dragons were fiercely selfish creatures, who notoriously cared of no one but themselves. The imperials had believed they would have at most to face a handful of enraged mothers. Nobody could have guessed that the entire race would unite in outrage at having their kin used to conjure up deformed parodies of themselves.

    Well, she had known, because Shadow had told her this might happen. The black dragon knew well how the members of his race were nothing if not prideful.

    Involving the dragons had been the second of the Emperor¡¯s two mistakes that led to his demise. The first had been not to kill his own daughter.

    The draith now lying dead next to her had come crashing through the wall about three-quarter into her fight with the Hero, taking everyone still alive by surprise, especially her. When she had taken down the barrier protecting the shrine, she hadn¡¯t exactly expected anything to fall on top of it. Sure, dragons and draiths were battling above the capital, but considering the expanse of the city, the probability of something like this happening was beyond negligible.

    Not negligible enough apparently. As bad luck would have it, the thing had almost squashed her when it fell. Moreover, despite grievous wounds, it had still been alive, and enraged, as draiths always were. She had managed to survive its mindless attack, but the dumb animal had still managed to take her leg before dying instants later. Although not from its injuries. Obviously, eating the flesh of a being whose sole touch brings decay and death has proven to be a very bad life decision. Hahaha¡­

    She didn¡¯t notice she had been dozing off again until hurried footsteps broke through her dazed downward spiral of dark humor. Forcing her eyes open, she laboriously turned her head around towards the broken silver doors of the shrine. Soon a group of about twenty-five barged into the trashed room. All but one froze in shock at the scene of carnage filling the place, their gaze converging especially on the impaled body of the emperor.

    Only one girl amongst the newcomers did not seem to care, even though she probably should have¡ªbecause the man nailed to the altar was her father.

    But instead of showing even the slightest interest in the corpse of her genitor, the princess scanned the blood-stained wreckage fearfully, until her sky blue eyes spotted the body of the draith¡ªadmittedly difficult to miss¡ªand the comparatively much smaller maimed silhouette laying unmoving against the monster.

    ¡°MERIA!!!¡±

    Ah. Music to my ears.

    If this was a dream, she didn¡¯t want to wake up and be once again alone in this stupid shrine of that stupid goddess. But this wasn¡¯t a dream. And the girl started running towards her, heedless of the blood that splattered her beige pants with every step she took. The fallen one-legged demon did not mind either. Meria had always found women more beautiful when covered in someone else''s blood. Maybe it was her twisted heritage manifesting, or maybe she just had a weird fetish. She didn''t really care. Right now her thoughts were all focused on the magnificent apparition dashing towards her.

    Golden locks floating behind a face that seemed carved by the hand of an artist. Blue eyes housing a thousand emotions, from the deepest kindness to the coldest violence. Rosy white skin the sun seemingly could not seem to darken. Kissable lips and shapely breasts that had spawned countless fantasies in the demoness''s mind, granting her precious moments of reprieve whenever the weight of her responsibilities seemed about to crush her. And that ass! How she wished to hold this woman, to caress her, to worship her. She wanted to conquer the world and lay it at her feet, to tie up her naked form and make her squirm and beg for release, to cuddle under the moonlight then fuck her senseless until she screamed her name.

    Pity, none of those fantasies could ever be anything more than just that. Fantasies. Even if Meria hadn¡¯t been dying, what could she do when she could not even touch the woman without killing her?! Although, she did come quite close to conquering the world¡ªif leading a coalition of all races to crush the largest Empire in the world counted as something. And Meria believed it did.

    Looking at the approaching beauty, she idly thought if she were to die right then, this wasn¡¯t such a bad last sight to see. Not a bad sight at all.

    ¡°Meria!¡± The human apparition slid to her knees in the filthy blood. Immediately she reached out for the demoness'' face, but a stern glance of pure darkness halted her gesture. Instead, she deviated her hand and entangled her fingers within the dark purplish mane framing the visage most feared in the world. However, there was no fear in her own azure eyes, only a mixture of worry and relief.

    The demoness looked down at the small human¡ªthough really all humans were small to her¡ªand couldn''t help a slightly bitter smile.

    ¡°Hi, Beautiful¡­Fancy meeting¡­meeting you here¡­¡±

    ¡°Meria. Thank Goddess you''re alive!¡±

    ¡°Ha...Now, that would be¡­hilarious.¡± Meria stifled yet another gory cough, keeping her face stoic. She knew her princess well enough to guess that the blonde would try to ease her pain regardless of the consequences. ¡°Please don¡¯t make me¡­laugh¡­It tickles.¡±

    No. Better suffer in silence and keep the beauty''s hand in her hair. At least that part of her body wasn''t cursed. She was still vaguely worried some of her blood had seeped through her scalp, but she felt too tired and weak-willed right now to refuse herself this small comfort.

    ¡°Shhh, Meria. Don¡¯t be silly. You''re injured.¡±

    ¡°No? ...Really?¡± she tried to sound innocent, failing horribly at it.

    The blonde shot the demon a glare and the most powerful being in the mortal plane backed down like a meek kitten.

    The princess¡¯ earlier scream had snapped the rest of the group out of their daze. Now three people were quickly approaching while the remaining ones, a heteroclite gathering of demons, humans, elves, beastmen and even one short stocky dwarf, started to sort out the ruins of the shrine. The demoness reluctantly averted her gaze from the embodiment of perfection and glanced at the new arrivals.

    Walking in front of the two others was a tall and sickly pale man with long white hair, wearing a black cloak. His bright red eyes shone in the ambient darkness. The blood coating the floor was parting before him as if animated by a life of its own.

    Slightly behind followed a purple-skinned woman. Two horns grew from her forehead, spiraling backward, and two large bat wings, currently folded, protruded from her back. Her skin-tight black leather armor hugged her sinful curves so closely, she might as well have been naked. Daggers, bolts and two small crossbows hung from her belt.

    The last one looked at odds with his two companion. Obviously human, clad a white clerical robe, he looked much more shaken than his companions by the devastation around. In truth, he did a relatively good job at hiding it, but in comparison to the two who seemed to have fully recovered from their initial shock, his faint shaking and swimming eyes formed a sharp contrast.

    Reaching the two women, the vampire, the succubus, and the human quickly kneeled down, a circle of the floor having magically cleared from its blood. With a quick glance from the red-eyed man, the red maculating the princess'' clothes also flew out and returned to the sea of fluid filling the room.

    ¡°My Queen,¡± the vampire spoke softly with reverence, two long incisive peeking out from under his upper lips when he opened his mouth.

    ¡°Zephyr," the fallen demoness acknowledged. ¡°We¡­must send word¡ª¡±

    ¡°It has been done, Your Majesty.¡±

    Ordinarily, nobody¡ªnot even her most trusted aides¡ªwould dare interrupt the Demon Queen, but it was obvious to everyone present that talking was extremely painful for her. Meria didn¡¯t thank him, but her lack of reaction to Zephyr¡¯s insolence was telling enough.

    ¡°Always the zealous¡­one, uh? Then¡­we must¡ª"

    ¡°We must nothing!¡± This time it was the blonde who interrupted the Demon Queen, though no one seemed to find it strange. Normal rules didn¡¯t really apply to the princess. ¡°They,¡± she said pointing at the trio, ¡°are perfectly capable of dealing with everything now. You need to rest. You¡¯ve done too much already.¡±

    Silence greeted that declaration. The vampire, the succubus and the human priest had complicated expressions on their faces, expressions which the fallen Queen understood well. Truthfully, the princess was not as oblivious to the situation as she seemed. She just still refused to accept it. Meria offered a small smile to the tearful blue eyes. She hated to see her princess sad and how she longed to be the one to wipe those tears. Of course, that was not to be.

    Closing her eyes briefly, Meria turned towards the purple wet dream.

    ¡°Sheila,¡± she greeted. ¡°Shadow?¡± her voice was barely a murmur now and each word struggled to form.

    The succubus shook her head and made a contrite face. Meria felt her slowing heart clench. Amongst all she knew, Shadow was the one she¡¯d known for the longest. They¡¯d been together for nearly seven hundred years, ever since she had grabbed his egg from his mother¡¯s cooling corpse. In her defense, the female reptile had been trying to eat the young Meria.

    ¡°He outdid himself, Your Majesty,¡± Sheila added, in a solemn tone unusual for the ordinarily playful seductress. ¡°He took down two-thirds of the draith flock by himself before falling.¡±

    ¡°Only two-thirds, uh?¡± Meria croaked, as if destroying hundreds of giant flying monsters wasn¡¯t impressive at all. ¡°Hahaha¡­What a slacker¡­I¡¯ll have to¡­spank¡­that brat¡­next time¡­I see¡­him¡­¡±

    She joked to hide her sorrow, but inwardly she was filled with pride. Even for a black dragon, famed as the strongest of the race, killing so many of these abominations was no short of a miracle. She thought he must have used some kind of forbidden magic to achieve something so ridiculous. He¡¯d always loved toying with the most dangerous spells. Like mother, like son, I guess. Another bitter smile formed on her lips.

    ¡°Don¡¯t speak like that, Meria! Don¡¯t...¡± the princess¡¯ voice died when she met the glazed black orbs of the demoness. The Queen¡¯s time was running out, and they both knew it.

    Meria¡¯s crooked smile turned into a calm and loving one. She raised a hand to brush lightly inches away from the beautiful blond locks, which seemed as if they would shine even in the darkest of hells.

    ¡°The Emperor is dead...¡± she whispered. ¡°Long live the Empress...May¡­May her reign be long and¡­prosperous¡­¡± Her lids fluttered shut. ¡°A shame I won¡¯t¡­be there to see it.¡± Maybe it¡¯s for the best.

    "Meria..."

    "Shhh..." The demoness forced her eyes open again with visible difficulty and soothed the crying future Empress with another weak smile.

    She shot an imperceptible glance at the two other demons waiting close by, both of whom nodded slightly in response. They clearly understood the unspoken message. Should the new Empress die in any other way than peacefully, of old age, and after a long and fruitful life, then Meria would claw her way out of whatever afterlife she ended up in and would make both of them wish they¡¯d never been born. Then she would hunt down whoever had hurt her beloved, then follow all of her victims back in the afterlife again and make them wish they never died.

    Knowing their Queen, both demons thought she was just unbelievable enough to pull off such a feat.

    Satisfied, Meria looked back to the young princess¡¯ face. Her gaze suddenly froze when she noticed the white strand now marring her golden mane. Horrified, she quickly retracted her claws which had unknowingly taken hold of a lock. Some hair stuck to her hand, already decaying fast enough for the naked eye to see.

    She kept staring at the dust in her palm, unable to avert her gaze.

    ¡°Only this...¡± she whispered unconsciously. ¡°Only this¡­I wanted...for myself... Just once...Just...Just this... Was it too much¡­to ask?¡± Her voice trembled as her vision blurred. Oily black tears filled her solid black eyes and trailed down her cheeks. ¡°Just¡ª¡±

    Warm lips on her cold ones interrupted her words. Their touch felt soft like Meria had always dreamed it¡ªand more. All her pain and aches seemed to vanish, for this instant, she believed all the suffering in her life had been worth it, if only for this single chaste union. She almost lost herself in the sensation, but then her sluggish mind caught up with reality and she mustered all the strength she had left to push the young woman away.

    ¡°NO!!¡±

    But it was too late already. As she feared, the veins around her beloved¡¯s mouth had begun turning black and her skin was already losing its color.

    ¡°Ulrich!!¡± she shouted, causing her to vomit copious amounts of blood and almost choke on pieces of her own putrefying guts. She did not care in the slightest.

    The white-clad man who had remained silent until now gasped in horror and rushed forwards, his hands shining a blinding warm light that made the three demons wince. He clasped his palms on both sides of the blonde¡¯s face and mumbled some incantation. The marks of death slowly receded, leaving only a slight bluish tint to her lips. The man, as well as the three demons, all sighed in relief. Only the princess herself seemed unfazed by her near brush with death.

    Meria slouched back against the draith corpse and glared at the blonde woman.

    ¡°Ravens and¡­Crows! Why would you¡­do such a¡ª¡±

    ¡°I love you, Meria.¡±

    The demoness¡¯s next word got stuck in her throat which had tied itself into a knot. She took in a sharp painful breath, and closed her eyes, burning into her own soul the last memory of the young woman whose beauty and soul shone brighter than anything she¡¯d seen in her long, long life.-

    Then she allowed herself to say the words she¡¯d refused to let past her lips for the past ten years.

    ¡°I love you too, Elise...please¡­be happy.¡±

    And, as if a weight had been lifted from it, the demoness¡¯ tired heart was finally granted a rest long, long overdue.

    Thusly died Meriataneesh Karstrev, Demon Queen, Unifier of the Demonic Realms, Mother of the Black Dragon, Daughter of Death, Blightborn, Walking Decay, Harbinger of Pestilence, Strongest and World Conqueror, hated by most, feared by all but one, marking the stumbling first step of a new era of peace and prosperity for the world of Zarath.

    * * * * *

 Chapter 01 â€“ Nemesis

    5 September 2017. Justice City. Business District.

    The man¡¯s eyes surveyed the hostages kneeling before him, trembling with their hands on the back of their heads. Although calling them hostages might be a little premature. The robbery had been progressing smoothly so far, with no police, heroes, or troublesome vigilantes intervening to mess things up.

    For now, at least, there was no need to use anyone as a bargaining chip. As the kneeling people were told, nobody would get hurt as long as they behaved. But only as long as they behaved. One already had disregarded the man¡¯s advice, and his charred remains now served as a gruesome, and smelly, reminder of what awaited those who tried to play hero. The sounds of tearing flesh and breaking bones in the background of the otherwise silent room also helped pacify the frightened group.

    Satisfied, the man allowed himself a small smile behind the featureless black mask hiding his whole face. He raised the modified ?korpion VZ61 and nonchalantly rested the barrel against his shoulder. The Czechoslovakian machine gun wasn''t amongst his favorites, but it mattered little to someone like him. From pistol to rocket-launcher, including Gatling¡¯s and about everything that shot stuff into people, a single touch was all he required to master any weapon completely.

    This special ability made him what people called a ¡°parahuman¡±, something not quite human, beyond or beside humanity depending on who you asked. Pop culture would dub him a Super Villain, but the term ¡°super¡± had been long since condemned by the general populace as very politically incorrect. Not to mention just plain incorrect, since many supposed ¡°super¡± humans found themselves crippled by their own power rather than enhanced in any way.

    What stuck from pop culture, however, was the love for stage names and silly outfits, some sillier than others. The man wasn¡¯t really one for flashy costumes, preferring to wear a practical non-descript black body armor. However his power led him to always carry a great many weapons on his person, therefore some newspaper had once nicknamed him ¡°the Arsenal¡±. It had stuck and, honestly, he kind of liked it. And to anyone who dared to shorten it to ¡°Arse¡±, he¡¯d tear a new one, in the middle of the forehead.

    After one last glance at the potential hostages, Arsenal turned to the right.

    ¡°Drake, try to keep the noise down a bit. It¡¯s disgusting.¡±

    A grunt came in response from the man sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor. If, however, the creature could be called a man at all.

    Culminating at 6¡¯55¡¯¡¯ without even getting up, the behemoth appeared more reptilian than mammalian, let alone human. His hunched appearance evoked a monstrous green scaled gorilla, with forearms each thicker than one of Arsenal¡¯s thighs, but with sharp claws instead of nails. His head recalled that of a raptor from the Cretaceous, wisps of smoke sometimes filtering from the corners of his maw.

    For all vestment, the creature wore tight-fitting black pants, a large trench coat, and a fedora hat. The sight might have looked comical, if not for the three basket-ball-sized flaming spheres slowly orbiting his head or the femur poking out of his massive jaws. Bits of burned flesh still stuck to the bone. By his side, the barbecued corpse of the wannabe hero was missing a leg. Easy math.

    With a resounding crack, the bone disappeared inside Drake¡¯s maw. The creature burped loudly and fire jumped out from deep inside him, between his jaws and across the room, to turn a computer into a pile of molten scraps. Good thing the robbers had thought to deactivate the fire alarm beforehand. The monster then sent at Arsenal a smug grin full of sharp pointed fangs.

    The masked man clicked his tongue and looked away. He found Drake repulsive, both inside and out. But they didn¡¯t need to be best buddies to work well together. So the gunman kept his comments to himself. In his mind, upsetting the beast would be both inconvenient and a waste of time. They needed him for his brawn, not his brains anyway. It was already surprising the lizard possessed even this much of the latter.

    Powered individuals of Drake¡¯s sort were rare, abnormal. Abilities that caused such large physical changes typically killed their host upon first awakening, and the few who survived their transformation into freaks very seldom remained sane afterward. Depending on the circumstances, they would be either put out of their misery, or captured and shipped to special care-and-detention facilities. Drake had somehow slipped through the cracks.

    Arsenal had been more than a little reluctant when one of his contacts he used for recruitment had introduced the saurian to him. But so far the gunman had had no complaints beyond the freak¡¯s overall unpleasantness. Drake was a brutal bastard, but he was definitely sane, at least in comparison to a feral beast.

    ¡°H for A¡­ H for A¡­¡±

    A noise from the radio strapped to his collarbone caught the Arsenal¡¯s attention and he leaned into the transceiver.

    ¡°A listening.¡±

    ¡°H speaking. We¡¯re in and secured. Over.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Tell C to begin the preparations. Over.¡±

    ¡°Got it. Out.¡±

    The conversation ended and Arsenal returned to his careful watch of the hostages, windows and side doors. He occasionally shot a glance towards the main entrance, but it wasn¡¯t his principal concern. The design of the building made it impossible for them to be seen from the street. They¡¯d locked the front door and hung an official-looking message board implying the bank was closed for exceptional reasons. That ought to keep people out for a time.

    Of course, the trick wouldn¡¯t last, but they didn¡¯t plan on staying too long. This kind of operation required timing and precision, both of which were Arsenal¡¯s true weapon rather than his supernatural ability to handle firearms and tantamount. Any run-of-the-mill retard could learn how to shoot a gun, but it took a special kind of intelligence to think up plans that fell into place like clockwork.

    It also took a certain kind of skill to execute them. Arsenal and his small team were no novices. For the past four years, Him, Drake, Hertz¡ªwho was currently back in the vault¡ªand a woman called Sidestep had hit several banks, museums, companies, and other juicy targets all over the city.

    Six months ago, however, Sidestep at gotten herself atomized, literally. She had tried to teleport out of a bank before Hertz could fully neutralize its spatial shield. Every important building had one nowadays. It created minute spatial distortions through the whole building¡ªor something. Arsenal didn¡¯t understand the specifics. Sufficed to say it was imperceptible and inoffensive¡­as long as you weren¡¯t trying to jump through space yourself. In which case you¡¯d be lucky if enough was left of you for cremation. Sidestep¡¯s remains wouldn¡¯t have filled a thimble.

    That said, the money they¡¯d amassed even before her death should have been enough for most to retire already, but not for them. Each had their own reasons to continue.

    Hertz, for example, was a technopath. Nothing to do with a psychopath and all with a telepath, but with machines instead of minds. At least, that¡¯s how the gunman pictured it.

    Hertz¡¯s abilities revolved around technology and tinkering up futuristic device¡ªor messing with them in the case of the spatial shields. Theoretically, his power had unlimited potential. Most parahumans, no matter how powerful, were one-trick ponies. Technopaths could possibly surpass them all as long as they had the right resources. However, there lain also their greatest weakness. Those resources cost money, lots of it. A broke technopath was no better than any average Joe.

    Moreover, they couldn¡¯t simply not build stuff. Their power had a tendency to become obsessive, like an itch they had to scratch. Lock up a technopath away from any technology for a couple weeks and he would go bad shit insane. Because of this, almost every techy worked for one large corporation or another, which were all too happy to supply them in exchange for marketable patents.

    Even then, the majority of their kind was a little touched in the head.

    Arsenal¡¯s reasons for money were less complex. Debts. Simple as that. Like many people, he¡¯d been stupid as an adolescent. When his powers had first manifested, he¡¯d thought himself invincible. Several bullets in his abdomen and nearly getting his arm blown off had eventually gotten through to him that he very much was not.

    However, by the time he¡¯d come to his senses, he¡¯d been sinking into such deep shit he¡¯d had no leeway of being choosy about whose hand pulled him out of the muck. Now he owed a great deal of money to very dangerous people, whom even he could simply not afford not to repay.

    Everything wasn¡¯t as bleak as it sounded, though. Arsenal quite enjoyed living as a notorious criminal. He had the smarts to pull it off and the experience not to fuck up anymore.

    Even while slowly repaying his debt in monthly installments, he¡¯d been setting aside enough to last him a lifetime. And now he was close to clear his tab, so to speak. Another two¡ªmaybe three hits, including one to get himself a nice retirement bonus, and he¡¯d be on his way out of the country, to a nice villa on a beach in the Bahamas, or anywhere he damn pleased.

    He did feel a little bad for intending to ditch Hertz, but not so much that he¡¯d change his plans for sea and sun. And sex. Never forget sex.

    As for Drake, Arsenal didn¡¯t know what the lizard man¡¯s reasons were, and frankly, he didn¡¯t give a damn. In all their years as repeated accomplices, the freak had maybe pronounced five full sentences in his presence, the rest of the time only communicating in grunts. Not a great basis for developing a sharing relationship. Not that Arsenal wanted one.

    Sidestep had had her own reasons too, but obviously, they weren¡¯t really pertinent anymore. Her replacement, Carrier, claimed he needed the cash for some ¡°personal project¡±, the specifics of which he preferred to keep to himself. He was much younger than the rest of the team, barely seventeen, but he¡¯d been referred to Arsenal by the same man who¡¯d recommended Drake. He¡¯d been assured the kid was a professional and, like with the reptilian freak before, it had proven true over the past few months.

    The kid was actually an improvement from Sidestep. Like his nickname suggested, Carrier could take a much bigger load with him when he teleported than the woman had been able to, which was an invaluable quality when time was of the essence.

    Just a few more¡­

    Arsenal¡¯s mind was half-drifting towards sandy beaches and topless beauties handing him colorful cocktail¡ªwhen his radio once again cut through his musing.

    ¡°H for A! Arsenal! Shit! Arsenal, you there?!¡±

    Hertz¡¯s voice was frantic. Arsenal was instantaneously alert but, unlike his colleague, he remained calm.

    ¡°A speaking. H, what¡¯s the matter?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s gone!¡±

    ¡°What? Who¡¯s gone?¡±

    ¡°Carrier!¡±

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®gone¡¯?¡± Sidestep¡¯s incident immediately came to mind. The gunman cursed himself for actually trusting a brat who still reeked of mama¡¯s milk! Just because he hadn¡¯t messed up until now¡­He took a calming breath. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you deactivated the shield?¡±

    ¡°Shit, Arse! Who do you take me for? I wouldn¡¯t do that mistake twice!! He¡¯s gone I tell you! Vanished! One instant he was there, then poof! And he¡¯s not responding on the radio. Gone!¡±

    Hertz was the only one who could get away with occasionally shortening Arsenal¡¯s nickname. They¡¯d become close enough to consider each other tentative friends. At least as much as friendship was possible with their lifestyle.

    ¡°The money?¡±

    Carrier double-crossing them was the second obvious conclusion.

    ¡°Still there! A, we need to get out! I¡¯ve got a bad feeling about this.¡±

    ¡°Calm down, Hertz. Alright, pack up and come back here. We¡¯ll have to¡­¡±

    Arsenal¡¯s sentence died on his lips when he noticed Drake¡¯s orbiting fireballs suddenly flicker out of existence as if a switch had been turned off. A confused glance from the wannabe dragon confirmed it hadn¡¯t been on purpose.

    The gunman paled.

    ¡°Fuck! Hertz, get the hell out of here! It¡¯s a code N!¡±

    ¡°WHAT?! But she was supposed to¡­¡±

    Well, obviously that tip was off.

    The rest of the technopath¡¯s words was lost on Arsenal when one of the bank¡¯s windows suddenly exploded inwards in a rain of shards and a blue figure came crashing through. Immediately the figure revealed itself as a woman, falling feet first and arms crossed protectively before her masked face.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    Arsenal raised the ?korpion and emptied the magazine in the intruder¡¯s direction as the hostages started screaming and throwing themselves to the floor and under desks. He thought of grabbing one and using them as a shield, but leaning down would put him in a vulnerable position and they were simply too far from him. Why didn¡¯t I keep closer?! The answer came to mind immediately. He¡¯d grown complacent.

    The woman landed on the ground and immediately ducked under cover, running between furniture in the direction opposite to the captured people, trying to keep gunfire focused on her and away from them.

    ¡°Shit! Drake, get her!¡± Arsenal called out without moving his eyes away from his target.

    The bullets had done nothing, repelled by a translucent energy shield that had materialized inches above the woman¡¯s skin, or rather above the skin-tight blue bodysuit she was wearing, reminiscent of some famous ex-soldier from the Metroid video game series. Her helmet, almost entirely composed of a blue visor that covered her whole face, was similarly protected.

    Drake¡¯s pyrokinesis would be as useless against her. Nemesis was a heroine famous for negating all and every power in her vicinity. Though she wasn¡¯t omnipotent. Her ability didn¡¯t extend to permanent changes resulting from powers. It didn¡¯t affect Drake¡¯s muscles or Arsenal¡¯s knowledge of weapons, hard-coded into his brain.

    In fact, he felt a little relieved about that. He¡¯d assumed the information was really inputted in his memory and not somehow sustained by his ability, like a cloud storage thing. But it wasn¡¯t like he could have just looked around town for Nemesis and walked into her range to test it out. He wouldn¡¯t be able to pick up any new weapon with her nearby, but that was irrelevant at the moment.

    Meanwhile, the heroine was also returning shots, but not bullets. Her weapon emitted some kind of energy blasts instead. Even if she accidentally hit one of the hostages, at worse they would have gotten stunned. However, she was a great shot, as Arsenal quickly discovered when he was forced to jump out of the way of a second blast in a few seconds. Small energy weapons had a clear advantage when it came to rapid fire, though it caused them to overheat if abused.

    When the ?korpion ran out of bullets, Arsenal threw it away, then unholstered two handguns from under his armpits and kept shooting at Nemesis¡¯ general position. Even if the bullets couldn¡¯t penetrate her shield, he knew he¡¯d been a little hasty in thinking they did nothing.

    He was correct in his assertion that most parahumans only had one or two cards to play, and he knew for a fact Nemesis had no shielding powers. Which meant her protection had to be generated by some sort of device, likely technopath-designed.

    He also knew from listening to Hertz¡¯s incessant ramblings that these devices needed a shitload of power to run. Her suit was too form-fitting to hide any large battery, to a point it was actually slightly distracting in fact. And since she was bothering to take cover, Arsenal was confident in his supposition each hit depleted the autonomy of her shield. She couldn¡¯t take too many before becoming defenseless.

    However, he wasn¡¯t planning on waiting until then. As a plan B maybe, or C. Always having backups was the key to success. But right now, the first purpose of his barrage was to limit her movement range.

    ¡°ROOOOOOAAAAR!!¡±

    A green blur suddenly appeared from the right with a deafening roar. Drake had never been one for subtlety. But then, he didn¡¯t really need it. He was on Nemesis in a matter of seconds, his hulking form dwarfing the otherwise tall woman. His fist descended on her, too fast for her to avoid.

    Yet she did. Her forwards momentum abruptly stopped, very unnaturally, and the punch missed her head by a hair¡¯s breath. Arsenal didn¡¯t have time to ponder how she¡¯d managed that feat because, without pausing, she crouched and pivoted, again with inhuman speed, and swept Drake¡¯s feet from under him.

    The behemoth collapsed backward, cracking the tiled floor, and she followed with an equally fast left jab to his stomach. This one, however, had no apparent effect, at least not on Drake. Arsenal saw Nemesis faintly shake her hand as if to dissipate pain. He could imagine the heroine¡¯s grimacing expression right know. He knew from experience how hard the freak¡¯s scales were.

    Then she fiddled with her energy weapon, likely scaling up the power output to something above mere stunning, and pointed it at the fallen lizard-man. Arsenal finally reacted.

    Oh no, you don¡¯t. Two can play this game, bitch!

    Dropping his handguns, he grabbed another weapon from his waist. The gun looked like something between a very realistic toy and a makeshift firearm. He pointed it in the heroine¡¯s direction and pressed the first trigger.

    The contraption began to buzz and vibrate dangerously, menacing to come apart. He could feel the heat rising in his palm. Then with a timing nobody but someone with an intimate understanding of the weapon could pull off, he pressed the second trigger. The gun abruptly cooled down as it released a condensed pulse of white light that darted across the room.

    The action had taken less than a second. The ray collided almost instantaneously with Nemesis. Her shield flared, then flickered and shut down. There was no showy visual effect like it erupting in particles of light, nor was there any wound on her body, but the way she momentarily froze in surprise was all Arsenal needed to know Hertz¡¯s invention had successfully destroyed her defense.

    A pity this electromagnetic raygun could only damage electronic components. ¡°A work in progress¡± Hertz had called it. But with technopaths, everything was always a work in progress.

    Nemesis¡¯ instant of distraction was also all Drake needed to regain the upper hand in this fight. His punch caught her cleanly in the chest, expelling the air out of her lungs and launching her several feet back. She tumbled to the floor, her chest heaving breathlessly¡ªand not a little erotically to the onlookers with how her suit was hugging her forms. She wasn¡¯t exactly curvy, but Arsenal would nevertheless tap that in a heartbeat.

    Arsenal smiled behind his mask. He didn¡¯t know how she¡¯d managed that super-speed stunt before, but without her suit Nemesis was just a normal woman, if a well-trained one. The combination of her nullifying power and martial arts might be enough to take out careless parahumans who relied overly on their active supernatural abilities, but against people like Drake and Arsenal whose powers improved them passively, as long as they didn¡¯t let her use her gadgets, she was the powerless one.

    Drake was smirking with all his fangs, enjoying the sight of his weakened prey struggling to stand up and eager to toy with her more. Arsenal, however, didn¡¯t want to lose any more of their precious time in futilities. Every passing minute was another for the police to gather outside the bank or more heroes to arrive.

    Police, he didn¡¯t mind too much, but heroes were another matter. The only thing more problematic were vigilantes. That bunch was unruly and unpredictable. But fortuitously unlicensed crime fighters were unlikely to come out on such a public scene in broad daylight. In the eye of law enforcement, they were no better than criminals themselves.

    In the worst plausible case scenario, one or more heroes were already waiting in front of the building, and the only reason they didn¡¯t come in was because of Nemesis. Another weakness of the heroine was her inability to discriminate whom she targeted with her power. Only one other hero was known to sometimes work with her, but Arsenal had heard from a reliable source¡ªbecause he kept tabs on such things¡ªthat her partner was currently away in another state, so he wasn¡¯t worried.

    He put the raygun back in its holster and took hold of the AR-15 he carried over the shoulder. He had another small smile. After all, what better weapon to end an American idol than with US citizens¡¯ most prized semi-automatic rifle? He always had been a closet fan of irony.

    He only had a short time before the heroine got her bearings back, but he knew it was better not to hurry too much and miss this opportunity. He took a careful aim, an easy task in the light flooding the room from the broken window, then, with a passing thought this might be good timing for a cheesy one-liner had he been the type, he pressed the trigger.

    A sharp metallic sound echoed loudly in the room, almost covered by the rifle going off, and Nemesis lunged for her energy weapon, lying on the ground where Drake had hit her. Arsenal blinked and looked down at his own weapon. The gun had nearly been ripped out of his hands, causing him to miss, and now had a massive dent in its side.

    Fuck.

    His eyes widened in horrified realization. His head snapped reflexively towards the window and Arsenal almost could have sworn he saw the man prone atop a distant building nearly two miles away, smirking wickedly while readjusting his oversized sniper rifle. But of course, that was impossible. Immediately after, his mind caught up and the robber hurriedly jumped to the side.

    ¡°Why is he here¡ªARGH!!¡±

    Pain exploded in his left shoulder before he could move completely away from the opening. The blow sent him whirling towards the ground, but he never felt the impact with the tiled floor. A violent shock traversed his body, originating from the electronic projectile stuck to his shoulder. He lost consciousness.

    The last image that burnt itself in his retinas before darkness engulfed him was that of Nemesis aiming her energy gun at Drake¡¯s reptilian face and the weapon flashing red. Then nothing.

    * * *

    Morgan leaned against a wall in the lobby of Esteems Financials, one foot propped against the dark oak baseboard.

    With the corner of her eyes, she was observing coolly as the member of the PCU, the Parahuman Containment Unit of the US police, loaded the unconscious bodies of Arsenal and Drake, bound of stretchers, into an armored transporter. The reptilian humanoid also had a translucent plastic mask strapped to his face, pumping gaseous incapacitating agents into his system to keep him under until they reached facilities better equipped to restrain the monster.

    A third man, who had been formally identified as the criminal technopath Hertz, was pushed in along with his two accomplices. Morgan had caught him near the vault as he was trying to flee with a large amount of cash and far more technological equipment than he could reasonably carry alone. He¡¯d cried when she¡¯d taken the latter away from him. Typical technopath behavior.

    Seeing her like this, apparently calm and collected, nobody would have guessed she was, in fact, fighting to keep her breathing steady. She was still suffering from Drake¡¯s punch. Several of her ribs had to be bruised. Although it could have been worse. Luckily, her bodysuit had mitigated most of the damage.

    Despite the borderline obscene tightness of the outfit, every square inch of it was nevertheless packed with some of the latest tech on Earth, courtesy of NovaTech, the company that employed her as a heroine¡ªor, as she often put it in the secrecy of her mind, as a glorified booth babe.

    She was also afraid she might have broken her left wrist. At least, it was definitely sprained. She¡¯d have a talk with the tech team about recalibrating the new boosters. The small canisters were scattered over her suit and could release short bursts of compressed air that momentarily increased the speed and power of her movements to superhuman levels, but the intensity of the boost turned out harder to control than they¡¯d anticipated in the heat of battle.

    Well, it¡¯s also my fault for punching a dinosaur. Way to go for the great Nemesis.

    She was distracted from her self-depreciating thoughts by a cheerful voice suddenly jumping out of her open communication channel. ¡°Hey! Nem! Wassup princess? Getting your ass beaten for once? Can¡¯t leave you out of my scope five seconds, now can I?¡±

    The obnoxiously loud greeting, if it could be called that, echoed painfully inside her helmet. Fortunately, the headgear was set on privacy mode. Sounds could come in, but no matter how ear-splittingly one specific idiot shouted over the com-line, nobody would hear a thing but her. Not even the director of the bank, who was standing a step away.

    The fat, sweaty, bald man had been trying to drown her in spittle for the past fifteen minutes, under the pretense of thanking her, while she endeavored to ignore him but at the same time keep track of the key points in his blathering in order to respond accurately should she be asked a question.

    It was a type of mental gymnastics she¡¯d gotten quite proficient at over the years. Being a famous hero and supposedly a role model for the youth, she couldn¡¯t exactly tell people to fuck off whenever they were being a pain to deal with, which was most of the time. She could always find plausible reasons to ditch her most annoying fans, but excuses went only so far. Besides, she was contractually obligated to appeal to the public.

    ¡°Killshot, what are you doing here?¡± she snapped curtly. ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to be back in town until tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Awww~¡­Don¡¯t be like that, Nem. I was worried about you. I heard you were sent on a job solo and I couldn¡¯t just sit still. So I had Jumper drop me off and¡ª¡±

    ¡°You used one of the world top heroes as a TAXI?¡± Morgan was baffled. Even for Killian, alias Killshot, that was a new level of ridiculous.

    ¡°He owed me one, okay? And it¡¯s good that I hurried too. I only took the time to grab a jetpack and my baby at HQ, then I rushed here¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± she interrupted again, her voice dangerously low. ¡°You aren¡¯t telling me that you came out, unauthorized, with company property, and still in civilian clothes?!¡±

    ¡°Relax. I¡¯m on a rooftop two miles away from here. Nobody¡¯s going to see me. And I¡¯m properly wearing a mask. There was this convention in Bredrige I went to after dealing with that Albatros guy, and I found this Sogeking mask that I just had to buy. I mean, it¡¯s not every day that¡­¡±

    She let him go on for a short while, to compose herself and avoid showing any outwards sign of irritation, which would have no doubt confused or worried the banker who too was still talking, at her rather than to her. The two simultaneous speeches were starting to give her a headache.

    Sometimes, being her felt tiring. Most of the time actually.

    Right now all she wanted was to get out of here, drop her gear at NovaTech, go back to her apartment, feed her cat Excalibur, maybe call her baby sister to see how she enjoyed college so far, then pop an Advil or two, crash in front of some dumb TV show, and forget the rest of the world existed.

    She sighed inaudibly. When did my life become like this? There had been a time when she¡¯d enjoy her job. There had to be. She just couldn¡¯t seem to remember.

    ¡°Killshot.¡± Eventually, she interrupted his monolog about some cartoon she couldn¡¯t be bothered to remember the name of. Pirates? Really? How old are you? She hoped she sounded as pissed as she felt. ¡°Go back to HQ, now. Apologize, and maybe they won¡¯t fire you.¡±

    What is it with this guy anyway? He knew the company rules, and she knew he really needed this job, at least far more than she did. If it was about money, she already had enough to stop working for a lifetime if she played her cards right. He did not. Yet he always acted like nothing mattered and only spoke about those stupid cartoons all the time! He was so infuriating.

    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll do that.¡± She could almost hear the shrug in his voice and she was convinced he was lying. Never mind. She was done caring for the moron. ¡°But you know, Nem. Saying thanks for once wouldn¡¯t kill you.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t need your help,¡± she replied in a clipped tone.

    ¡°Oh. So your powers now include immunity to bullets? Did I miss the memo? Was that the reason why your shield was down? You don¡¯t need it anymore?¡± His irony dripping with laughter had a gift for upsetting her. Then again, most things seemed to do just that recently.

    ¡°He was aiming at my head. Even with the shield down, my helmet would have taken it. By the time he fired the second round, I¡¯d have blasted the abnorm and the shooter was just a learner type. The techy wasn¡¯t even worth mentioning.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Sure. Whatever. You, my friend, are a tsundere.¡±

    Morgan¡¯s frown deepened. I¡¯m a what now?

    ¡°But seriously, Nem. You okay? You sound like that stick up your ass is even deeper in than usual.¡±

    She scoffed. ¡°And you have such a nice way to show your concern.¡±

    ¡°What can I say? It¡¯s a gift. The ladies love it. But seriously, I mean it. We haven¡¯t seen each other in a week and you seem about to strangle a puppy. Is it about your¡ª¡±

    ¡°Killshot! No personal talk over the com,¡± she almost growled. Although, honestly, their conversation up to now was already stretching the rules.

    NovaTech had a strict policy about communications. Not to ensure productivity¡ªlike some employers forbade personal calls on company phones¡ªbut to avoid the identity of its heroes to be leaked. Even though the communication channel was theoretically secure, the key word was indeed ¡°theoretically¡±.

    You could never be sure to have proofed anything against every single parahuman out there, simply because it was impossible to identify every single power out there. Each day new abilities and ability users were discovered all over the world, and sometimes just a tiny variation in a known power could render years of research in counter-supernatural defense protocols completely irrelevant.

    Like the spatial distortions field¡ªSDF for short, which the French found hilarious¡ªhad been once considered the ultimate anti-teleportation security measure. Until a certain group of robbers had clearly proven it wasn¡¯t, by vanishing without a trace from the supposedly most secure bank of the city, and the entire content of the vault with them. Later the teleporter of the group, a woman nicknamed Sidestep, had been confirmed dead after an upgrade to the SDF. But obviously, they¡¯d found a replacement and a way to bypass the upgrade.

    Frowning, Morgan cast another glance at the departing PCU convoy. It bothered her the teleporter had gotten away. Her range should have covered the whole bank. Sadly that didn¡¯t prevent him or her from just walking away, then teleport when their power came back online, so to speak. In the first place, she¡¯d only captured Hertz because the technopath couldn¡¯t bear to abandon his gear.

    At least they¡¯d be able to interrogate him and understand how he countered the spatial distortions. Probably if he cooperated, he would even be the one to build the new replacement version. Techies rarely stayed long in prison. They were simply too profitable. Unless of course they were diagnosed with something like murderous psychopathy. Even the greediest companies wouldn¡¯t want to work with someone whose dream was to create a zombie plague.

    Then again...

    She shook her head and stopped that line of thought. Down that way awaited madness.

    Talks of the upcoming apocalypse had become a popular trend in the past few decades. In a sense, it was understandable that people were afraid. With incomprehensible powers popping up left and right, who was to say that someone, somewhere wouldn¡¯t one day wake up with the unique ability to make the core of the planet implode?

    Just a couple years back, a pyrokinetic boy had allegedly caused an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in Italia. Further investigations had proven the volcano had been about to erupt anyway and the kid had only helped things along a week early or so. Any serious scientist in the parahuman studies would also tell you there was a limit to how much power any given individual could wield. But of course, facts had never stopped people from believing whatever they wanted. Scientists had been wrong in the past, hadn¡¯t they?

    As a hero, Nemesis was in an excellent spot to peek at the darkest and most evil the parahuman community had to offer, but still Morgan refused to join the ranks of the doomsayers. She believed one couldn¡¯t live always expecting the worst to happen or seeing it in others. Otherwise, they would end up¡­

    ¡­like my brother.

    She sighed again. That was what Killian had almost asked about and the real reason she¡¯d cut him off. Her brother was a subject she¡¯d rather not acknowledge until absolutely unavoidable. As in, standing-right-before-her-and-shouting-insults-to-her-face kind of unavoidable.

    ¡°Nem?¡±

    She suddenly noticed the sniper still hadn¡¯t left. Their com-link was still active and he was probably waiting for an explanation of her behavior. Of course, she couldn¡¯t exactly answer ¡°I hate my life¡± and expect he¡¯d drop the matter.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine. There¡¯s just something about this job that bothered me,¡± she lied smoothly.

    ¡°Well¡­duh? You almost got shot.¡± He sounded incredulous.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that¡­¡± she trailed off. Then her eyes widened when a thought struck her. She¡¯d only meant to use the shooting as an excuse to avoid the real issue, but as her mind latched onto the idea she found out that, yes, she did feel something was off with what had gone down here.

    There was nothing glaringly obvious, but small details piled up. First the composition of the robber team that was such a bad matchup with her power. Then a strange raygun that could destroy her shield. And the fact it had happened when her partner was away. She had a hunch even the missing teleporter could probably fit somewhere in there. There could only be so many coincidences.

    She wouldn¡¯t admit it to Killian, but she could admit it to herself. She might have died today.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a bad feeling, that¡¯s all,¡± she said, unknowingly echoing Hertz. Her tone was final. She didn¡¯t want to discuss the matter further right now. She would mull over it by herself later, when her chest didn¡¯t feel as constricted and without the pain that shot up her arm every time she moved her left wrist.

    Then her eyes caught something that made her mood turn even sourer. ¡°I have to go feed the vultures. You go back. I¡¯ll be right behind you. If you¡¯re not at HQ when I get back, I¡¯ll hunt you down myself.¡±

    ¡°Oooh. Scary~. Alright, I¡¯m leaving. Go get them, tsun-tiger.¡±

    Morgan shook her head again. Sometimes she had the impression the two of them didn¡¯t even speak the same language.

    Switching off the privacy setting of her helmet, she excused herself to the director, whose verbal prostrations were finally running dry. She still had some difficulty getting away from the man. Yes, she understood how grateful he was. No, she didn¡¯t think she¡¯d be able to attend his third daughter¡¯s baby shower. And, no, he certainly didn¡¯t have to name the child after her.

    He was particularly adamant about the latter and only relented after she calmly explained that she was sincerely honored, but that the gesture would be meaningless since ¡°Nemesis¡± was after all not her real name. And, no, she couldn¡¯t give him her real name. No, not even a related patronym.

    As she made her to the building¡¯s entrance, the heroine mentally wondered if the man¡¯s unborn daughter would ever know what terrible fate she¡¯d been saved from. Who would call their child Nemesis, seriously? It¡¯s like asking for her to be bullied. Or a bully herself. And God forbids she awaken powers.

    At the same time, she also wished someone had been there all those years ago, before her birth, or even her brother¡¯s birth, to stop her own parents from calling their children respectively Merlin, Morgan, and Guinevere. That their family name was actually Pendragon only added insult to injury. She actually felt secretly bad about Guinevere, since back then Morgan herself had thought it was ¡°such a beautiful princess¡¯ name¡± for her baby sister. In her defense, she¡¯d been only seven.

    She decided resolutely never to have children of her own. Kids were unaware monsters and would only transform into uglier adults. Of course, there were exceptions. Her parents, despite their cataclysmic naming sense, were pretty much perfect in Morgan¡¯s opinion. She still believed they were the rare exception, though.

    So much for not always seeing the worst in people. She sighed.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Ruminating dark thoughts, Morgan stepped out of the bank and into the sun. Immediately, she was assaulted by the brightness of the day and a cacophony of shouts, both which her helmet quickly suppressed to manageable levels.

    ¡°Nemesis!¡±

    ¡°A word for the Justice Sentinel?!¡±

    ¡°Who were the culprits?! Is it true Arsenal has finally been caught?!¡±

    ¡°Is our money no longer safe with banks?!¡±

    ¡°Nemesis!¡±

    ¡°Nemesis! I love you! Marry me!¡±

    ¡°NEMESIIIIIIIS!!!!¡±

    ¡°What is the city doing to stop super criminality?!¡±

    ¡°Do you think the death of a man could have been avoided?!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m your greatest fan! Look here!¡±

    ¡°Nemesis! What truth is there behind the rivalry between you and the heroes of Pharma Corp?!¡±

    ¡°Go die you freak!¡±

    ¡°YOU SHUT UP!!¡±

    ¡°The readers of Heroes¡¯ Confidences would like to know if you are seeing anyone. What are your sexual preferences?! Are you straight? Lesbian? Bi?¡±

    ¡°Nemesis!¡±

    ¡°Nemesis! What response do you have for those who denounce your recent streak of exploits as fake and a devious publicity stunt by NovaTech Industries?!¡±

    ¡°Has heroism sold its soul to the Devil?!¡±

    ¡°I tattooed your name on my ass! Would you kiss it?!¡±

    ¡°Nemesis! A sexy pose for the Costume Tribune!¡±

    Repressing an urge to take out her blaster and fire into the crowd, Morgan turned towards the microphones that were literally being shoved in her face. One actually bumped against her visor. At least her face was covered and she didn¡¯t have to fake a smile. Her dispassionate gaze swept over the journalists and gawkers, one group only distinct from the other by their recording equipment. Professional cameras versus smartphones.

    She also spotted the usual gathering of people whom she suspected to spent their miserable lives sitting in wait next to their radios, waiting for any hero¡¯s appearance to crawl out of their caves, look angry, and brandish signs made of cardboard and plywood, filled with slogans as original as ¡°SUPERS GO HOME¡±, ¡°HERO=VILLAIN¡±, or ¡°NORMAL AMERICA TO NORMAL PEOPLE¡±. Whatever that last one means.

    One guy wearing an obviously fake exaggerated scowl on his face and violently waving a board reading ¡°THIS IS A PROTEST BOARD¡± did raise a chuckle out of her. But she was only very mildly amused.

    Don¡¯t all these people have something better to do with their day than waste my time?

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you say such brutish interventions by individuals outside of our qualified law enforcement only puts the American citizens at a greater risk?!¡±

    A particularly shrill voice reached Morgan¡¯s ears, audible even over the general noise. She quickly spotted a familiar face, wearing a familiar scowl, caked in a familiar overload of makeup, under a familiarly unfashionable tight bun of graying auburn hair.

    ¡°Lyudmila. Do you ever sleep? You seem to be everywhere I go,¡± Morgan said as she pivoted to face her new interlocutor. Her inflection was humorous, but her tone was as cold as she believed the soul of the woman in front of her to be. Though, in truth, Morgan used that tone on pretty much everybody.

    There used to be a time when her supervisors at NovaTech would try to make her sound more enthusiast when dealing with the press. They¡¯d quickly given up, preferring¡ªor maybe resigning themselves to cultivate her image of ¡°cool and aloof beauty¡±. Which suited her just fine. That way she didn¡¯t have to pretend she enjoyed those leeches¡¯ company. The public could draw whatever conclusion they wanted from her attitude, calling her haughty, shy, a ¡°tsundere¡± or whatever. She couldn¡¯t care less.

    She wasn¡¯t a heroine for the glory or to be loved by the masses. It was a job. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe, in a deep recess of her heart, remained a little girl still dreaming of one day walking her father¡¯s footsteps, and become a great hero of the people just like he¡¯d been in his time. But in the face of the media and merciless public opinion, the adult her only thought the prize certainly wasn¡¯t worth the hassle.

    In the first place, Dad lived in a more black-and-white world, where Evil versus Good still meant something. This is the era of information, of corporate heroism, and of the ever-shifting grays. She felt strangely poetic all of a sudden.

    The aged female journalist returned Morgan¡¯s cold greeting with an even deeper scowl¡ªif that was even possible.

    ¡°I will sleep when the people are safe from freaks like you! The Morning Truth will not be swayed by the lies of your kind!¡±

    The reporters around had somehow calmed down. Lyudmila Kwipper was a bit of a celebrity herself in the milieu. And apparently, watching her and Nemesis exchange pikes and veiled barbs was almost as interesting as a testimony from the heroine herself. Morgan mused that at least the woman had this one quality of shutting up her rapacious colleagues.

    ¡°Lies? I will tell you one truth. Today three dangerous criminals, the gunman Arsenal, Drake the man-dragon and the technopath Hertz, were removed from the streets of our city. I believe the people will appreciate the increased safety.¡±

    Following her words, there was much typing, scribbling, and exchanging glances with cameramen amongst the flock of journalists observing from the sidelines, their head moving left and right between the two women like an audience of rabid tennis fans during an intense match.

    The ball was currently in Lyudmila¡¯s court. She didn¡¯t waste time in throwing it back.

    ¡°Yet a man died! How do you justify that?!¡±

    ¡°It is unfortunate, and my sincere condolences go to his family, but the man was killed well before I arrived on the scene.¡±

    ¡°So you could have saved him if you had been faster!¡±

    Morgan smirked humorlessly under her visor at Lyudmila¡¯s victorious tone. Game, set, and match.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow, Miss Kwipper. Are you saying ¡®freaks like me¡¯,¡± she joined her words with air quotes, ¡°shouldn¡¯t step in to stop crime, or that we should step in faster? Please clarify.¡±

    Her tone was all too civil and the woman from the Morning Truth could only grit her teeth before stepping back and fading into the crowd like some sort of mean and bitter old ghost.

    Morgan didn¡¯t feel much sense of achievement, however. People like Lyudmila were the easiest to drive away. Them, and those who claimed her to be of alien descent. These people strived on half-truths and scandals. With the exception of a few stubborn, as long as you politely called them out on their bullshit and refused to give them any purchase, they lacked the foundation to keep launching attacks.

    Others were not so simply repelled. As soon as it became apparent the joust had concluded, the reporters came back on the offensive like a swarm of flies on a big fuming pile of manure. At least they were very successful in making Morgan feel like shit.

    Nevertheless, with a casualness conferred by habit, she answered questions without anybody ever suspecting how annoyed she really was. She made sure to only rely on hard facts and to avoid speculations which could, and would, be used against her later, should they be proven false, while she also deflected any personal inquiries.

    And there were lots of these. No matter how many time it happened, Morgan was always appalled that people seemed more interested in her three sizes than in the arrest of dangerous murderers. Not that it surprised her much.

    She wasn¡¯t a stranger to being objectified. She knew well that she was parading around the city in something many would, and had, compared to a fetish outfit. She had stopped looking herself up on the internet when the searches had started to return as many erotic fanfictions as all other results combined.

    She wasn¡¯t blind to the fact her suit had been designed with the exact purpose of enhancing her otherwise modest silhouette. That it didn¡¯t show any skin was a meager consolation. The engineers could spin whatever crap they wanted on ¡°expensive polymer chainmail¡± and ¡°strategically placed gear¡±, the truth was that the large N plastered right on her chest¡ªwhich stood of course for Nemesis but was styled like the N in the NovaTech logo¡ªkind of defied the purpose of trying to make her believe she was anything but a walking billboard.

    She always thought it was funny they even tried. Even among those select few in the company who knew of her identity, most tended to forget that, she might be a heroine who beat people up for a living, but she had still graduated college with a degree in marketing. She probably knew more about the art of objectifying women than any of the designers behind this slutwear.

    She had insisted on finishing her studies before starting out as a hero. She hadn¡¯t wanted to be left completely without resource, should she for some reason be forced to retire early. Too many ¡°supers¡± got injured, or simply aged, and ended up their lives as pathetic useless drunks wallowing in nostalgia. She¡¯d witnessed it first-hand with many of her father¡¯s old acquaintances. Not the man himself, though. Morgan suspected her Dad would be fine with whatever as long as he had the mother of his children by his side. Morgan had never seen a couple so disgustingly in love.

    So, again, she had no illusion about her job as ¡°hero¡±. But nothing in her contract stated she had to enjoy showing off her body in its all-but-naked glory. Like everything else, it was a necessity she had to bear with.

    For several minutes, she entertained the crowd, making sure to put her chest, and the company¡¯s logo on it, in good view of the cameras, and acting the part of the good little booth babe she was supposed to be, all the while screaming on the inside.

    Ironically, it was that same company that pulled her out of the frying pan. But unfortunately, it was only to throw her into even hotter fire. Her com-line came live again and a deep male voice, filled with unusual worry, came through the speakers.

    ¡°Nemesis. Come back to HQ immediately. There¡¯s an emergency. It¡¯s about Salve.¡±

    Morgan repressed a groan of painful frustration.

    What had her dipshit brother done this time?!

    * * *

    Morgan ran down the hallway fuming and not even thinking about her painful ribs or wrist anymore.

    When she¡¯d arrived at NovaTech Headquarters, she¡¯d discovered the situation was even worse than she¡¯d first thought, since they were evacuating the building preventively. The top brass was passing it off to the general employees as an unscheduled security test, but Morgan had received the officious version as soon as she stepped into the complex.

    Now she was on the seventh basement floor, deserted from all but the five-man security team she was approaching, and of course her waste of breathable air of a degenerate brother, though the trash wasn¡¯t in sight yet. She stopped by the group and raised the visor of her helmet. It wasn¡¯t a problem. The five men were ¡°safe personnel¡±.

    ¡°Situation?!¡± she barked at the team leader, not even taking the time to acknowledge the man¡¯s salute. Her day had been terrible so far, and as impossible as it seemed considering she¡¯d already almost gotten shot in the head, it was still steadily getting worse.

    Luckily for everyone, the team leader was tensed enough to not only not mind her rude directness but also appreciate it. The faster this was dealt with, the better.

    ¡°Your brother locked himself inside. We were waiting for you to force our way in.¡±

    Morgan nodded. What little information her superiors had been able to give her stated Merlin had activated some sort of device¡ªmore of a magical artifact really, as risible as it sounded. Ever since then, great energy fluctuations had been emanating from the room he¡¯d barricaded himself in.

    The reason they had waited for Nemesis was obviously for her power, which affected not only parahuman but also about any inexplicable phenomenon, the kind that some crazies persisted in calling ¡°magic¡±. And the reason she hadn¡¯t yet deployed her nullifying field was because she didn¡¯t know whether her ability wouldn¡¯t do more harm than good. Sometimes shutting off the power source of a device simply wasn¡¯t the way to go to defuse it.

    A textbook case of this was the Philadelphia Mutation Incident. Nine years ago, a vigilante had thought he had successfully prevented the explosion of a bioweapon built by a mad technopath, only to discover that the energy shield he¡¯d deactivated had not only been protecting the bomb but also had been all that was preventing the dangerous chemicals from mixing. When it failed, the device had detonated. The death toll had reached thousands, and still counting, because the reagents contained in the bomb had caused deep rooted alterations to DNA strands that sometimes only manifested generations later.

    Point in case, Morgan had learned not to expand her power field blindly.

    ¡°Stand back,¡± she ordered, and the team was happy to move away from the door.

    She took out her blaster and pointed it at the door. A swipe her thumb removed the safety restriction and she fired at the lock. Under the full unrestrained power of the energy gun, the steel melted like plastic brought to a blowtorch.

    Switching the safety back on, she kicked the door open.

    ¡°MERLIN!! YOU PIECE OF TRASH!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!¡± she shouted before her mind could even process what her eyes were seeing. Then when it did, she added: ¡°AND WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NAKED?!?!¡±

    Morgan stepped further into what she vaguely recognized as one of the less important research labs, then stopped right in her tracks. All the furniture had been pushed to the walls, freeing a large space in the middle of the room. Swirling patterns that looked straight out of a cheap fantasy movie spread on the gray floor, forming a near perfect circle and pulsating with an ominous greenish glow.

    What in the name of God is this?!

    At the center of the¡­ the magical circle¡ªMorgan could find no other word to describe it¡ªsat her brother, cross-legged and completely naked. His thin body too was covered in glowing runes. Keeping her eyes on them for too long caused Morgan¡¯s vision to sway and she was suddenly assaulted by a feeling of both weakness and nausea.

    She forced herself to rip her gaze away from the winding glyphs. It helped only marginally. The air itself seemed to carry a sickening aroma.

    Her eyes moved to her brother¡¯s face. He had a huge grin plastered on his face, the kind she hadn¡¯t seen him in years. Yet it wasn¡¯t a pleasant sight. The smile was twisted, vicious and jubilant. When their gaze met, he addressed her with a mocking tone dripping with condescending hatred. The one he always used with her these days.

    ¡°My, my. The Great and Transcendent Nemesis Herself deigns to grace her worthless elder brother with her magnificent presence. I suppose I should be flattered?¡±

    God. How much she wanted to punch him in the teeth.

    ¡°Merlin! Stop this madness right now. Do you think the higher ups will leave you off the hook this time?! You want to get fired?! That¡¯s it?! You want to go back to that shit-life of yours from before?!¡±

    Merlin tilted his head to the side, his insane grin not slipping an inch.

    ¡°Madness¡­?¡± He shook his head slowly while letting out a low chuckle. ¡°Hah! This isn¡¯t madness. No, dear sister, this is a thing of beauty!¡±

    In a wide gesture, he designated the drawings around him.

    ¡°This, this is a peek at the untapped potential this world has to offer. One that your precious ¡®higher ups¡¯ in all their pretended wisdom are too stuck up to notice. Yet they dare pretend to be at the top of supernatural research?! HAH!! What top?! Just old toads at the bottom of a well. I¡¯ll show them. I¡¯ll show everyone!! I¡¯ll show everyone. I¡¯ll show everyone¡­¡± He kept repeating the same sentence like in a trance.

    Morgan could only stare in horror. She couldn¡¯t believe this was happening. This wasn¡¯t her brother. This couldn¡¯t be. Yet she couldn¡¯t deny those raven black hair and emerald green eyes¡ªbecause she saw the exact same every day in the mirror. Merlin and she were three years apart, but when they were younger people would always confuse them for twins.

    Well, nobody would make that confusion now anymore.

    A beard of a few days was eating at Merlin¡¯s face. His black hairs had lost their luster and hung messily around his face. His green eyes were glazed and underlined by deep purplish black rings. His cheeks were sunken in. His body looked much thinner than what she¡¯d caught glimpse of in the past couple of years and she was almost convinced he was using again. She wondered what drug he was on right now.

    Like always when she saw her brother, conflicting emotions were warring inside Morgan. Anger was competing with regret, and an urge to beat him senseless conflicted with a desire to grab him by the shoulders and shout and shake him until he came back to those same senses.

    She couldn¡¯t understand what had gone wrong. He¡¯d been getting better, this past two years. He really had!

    She¡¯d pulled some strings and NovaTech had agreed to hire him as a hero, like Merlin had always dreamed of being, as long as he cleaned off his alcohol and drug abuse. And he had! He¡¯d come to his interview sober and fresh and had gotten the job easily. Healers were rare and always much sought after, even when their talent was only average.

    For a while, she¡¯d thought she would get her big brother back. The one who carried her on his shoulders to Church despite their Mom¡¯s scolding. The one who protected her against bullies when she¡¯d been too shy to stand up for herself. Not the decaying slob he¡¯d become, always high or drunk or both, and begging her for money the rare times he wasn¡¯t.

    He¡¯d been getting better.

    Then how had it come to this?

    ¡°Merlin, please. Stop whatever this is, now.¡± She was disgusted to notice the almost whiny note in her tone. ¡°I¡¯ll try to put in a good word for you. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s still a few favors I can cash in. Think of what Mom and Dad would think?!¡±

    Mentioning their parents seemed to snap her brother back to reality. But only to have him direct at her a glare burning with hatred.

    ¡°You don¡¯t get it, do you?¡± he snarled.

    ¡°Mom, Dad, the higher ups¡­ Are you even listening to yourself? All you ever talk about is others, others, others! You¡¯re a dog, Morgan, a bitch living only to please others. You think I don¡¯t see it? You might fool them, but me? Oh, you can¡¯t fool me. They all look at you like you¡¯re so great, but I, I see the truth. You hate it. You¡¯re miserable. You¡¯re a good little soldier who¡¯s dying on the inside. A pitiful bitch. And yet. And YET you look down on everyone else. Like you¡¯re so great. Like you¡¯re so special,¡± he literally spat the word. ¡°You look down on me!! And everyone else does too. I know it. They all think I¡¯m useless! The useless brother of the GREAT Nemesis! HAH!! I¡¯ll show them.¡±

    Morgan swallowed hard. That had hit far too close to home for her to just dismiss it. But she steeled herself. She could see the greenish glow of the magical circle, or whatever that thing was, getting brighter, and the nauseating feeling in the room was growing more oppressive along with the lights.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have anything to prove Merlin. You¡¯re not useless. You¡¯re a healer. Your power saves lives!¡±

    He exploded in crazed laughter. He was beginning to really scare her. Anger, she was used to, but this weird crazed joy was creeping her out immensely. The sound was so grating that the security team, who stood behind Morgan, took a step backward.

    ¡°Save lives?¡± The irony in Merlin¡¯s voice was so caustic it almost physically hurt. ¡°You mean heal scratches and bruises? Why don¡¯t you admit the truth?¡±

    She was afraid to ask, but she felt she had to.

    ¡°What truth?¡±

    ¡°That you only got me this job so that you could rub in my face how great, how special, how superior you were! To show me how useless and pathetic I am! To be compared to me and feel better about how completely miserable you are!¡±

    ¡°I just wanted to help you!¡±

    ¡°Help me? Hah! You make me sick. Stupid whore.¡±

    Morgan suddenly wished she¡¯d left her visor down because she feared she might start crying. Instead, she drew from years of self-imposed discipline and composed herself an emotionless mask. Clearly, reason wouldn¡¯t reach her brother. He suffered from a severe inferiority and persecution complex and had ever since Morgan¡¯s power had awakened and outshone his admittedly weak talent at healing.

    ¡°Merlin. I won¡¯t ask again. Stop this and quietly come out. It¡¯ll go more smoothly if you cooperate.¡±

    ¡°Cooperate? Oh? Am I a criminal now? Finally, you show your true color. Don¡¯t worry, sis. Soon, I¡¯ll be so powerful that everything will go ¡®smoothly¡¯ for me, with or without your permission.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t really interested in his answers anymore, but she needed him to keep talking, to keep his attention focused on her.

    At the same time, she held a hand behind her back and gave instruction to the security team via finger signs. They were to spread out along the walls, and a soon as she used her power, they would move in to capture Merlin. She had determined it could be done probably without danger. In any case, it surely would be a worse idea to let these strange markings get any brighter.

    ¡°What I mean? But exactly what I said. Do you remember this?¡±

    He held up a black stone that was pulsating green at the same rhythm as the runes. Only now did Morgan remember the supposed artifact Merlin had in his possession. Her gaze zeroed in on the stone. She faintly recalled having seen it once, when she¡¯d confiscated it from a self-proclaimed necromancer she had subdued, as Nemesis of course.

    The man had been a charlatan, using telekinesis to move corpses, but the stone had been intriguing in that he¡¯d seemed so adamant to protect it. However, NovaTech¡¯s researchers had been unable to find anything remarkable about the rock, except that it appeared to be a block of one-hundred-percent pure obsidian. This was the reason why the stone was stored in such a low-priority lab in the first place.

    On hindsight, Merlin had been there that day. He¡¯d participated in the raid as his alter ego, Salve.

    ¡°The necromancer¡¯s stone?¡± she asked for confirmation.

    ¡°Indeed! And all of you were too dumb to understand its true power!¡±

    ¡°And you do?¡±

    ¡°But of course, I do. I do. But¡­ don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t noticed what you¡¯re trying to do. Getting the bad guy to monolog about his master plan to stall for time? Why, little sis. That¡¯s like, Hero 101. I feel a little insulted.¡±

    ¡°Yet I don¡¯t hear you stop talking.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s because you are not stalling for time, little sis¡­¡±

    His twisted grin returned and Morgan suddenly had a very bad premonition. Merlin¡¯s next words echoed maliciously in the almost unnatural silence.

    ¡°¡­I am.¡±

    Suddenly the black stone shattered and a burst of freezing and foul-smelling wind swept across the room. The runes on the ground flared and blinded Morgan and the five security guards. Immediately she tried to activate her power. She could do so normally in a heartbeat. The vast majority of parahumans had to focus to use their ability, but Morgan actually needed to concentrate not to use hers. Releasing it was simply a matter of letting go of her mental block.

    It should have been easy. Turn off Merlin¡¯s light show. Grab him. Drag him to the directors¡¯ office and be done with this terrible, terrible day. It should have happened that way.

    Yet, for the first time, her power refused to come out. Her eyes widened in horror.

    What is going on?!

    It was as if an outside force was pressuring her whole body. It didn¡¯t only affect her power, she had trouble breathing too¡ªand moving. An otherworldly cold was rapidly seeping inside her and she could feel her heart slowing down. Her consciousness grew faint. She fell to her knees. She was distantly aware the security team was faring even worse than her. All five were already on the ground, unmoving.

    As if from far away, she heard Merlin¡¯s mad laughter and exaltation.

    ¡°Yes! YES!! It was true! I wasn¡¯t mistaken! It¡¯s really there! NOW GRANT ME POWER!! SPIRIT OF THE UNDERWORLD!! Grant me power and I will show them! I will show that BITCH who¡¯s so great! Who¡¯s so SPECIAL!! Yes! I can feel it! The power! It¡¯s filling me! It¡¯s¡­ wait. Wait! There¡¯s too much! TOO MUCH!! NO! STOP!! STOP SPIRIT!! I order you! I am your mast¡ªNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!¡±

    Through the mist obscuring her thoughts, she heard Merlin¡¯s shout devolve into an inhuman shriek of pain.

    Then there was a muffled but deafening sound, like an ocean¡¯s worth of water collapsing onto itself. Then the roar of a hurricane. Morgan struggled to open her eyes. Her whole vision was abruptly filled with a huge shining translucent wall, like an immense ripple in the hair, advancing in her direction at a speed that looked sluggish, but that was only her brain slowing her perception due to the shock.

    The wall washed over her and she was instantly crushed by an indescribable pressure. A head-splitting pain cleaved her brain in half. She¡¯d never felt anything so horrible. It was as if something inside her was being ripped apart and burnt. She screamed, hoping to alleviate even a sliver of the maddening pain, her raucous voice joining her brother¡¯s in a discordant duet.

    Before long, unconsciousness claimed her.

    * * *

    A few hours earlier, relative time. Void in-between worlds.

    Sometime before the siblings¡¯ showdown, in a place empty of nearly anything but nothingness itself, there was¡­

    Boredom.

    How strange. Drifting inside the void, the former Demon Queen had this thought.

    During her millennium of existence, Meria had thought plenty of death. Her own, sometimes. The death of others, more frequently, especially when it befell them by her hand. Which again, happened frequently.

    She¡¯d imagined death to be a lot of things. In fact, she had needed not imagine much. It was common knowledge on Zarath that after the death of one¡¯s body, their soul would travel to the realm of the gods, where they would dwell for a time, until their eventual reincarnation for a new life cycle into the mortal world, with no memory of any past existence until they once again returned to the gods.

    However, the precise location where in that divine domain their soul would end up, that depended on which god they had served most faithfully during their latest lifetime.

    A fact much fewer knew however, and which was often misinterpreted, was that one didn¡¯t actually get to choose which god they were following. Or at the very least, not in the sense most acknowledged the term ¡°follower¡±. For example, even if one were a devoted priest of the goddess of life Hielva, if that person launched a holy crusade to punish some alleged infidels, then their karma would naturally belong to Nerwatka, god of war.

    And they¡¯d been in for a surprise when they finally croaked.

    It was, of course, a simplification. The ways of the heavens were much more intricate. If a war was launched to protect the lives of others, then whose jurisdiction the soul fell into was open to debate.

    Also, the stronger one¡¯s karma, the stronger was their connection to their attributed deity. Every mortal in Zarath was able to feel the weight of that connection. But since most lacked the understanding to properly assess anything divine, they could not identify which god they were following, only that they were being paid attention to. Which was pretty stupid, in Meria¡¯s opinion. The gods could have easily remedied this issue and avoid a great many deals of very misguided existences.

    But the gods are cruel bastards. I bet they laugh at seeing those poor fools invoking their names in the most ridiculously erroneous fashions.

    At least that was Meria¡¯s impression of all the gods she¡¯d met. Hielva had been particularly unpleasant, but then again they had a bad compatibility in the first place.

    Meria had never felt that connection to the divine. Oh, she¡¯d felt plenty of desire to punch a few smug holy faces and kick several divine arses, but never had she experienced that deep sensation of belonging Elise, Sheila, Zephyr, and Shadow had tried describing to her.

    Maybe that was the reason why the gods hated her so much. She truly didn¡¯t belong. She was a hiccup in the fabric of the world. A mistake that shouldn¡¯t have been made in the first place.

    Not that she cared, of course. She wasn¡¯t whining on her fate. In fact, if she was truly foreign to the matrix of the world, by logical deduction she probably had no fate. So it mattered not to her what others believed her place to be, or not to be. She was, period, and she was there to stay as long as she pleased¡ªif only to piss off everyone who thought she shouldn¡¯t.

    Of course, now I am no more. Or am I? This is really confusing.

    Which brought her back to her considerations about death.

    If she didn¡¯t feel that connection to the divine, then where would she go in the unlikely chance she got herself killed? That question had plagued her mind for eons. Would she dissipate into nothingness? Remain in the mortal world as an animated corpse, not really living but unable to truly die? Or maybe just skip the Heaven stage and directly reincarnate? Or an erring ghost perhaps? She might have enjoyed being a ghost, but a walking corpse sounded far too unsanitary for her tastes.

    She¡¯d thought of many scenarios over the centuries, from the most plausible to some completely nonsensical. If she had to be honest, it had caused her quite some anguish.

    However¡­

    What she really, really had not imagined, was that her death would be so utterly, perfectly, absolutely, indescribably...

    Boring.

    There was only so much a disembodied mind floating in infinite darkness could do. And she¡¯d pretty much done it all twice over already. She could move, at least she had a feeling it was the case, but since wherever she went nothing seemed to change, she might as well have been stationary.

    She had no way of keeping track of time in here either. She could have already spent several millennia in this void, or it might be that her dead body still hadn¡¯t finished cooling where it laid in that bloody shrine. Maybe even the concept of time itself didn¡¯t have any relevance in this place.

    At a few occasions, she thought she¡¯d sensed another presence, but the feeling had been so faint she guessed she¡¯d probably been mistaken. She wondered if, perhaps, she was slowly falling into insanity. She¡¯d heard some people lost their minds because of loneliness.

    However, she was used to being alone. She¡¯d been alone nearly her whole life. So she should be fine. She wasn¡¯t going crazy just yet. At least because of loneliness. Although she might just lose her mind to boredom.

    She recalled something Shadow had said once when they¡¯d been discussing her lifespan¡ªor apparent lack thereof.

    ¡°Eternity sounds pretty long, especially when nearing the end,¡± he¡¯d said.

    And, two centuries later, Meria still hadn¡¯t the faintest bloody idea what he¡¯d meant by that.

    The black dragon had been full of these kinds of odd phrases and proverbs. He might have been feared as the most fierce and dangerous of his race, but at heart, he¡¯d been a scholar.

    He would shut himself up for years at a time in the royal library of the demon capital, working on one project or the other. Shadow had loved magic theories above all. He would travel all over Zarath and visit the most isolated, forgotten, gods-forsaken places to find scrolls, books, paintings and stone tablets on the spell and practices of this one secluded tribe, or that one eccentric hermit.

    By the time they both died, the dragon had been probably the single most knowledgeable mortal on the subject of magic. She wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the spell he¡¯d used to slaughter the draith flock had been an original composition. Although, even him couldn¡¯t find a way to get Meria to touch anything remotely alive without killing it. On that one issue, both were slumped.

    Not that it matters anymore. Then again, what does? Does anything matter when you¡¯re just thoughts in the dark? ...How poetic.

    That last thought had been ironic. She wanted to sigh, but she lacked the body to do so. She¡¯d never thought she¡¯d miss that cursed envelope so much.

    All to her idle musing, it took her a long time to notice she was moving. Or maybe it took no time at all, she couldn¡¯t tell. All she knew was that, suddenly, she became aware of differences in her environment. Nothing visible. All around there was still only darkness. But the¡­feeling of her surroundings, for a lack of a better term, was changing.

    And considering how much she¡¯d tried to travel in this seemingly endless void without ever noticing any variations, she deduced she had to be now moving at quite a fast pace. Or at least she was covering a lot of distance relatively to her perception of time. It really was very confusing. But since she didn¡¯t seem to have any control over the phenomenon, she decided to just wait and see where she was being led.

    She wasn¡¯t worried. In fact, she¡¯d discovered it to be quite hard to feel anything whatsoever without a physical body. A soul was after all only an aggregate of magical power imprinted with knowledge and karma. Values and desires may remain, but strong emotions were very much a bodily production of hormones interacting with a brain, and surprisingly a heart had very little to do with anything.

    She found it rather intriguing that she was able to think without a brain, but not feel. And yet she was bored. She couldn¡¯t help but feel that was a bit unfair.

    She didn¡¯t know how much time she spent dashing across the endless void like a shooting star, but she clearly felt it when her journey came to an abrupt and dizzying stop. It was like crashing into an invisible wall. Not pleasant at all.

    Ouch.

    Meria hadn¡¯t fully regained her bearings that something prickled her.

    Ow. What with this all of a sudden?

    Had she possessed a body, she might have likened the prickling sensation to a mosquito bite, even more so that she then felt magical power being slowly drained from her soul. And while having your soul drained did sound pretty dreadful, in reality she was as much at risks as one would be of getting sucked completely dry of blood by a single normal mosquito. Close to null.

    Thus even without her current apathy, she probably wouldn¡¯t have experienced any worry, though she would have felt irritated.

    ¡°¡­es¡­¡±

    Uh?

    This time, she hadn¡¯t imagined it. She was sure of it. She¡¯d sensed a presence. But, once again, it was so faint she had trouble pinpointing it.

    ¡°¡­ow¡­ant¡­ower¡­spir¡­¡­derworld¡­¡±

    The presence was becoming clearer, but it was such a tiny, minuscule wisp that locating its position was akin to try and spot a specific speck of dust in total darkness. Which was, in fact, a pretty good metaphor for what the dead demon soul was currently attempting.

    ¡°¡­bitch¡­¡±

    Ah. Found you.

    She¡¯d found her speck of dust. She was a little happy. As insignificant as it was, it was still better than the boring nothingness she¡¯d endured until now.

    Unwillingly to let her new source of entertainment slip away, she reached out towards the speck. She could feel its frailty, so she put extra care in her movement, as if she were trying to catch a butterfly. Not that she¡¯d ever attempted such a thing when she¡¯d been alive, but she pictured the feeling had to be similar.

    ¡°¡­o¡­top¡­irit¡­¡­.ooooooo.¡±

    ¡­Ah.

    Then the speck vanished. Not slipping away, but popping like a bursting bubble. Likely it was so insubstantial it couldn¡¯t even withstand her overbearing proximity. She felt mildly sad. And a bit annoyed too.

    Stupid little thing, getting my hopes up like that. Wait. What¡¯s this?

    The mosquito-sized drain, which she had entirely forgotten about, had suddenly enlarged and was sapping her power at a now non-negligible speed.

    A twinge of uneasiness pierced through the fog of apathy.

    Losing her body was one thing. Upon death, there still had existed a high probability of continuing as a soul, one way or another. But disappearing wholly into oblivion? That was a truly frightening perspective. One she wanted to avoid at all cost. Even with their feelings cut off, every existence from insects to gods would strive instinctively for survival.

    Mobilizing all the meager control she had of her rudimentary form, she tried to resist the siphon. She pulled. She bent. She locked herself in place. But to no avail. Nothing worked. More and more of her was disappearing into the unseen funnel. She started to despair.

    However, by the time half of her had been swallowed, something changed. Her perception was quickly shifting and she began to believe maybe she wasn¡¯t actually vanishing, but going somewhere else. Somewhere familiar, but foreign at the same time.

    At least it¡¯s still consistently confusing. I¡¯ll take what I guess I suppose.

    The high level of cynical irony in her own thought surprised her. She was feeling again! But all feelings weren¡¯t good. With her returned emotions, she began growing increasingly apprehensive of what was happening to her. She had to use all her self-control to keep her fear from erupting into full-blown panic.

    Her other senses gradually came into focus, same but different than she remembered. Sight first. Blurry colors. Green. Gray. White. Then scents. Sounds. Moans? Smell. Touch.

    Then came the pain. Not a physical pain, but a soul-wrenching torment that tore through her being and clawed at her essence. Her soul screamed, twisted, suffocated. She was shattering from the inside!

    DAMNED PTAEESH!!! WHAT IS THIS?!?!

    She screamed, screamed louder than she remembered ever screaming, hurting her throat and vocal cords.

    She was distantly aware of the implications of the fact she had a throat at all. She had been reincarnated! But she had no time marveling at this fortuitous improbability. He soul was crumbling, and with the realization that she wasn¡¯t disembodied anymore, she finally noticed where the problem laid.

    RAVENS AND CROWS!! How stupid. THIS BODY IS FAR TOO SMALL!!

    Her emotions had definitely rekindled, and Meriataneesh was pissed. Like often in the past, back when she was still a child weaker than many and when her Death powers hadn¡¯t been near as developed, she used her anger to combat the pain overwhelming her senses.

    I haven¡¯t come back to life just to die again right after taking my first breath! Gods be damned! And fuck you Hielva!! ¡­Ah. That felt good.

    She gritted her teeth. If she let herself croak without a fight, she would have to resurrect again just so she could properly die of shame.

    Calm down a little Meria. Think.

    She hadn¡¯t meant this new body was small in the physical sense. What she had implied was this envelope was much too cramped to contain her whole being.

    A soul was in essence magical power with an identity. Meria wasn¡¯t entirely sure about all the specifics of reincarnation, but in her limited understanding when a soul was bestowed upon a new body, the magical signature of both synchronized. Body and soul would then grow alongside each other, as the being matured and accumulated the ambient magical power inside their soul using their body as a medium.

    Her situation was exactly that her new corporeal form was suddenly receiving a massive influx of magical power from her soul, while the latter couldn¡¯t stabilize inside this foreign shell because, in a manner of speaking, it kept spilling out. Therefore both body and soul were slowly dying, each unable to exist without the other in the mortal plane.

    Or a mortal plane. Even in her current distressed state, Meria could tell the flow and composition of the magical power around her were all messed up. Either she had appeared inside a magical singularity, or she was very, very far from home.

    That concern would have to wait, however. She needed to take care of the most pressing issue first, otherwise she would forever have nothing to worry about. Because what worries would have something that didn¡¯t exist?

    Forcing herself to ignore the pain¡ªan exercise she had far more practice in than she cared to remember¡ªshe dived into herself. With her mind¡¯s eye, she observed the magic at work, dripping from her soul into this new body. At least she tried to.

    She quickly gave up on making sense of the mayhem. It would have been like trying to analyze a natural disaster with only visual input as a reference. Feasible, perhaps, but she didn¡¯t have a few years at her disposal to dedicate to it. In fact, she didn¡¯t think she had more than a few more heartbeat before said heart busted.

    She focused on the most obvious details. There were two. Her body was dying. And her bloated soul would never fit in as it was.

    Alright. You can do this.

    Those who had known Meria in her previous incarnation would sometimes tell she was ¡°overly direct¡±. Maybe it was because she had enough power to stampede her way through most problems, but subtlety had never been her strongest suit. Therefore, when faced with object A that refused obstinately to fit inside container B, her first response would be to hack object A to pieces until it did.

    But of course hacking her soul to pieces to avoid her soul getting destroyed would not only be highly counterproductive, it would also be extremely idiotic. She could tell she wasn¡¯t thinking straight for even considering that option.

    However was what a soul? It was a large container of magic. And a very flexible one at that. What refused to fit inside her new body wasn¡¯t the container, but the content. As long as she got rid of the content, she could save the container. Or at least she hoped. Shadow would have called her theory half-assed and probably added it was insane.

    Maybe it is.

    But what did she have to lose?

    A mad grin formed on the lips of what could be called her astral projection within her own psyche, and without her knowing, the lips of her new real face stretched into an equally menacing smile. Extending a hand, she gathered power into the first shape that came to mind, which happened to be that of an extremely ominous but familiar scythe. She didn¡¯t seem to notice, however, as she lifted the blade, and swung it against the external membrane of her soul!

    The spiritual scythe cleaved through the thin layer like through paper and a torrent of power, finally offered an outlet to escape from this insane pressure, gushed out like an endless torrent into the world beyond.

    Relief was instantaneous. Meria could feel the burden on both her soul and her new body lessen. But she soon was faced with another issue.

    There was a huge gaping hole in her soul!

    Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! That¡¯s the reason why I let Shadow and Zephyr take care of strategies!

    Had anyone in Zarath witnessed the current state of the Demon Queen, they would likely have coughed blood in disbelief.

    Alright. I need to seal the breach before I¡¯m emptier than an orc¡¯s balls after an orgy! ¡­Wait. That¡¯s it! No, not the orgy. A seal! Am I great or what? Right. Self-congratulations later.

    For what she was planning she first needed control over her physical body.

    Here goes nothing.

    She tried to open her eyes, which had closed during her pseudo-meditation. To her relief, it worked. Limbs proved to be far trickier. She fumbled for a while with the fingers before moving onto the arms. It didn¡¯t go smoothly.

    ¡°Ugh!¡±

    She groaned in frustration. She looked like she was having a seizure. She was also acutely aware of the power that continued to leak out of her at an alarming rate. However, she wasn¡¯t aiming for perfection. Just basic control of her upper limbs would suffice for now. Eventually, she achieved what could be called passable for a newborn foal and decided to move onto the next step before there was nothing left of her.

    She was about to proceed when she noticed her nails.

    ¡°Ptaeesh!¡±

    She swore. She wouldn¡¯t achieve anything with those pitiful things. What was she, human?

    Oh. Right. I probably am. She wasn¡¯t appreciating the irony much at the moment.

    Then her gaze landed on a pile of large stone shards next to her and she smiled.

    Better.

    She jerkily grabbed one, cutting her palm deeply on the edge as she did, but that gash the least of her worries right now.

    Carefully she raised the improvised knife to her chest. She managed to do it without stabbing her own throat, which she considered an encouraging point. Her standards weren¡¯t very high at that moment. She also noted her chest was conveniently bare. Removing clothes would have required a level of psychomotricity far beyond what she currently possessed. The absence of breast disoriented her for an instant, but she had a large rip in her soul. Anyone would agree that missing body parts weren¡¯t a priority.

    Engraving a rune would normally require her to imbue her claws, or knife, with magic, then inject it into the glyph though the tool. However, her body was literally inundated with power right now. She believed she could forfeit a few steps. A good thing too, because currently, her control over her power was near inexistent.

    Gritting her teeth, she sliced into her flesh. The seal she had in mind was unseemly crude but was exactly what she needed. She also couldn¡¯t manage anything more complex at the moment. Right now, simple was definitely best. In no time, she completed the last shaky line of the rune.

    The power gushing out of her abruptly cut off. In fact, all her magical senses shut down and she found herself restrained to her puny mortal senses, which weren¡¯t even that good. She was trapped in her own personal prison of flesh, bones, and muscles. She was in agony but, at least, she was alive. That had to count for something.

    She pondered for an instant and decided it did.

    She smiled.

    Then she fainted.

    * * *

    5 September 2017. Justice City. Old City.

    The dojo echoed with sounds of a solitary blade slicing through the air, its whistle reverberating against the naked brick walls. Eye closed, a man executed stance after stance, his bare feet lightly tapping on the floor mats. A faint sheen of sweat covered his olive skin, coalescing into tiny drops along his thin black eyebrows and along the horizontal scar running from one high cheekbone to another over the bridge of his nose.

    ¡°Oyabun.¡±

    A voice suddenly broke the silence. A young man had appeared without a sound behind to the sword wielder. In a heartbeat, the tip of the katana was against the young man¡¯s Adam¡¯s apple. A bead of red blood pearled against the white of his skin. Unfazed, he nonchalantly pushed the sword away from his throat with his index finger.

    ¡°Careful where you point that, boss. I¡¯d like to avoid dying today if possible.¡±

    With a huff, the older man sheathed his blade, straightened his hakama and walked to a side of the room, where a small round table and two chairs stood. He sat on one and, after a small bow, the young man sat on the other. Neither spoke.

    Seconds later, a soft rapping was heard and a small woman in yukata entered through a sliding metal door after bowing politely. With quiet and precise steps, she brought a trail with a fuming teapot and two empty clay cups. She set it on the table, then bowed, turned around and walked away. At the door, she once again bent her waist in direction of the room, then closed the sliding panel, leaving the two men in silence. She herself hadn¡¯t pronounced a word the whole time.

    The younger reached out for the pot and poured tea for his elder, then for himself. They shared a drink in quiet for a short while before the young man finally opened his mouth.

    ¡°The attempt failed.¡±

    The other showed no signs he had heard. Only a twitching eyebrow betrayed his displeasure.

    ¡°Killshot showed up unexpectedly,¡± the youth added.

    ¡°Was he not supposed to be out of state?¡± The swordsman eventually reacted, along with a sharp glare at his guest.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the youth confirmed, again, unfazed. ¡°It might have something to do with Jumper¡¯s brief appearance at NovaTech HQ earlier today.¡±

    ¡°Was it not your job to monitor such things?¡±

    ¡°It is, but by the time the information reached me, it was too late. I can¡¯t be everywhere at the same time.¡±

    ¡°Is it so¡­¡± the older man¡¯s voice trailed off and the momentary anger that had shown on his face faded away. ¡°It is a shame. We will not soon have such another such opportunity to get rid of the Nemesis.¡±

    ¡°She might also be on her guard from now on.¡±

    ¡°Trying to kill a tiger, only to sharpen its claws, is it? Well, no matter. Even if not soon, an opportunity will arise again.¡±

    ¡°I could¡ª¡±

    A raised hand cut him off.

    ¡°We have too much to lose with what you are about to suggest. We shall leave the Nemesis be for a while. In the first place, killing her was never the primary objective.¡±

    The younger man only nodded, patiently sipping on his tea.

    ¡°You will go and retrieve Hertz.¡±

    ¡°Hertz?¡± He made a grimace. ¡°Boss, you know how I feel about technopaths. They give me headaches. What about Arsenal?¡±

    ¡°It is a shame he will die in the mad rampage of the man-beast,¡± the older man replied in an even tone, as if announcing tomorrow might be cloudy.

    ¡°He¡¯ll die, uh? Well, too bad. Not that I object. Getting finally rid of that lizard will be nice too. Those feral instincts are a pain to deal with. Poor Arsy though¡­¡± The young man¡¯s voice took on a wistful flirtatious tone on that last statement.

    ¡°We cannot have him talk. He was reaching the end of his usefulness in any case.¡±

    ¡°How ruthless,¡± the youth commented with a cynical smirk, covering his mouth in mock shock. The gesture was oddly feminine compared to his behavior until now.

    ¡°We would have let him go had he not gotten himself captured.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say, the fact you can say this with a straight face after you set him up against Nemesis is truly amazing, Oyabun.¡±

    ¡°Enough talk. Go,¡± the older man ordered, turning away to signify the discussion had come to an end.

    The sound of a cup being set down on the table was heard, and when the man in the hakama looked around, he was alone once more. Slowly, with deliberate movements, he picked up the teapot and poured himself another cup. But as he lowered the pot, he suddenly froze. Across the surface of the fuming liquid in his cup, the faintest ripples could be seen.

    Soon, a low rumbling sound filled the air.

    The man was on his feet in a blink, a hand on the pommel of his sword, scanning the obscure room while a feeling he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time snaked up his spine. It took him some time to recognize that feeling.

    It was fear.

    Then, abruptly, the north-eastern wall of the dojo came alight and a shining shockwave rushed at him from across the room, occupying the entirety of the space. The man¡¯s eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. For an instant, the shape of a black flower shimmered briefly into the air between him and the incoming blast.

    However, it shattered from the impact and the light passed right through it and the man behind as if neither existed. Like a flood, the ethereal glow poured into the room for several seconds, before the last of it left through the opposite wall, leaving behind not trace of its passage but faintly rippling tea and the collapsed body of an unconscious man.

    * * *

    Originating from the Research Center of NovaTech Industries, the humongous shockwave filled to the brim with an unknown energy swept across the city and its surroundings, causing a global blackout and leaving in its wake the mayhem of a whole population suddenly fainting in the middle of whatever they were doing.

    The cataclysm would be recorded in history books as the Justice City Power Surge.

    * * *

    ????. ????. ????.

    In a dark place, an ancient presence stirred. Asleep, the being¡¯s dried and cracked lips slowly stretched into a vicious smile, black blood trickling down his chin. Yet he did not wake. It was still too soon. But time would come. Eventually. At last, every piece was in place¡­

    In a week. In ten years or several hundred. It mattered little¡­

    Vengeance would come¡­

    He would rise again¡­

    They would regret the day they had betrayed him¡­

    Eventually¡­

    No need for haste¡­

    He had all eternity before him¡­

    For Death, even forever meant but an instant¡­

    He would wait¡­

    Eventually, she would come¡­

    Definitely¡­

    Come to him¡­

    Come to me¡­

    Meriataneesh, my precious daughter.

    * * * * *

 Chapter 02 â€“ Alive

    <h1></h1>

    2 October 2017. Justice City. New Industrial Park. NovaTech Industries Headquarters.

    ¡°Yes, Steven. I am here right now in front of NovaTech Industries. As you can see, even though one month has already passed since the Power Surge, angry citizens continue to mass in front of the company and manifest their anger over the events which caused widespread chaos and hundreds of deaths across the city.¡±

    The reporter marked a pause and addressed a calculatedly grave look at the audience through the camera pointed at his face. Behind him stood an imposing checkpoint gate, completed with two guardhouses and surrounded by protesters. Two pairs of guards were keeping a stern watch on the group. The four men weren¡¯t heavily armed or acting threatening in any way, but the subtle implication of ¡°everyday people versus powerful corporation¡± intended by the reporter came well across to the viewers.

    In the distance on the other side of the gate and further beyond a large parking lot, the low building housing NovaTech Industries was reflecting the graying sky of October in the large bay window covering its entire fa?ade. The sight differed much from the one nearly a month ago, when broken glass had littered the ground below the empty metallic frames of the windows.

    In the rest of the city, the supernatural shockwave had caused only minor direct damages, mainly affecting people and disrupting the electricity grid. The destructions and deaths throughout Justice resulted first from countless citizens fainting in the dark, at their jobs or behind the wheel, and later from the subsequent after-effects of this literal surge of power. Many people had woken up far less normal than when they had fallen unconscious.

    NovaTech Industries, on the other hand, had been hit by the brunt of the wave. Nearly everything made of glass had shattered. Electronics had melted. Several so-called ¡°magical artifacts¡± had flat out exploded in storage. Out of the few people who hadn¡¯t evacuated the building before the incident, only two had survived, namely Morgan and Merlin Pendragon. That last information, NovaTech, of course, kept from the public.

    Having satisfied his flair for melodrama, the reporter resumed.

    ¡°To this day, the truth behind the incident remains unclear. Last week, NovaTech¡¯s spokesman Johnny McLay claimed a malfunction in a new experimental energy source and I quote ¡®the incident was purely one of human origin and all the measures have been taken to ensure such tragedy would never happen again¡¯.

    ¡°The company¡¯s repeated inability to provide any accurate details on this supposed energy source and its failure have been feeding the suspicions that the company was in truth conducting illegal experiments on parahumans. The enhancement of powered individuals has indeed been a dream of corporations and governments alike for decades past, with little headway so far. I remind you that Power Surge resulted in dozens of reported awakenings¡ªand presumably several times as many went unreported¡ªas well as the strengthening of many known parahumans¡¯ abilities.

    ¡°Some go further and denounce a secret agreement between NovaTech and city authorities, with the goal to monopolize this presumed new power-enhancing technology. This would explain the apparent leniency towards the incriminated company. However, no proof of these allegations has been brought forwards as of yet, even as the lawsuits continue to pile up against NovaTech.

    ¡°The prolonged absence of their flagship heroine, the power eraser Nemesis, has also been raising questions. NovaTech¡¯s young parahuman prot¨¦g¨¦ and her rapid rise to fame had shocked the world with its unprecedented momentum. Some would say suspiciously so. Accusations of foul play have always been around nearly since the heroine¡¯s very first appearance, a little more than six years ago. This incident brings a new wind to NovaTech and Nemesis¡¯ detractors who¡­¡±

    * * *

    ¡°¡­Nemesis!¡±

    Morgan almost jumped out of her seat. Startled by the sudden shout, she also nearly choked on her canteen-issued penne Bolognese, but she managed to cough out the overcooked pasta without stabbing the inside of her mouth with the plastic fork she was using.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± The same female voice that had surprised her asked Morgan with concern, but then she embarked upon a monolog without waiting for an answer.

    ¡°If you¡¯re not feeling well, you should go home. Meningitis is a serious illness, you know? I caught it once, last year, around December I think¡ªor maybe November¡ªIt was cold outside anyway. Girl, I couldn¡¯t even leave my bed. And don¡¯t even mention going to work. You only came back yesterday. If I were you I¡¯d have taken at least another week off. You were already lucky not to be here during that awful power thing. But even if you only work part-time, you should take better care of yourself, okay? I care about you, Ginny. I don¡¯t want you to end up like Melany Cartridge who collapsed last week because she didn¡¯t keep her anemia in check. I always said it to her, she¡­¡±

    Morgan relaxed when it became apparent the woman hadn¡¯t been explicitly referring to her¡ªMorgan Pendragon¡ªwhen she¡¯d mentioned Nemesis. With a sigh, the heroine tuned out the voluble account of Melany Cartridge¡¯s anemic fits and lowered her eyes to the white sleeve of her shirt. It was now marred with red-orange sauce. She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

    Fucking great. I just took that thing back from the cleaner.

    She glared at her tablemate. Although, really, Morgan was the one at fault for not listening and letting herself be startled in the first place.

    In her defense, she¡¯d spent a week in a coma after the Surge had hit her at point-blank and she still hadn¡¯t fully recovered. She tried not question whether she would ever fully recover, or what she was even recovering from since nobody could tell what exactly that was.

    She¡¯d been having trouble focusing ever since she¡¯d woken up. Her meningitis was obviously a lie, but the symptoms were very much real. Headaches were plaguing her in waves. She was especially sensitive to sudden loud noises and flashes of light. Those cleaved through her brain like a chainsaw. At least the sudden vertigos had receded. She had managed not to drop unconscious for no apparent reason for the past two days and hoped it would continue that way. She also had stopped puking all over the place. A definite improvement to how she¡¯d been two weeks ago.

    With her feeling human again, and also in dire need of a break from all the people fussing over her like she was some sort of crystal statue about to shatter from the faintest breeze, she¡¯d decided she was well enough to return to work. Not beating up bad guys of course. She wasn¡¯t completely thoughtless. She¡¯d returned to her official job, that of a marketing clerk.

    In this day and age, heroes were legalized and remunerated. In practice, they did not need any other job to make a living. However, for a bunch of bureaucratic reasons, they still typically had a ¡°normal¡± job tying them to their employer. The Secret Identity Act of 1998 regulated this. The jobs were never very demanding, by necessity. In many cases even, the hero would do nothing at all. Someone else would officiously take care of their workload.

    However, like in many areas, Morgan insisted on doing things differently and on working herself. She had her own reasons, number one being that it took her mind off other things. She needed it and didn¡¯t have any hobby that could fulfill that task. As for her social life, rocks were liable to have a more exciting one than hers.

    ¡°¡­and I knew they would break up eventually. He didn¡¯t deserve her.¡± The seemingly inexhaustible well of gossip suddenly had to pose for breath and Morgan jumped into the lull.

    ¡°Britney, I don¡¯t really care about Susan What¡¯s-Her-Name¡¯s third boyfriend twice removed,¡± she dropped flatly. Although she did idly wonder how the speech had evolved into this direction. Her trained habit to listen to one thing and think of something else completely unrelated was being severely impaired by the incessant thumping in her temples. ¡°What were you saying about Nemesis?¡±

    The look Morgan received from the dirty blonde sitting across from her was one of stunned disbelief. Though Britney¡¯s overacting made it as fake as it got.

    ¡°¡­What?¡± the heroine sighed.

    ¡°Did I just hear the Morgan Pendragon, Miss ¡®I don¡¯t have time for those super idiots in spandex¡¯, that Morgan, show the slightest bit of interest in one of this nation¡¯s heroes? Oh, girl, you must be sicker than I thought. How¡¯s your fever?¡±

    Morgan swatted away the manicured hand reaching for her forehead. ¡°Knock it off, Britney. I¡¯m fine,¡± she lied. She was feeling like crap and no amount of Advil seemed able to save her from her own skull. But she¡¯d endured worse. She could handle this level of a headache. ¡°I can¡¯t really ignore it when it¡¯s all over the news.¡±

    No more was needed to launch Britney on another rant.

    ¡°Right!? How can they say all this crap about her! Of course, she¡¯s not out fighting crime right now! She rushed into the building just before that explosion¡­ Well, not really ¡®explosion¡¯, but you get what I mean. But who knows how much she was hurt?! She had just stopped Arsenal and that horrible dragon¡­ man¡­thing and she didn¡¯t even stop to take a break before rushing here. And then¡ªWell¡ªI mean, people died!! Like Susan from accounting. That janitor, Lucas¡ªor was it Lucius? Then also Paolo, Marc, and Henry from the fifth security team. And¡­ Gosh, I can¡¯t place the two others¡­¡±

    Morgan had to repress a grimace. She couldn¡¯t even name one of the people who were with her that day, even though she¡¯d worked with them before in the case of the security guards. In fact, she probably didn¡¯t know more twenty people working for NovaTech by name, and that included the heroes, the directors, and Britney.

    The blonde was something of a friend, she supposed. They never did things like going out in the city, shopping, try out the holo-cinema, or whatever Morgan imagined female friends did together these days. They only ever spoke at work. Even then it was mostly Britney speaking and Morgan contributing with grunts and the occasional deadpan comment.

    She wasn¡¯t even sure why the blonde bothered with her. Britney¡¯s background check had come out cleaner than the Virgin Mary. Nothing worse than minor pilfering in beauty shops and an admittedly impressive collection of traffic tickets. So she could reasonably be crossed out as a spy. And as far as she was aware, Morgan had never shown any indication she enjoyed the other woman¡¯s company. Although she secretly did, and thus had never asked for Britney¡¯s reasons, exactly because she was afraid she¡¯d stop talking to her.

    If Morgan had to honestly describe Britney, the first words that came to her were ¡°naturally plain¡± and ¡°not very bright¡±. It sounded harsh even in her mind, and every time she¡¯d thought about this for the past weeks, she couldn¡¯t help but remember her brother¡¯s accusations. Did she truly keep close people she considered inferior, just so she could feel better about herself? At a level, she did think of the blonde as below herself, at least on the matters of smarts and looks. It was difficult not to when everyone kept putting her on a pedestal.

    ¡°Right!¡± Britney suddenly snapped her fingers, startling the heroine. ¡°Michael and Paul!¡±

    Morgan blinked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, who?¡±

    ¡°Michael and Paul. Of the security team.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ Did you know them well?¡±

    The blonde sighed sadly. ¡°I shared coffee twice with Marc. He was such a nice man.¡±

    To others, it might have sounded like they went on a couple dates, but Morgan knew her friend meant they had crossed path by the coffee maker exactly twice. The fact Britney even remembered the guy¡¯s name from those brief encounters was beyond Morgan.

    And that was another thing about Britney. Every time Morgan started to question whether her brother might have been truer than she¡¯d liked, she remembered what truly shone about the other woman.

    Britney might not be the girl with the greatest intellect or beauty, but she was supremely likable and had an innate talent to use what she had to the best of her abilities. She got her work done, could look good with the help of a little makeup and her exquisite fashion sense, never came out as an airhead, and was the social butterfly Morgan could only dream to be.

    Mushing dispassionately on her lunch, Morgan considered the woman in front of her, who was still animatedly talking.

    From an objective standpoint, she was the one who had it all. Money, looks, fame, even IQ, Morgan lacked nothing. Although the fame was really Nemesis¡¯, but that was beside the point. The only real dark spot in the heroine¡¯s life, the only thing she had any right to complain about, was her brother. And even that she didn¡¯t know how long it would last. Merlin still hadn¡¯t woken up since whatever he¡¯d been attempting had apparently gone wrong and blew up in everyone¡¯s faces.

    Demented brother aside, Morgan had everything most people could want out of life. Britney on the other hand, was just your average office clerk, with at most a small promotion to look forwards to in the future. Morgan knew this. Then why was it she felt privileged whenever Britney came sit with her at lunch, instead of the no-doubt countless other more agreeable people the blonde could have chosen from?

    She would ponder about those question another day¡ªwhen her head didn¡¯t feel as if her brain was attempting a jailbreak.

    ¡°And those stupid reporters!¡± Britney was still going on, unaware of her companion¡¯s inner musings. ¡°Saying stuff and accusing her of all those things without even knowing what she¡¯s like! The galls of those bastards! Like she didn¡¯t save this city several dozen times! Like when¡­¡± She then launched into a vivid enumeration of all of Morgan¡¯s, or rather Nemesis¡¯, past achievements.

    On top of everything else, Britney was also a hero buff, a living encyclopedia of heroism from the glory days of Justice Man¡ªwhom the city had been renamed after¡ªto present day. She was of course quite biased, and in her mouth, many of Nemesis¡¯ ¡°exploits¡± turned out much more noble and heroic than Morgan herself recalled them. But it did feel good to hear someone defend her so vehemently.

    Yet, she couldn¡¯t help an acid quip.

    ¡°Oh, because you know what she¡¯s like?¡±

    Britney interrupted her monolog to cast her a weird look.

    ¡°Well, not personally, but, obviously she¡¯s someone who cares a lot about justice and helping people.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Morgan shrugged and took another bite of her pasta. ¡°She always sounded like a haughty bitch to me. I bet she doesn¡¯t even like helping people. How much do you think NovaTech pays her for offering morally acceptable softcore porn to half the city?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re always so cynical! But I¡¯ll forgive you because you obviously don¡¯t feel well.¡±

    Morgan had to admit her headache was dragging her mood in the mud. But it was also true she always felt a twisted sense of satisfaction in criticizing her alter ego.

    ¡°I¡¯m not cynical, I¡¯m a realist. You shouldn¡¯t worship someone just because they can punch holes through concrete.¡±

    ¡°Nemesis can¡¯t do that, Ginny.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re missing the point.¡± Morgan waved Britney¡¯s argument off. She was about to add something¡ªshe wasn¡¯t sure what but probably something overly self-abusive¡ªwhen a third voice interrupted her.

    ¡°I kind of like Nemesis myself. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s not the bitch she makes herself out to be.¡±

    Britney beamed at the newcomer for the sole reason he had rallied her opinion, while Morgan repressed the urge to slam her head into the tabletop.

    ¡°Hi! You¡¯re¡­ Clinton? From I.T.?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Killian, but yes I¡¯m from I.T. You¡¯re Britney, right?¡±

    ¡°You know me?¡± Surprisingly, the blonde sounded genuinely surprised.

    The young man burst into good-natured laughter and Morgan finally shot a glare his way. Killshot, because of course, it was him, in his civilian identity, was wearing sneakers, bright red long shorts and a tee-shirt printed with a cartoon character sporting a straw hat and picking his nose. NovaTech had a rather loose dress code for its employees, but even then Killian¡¯s outfit flirted with the limits of those few lax rules. His chin-length chestnut-brown hair was tied back in a short ponytail and, lately, he had decided to grow a goatee.

    ¡°Everybody knows you, Britney. And didn¡¯t you know me yourself? Though you got my name wrong. But it¡¯s okay. I forgive you¡ªbecause you¡¯re pretty.¡± He sent them a boyish grin that made the blonde giggle and the raven-haired heroine¡¯s scowl deepen. She didn¡¯t hate Killian, on a better day she might even call him a tentative friend, but right now she was far from a state where she was willing to endure his usual antics.

    Unfazed by the aura of hostility Morgan was diffusing, he slid into the seat next to her and turned to face her. ¡°And how are you? Careful, if your frown gets any deeper, you¡¯re going to get stuck.¡±

    ¡°You know each other?!¡± Britney was nearly glowing. Sometimes Morgan suspected her friend was, in fact, a parahuman who literally fed on gossip.

    But of course, she knew it wasn¡¯t the case. Every employee at NovaTech had to agree to blood tests aimed at detecting parahumans. It made human¡¯s and parahumans¡¯ rights defense groups cringe, but it was a necessary precaution, and not necessarily for the reasons people first thought of. Unchecked destructive powers were an issue obviously, but what NovaTech feared most were mind readers who could literally pluck company secrets off people¡¯s heads. The only thing worse was a mind controller, which was why mind powers were strictly controlled.

    That said, after the Power Surge, they¡¯d had to conduct a new round of tests in an emergency. Morgan told herself she would have to get her hands on Britney¡¯s results.

    ¡°I¡¯m a distant cousin on her father¡¯s side,¡± Killian answered casually.

    ¡°A very distant cousin,¡± Morgan added curtly. ¡°What are you doing here anyway?¡±

    ¡°Why? Am I interrupting some top secret female meeting that men shouldn¡¯t intrude on penalty of death by emasculation?¡±

    ¡°In fact, ye¡ª¡±

    ¡°No! Of course not!¡± Britney directed at Morgan a meaningful wide-eyed stare, whose meaning the heroine completely failed to catch.

    ¡°Thanks, Britney. But, I do actually have a reason to be here, aside from the charming company.¡± He winked at Morgan, who in turn wondered how fast she could punch him without her costume¡¯s boosters. Answer: still pretty fast. A shame they were in public. Britney, of course, giggled up a storm.

    ¡°Then stop wasting our time. Spill it.¡±

    ¡°Santa¡¯s looking for you, Ginny.¡±

    Morgan swore silently. Of course, he had to hear the nickname Britney had for her. But she ignored it for now. She had more pressing issues to deal with, apparently.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t the director just send me a¡­ Aw fuck.¡± As she replied, she took out her cellphone and noticed she¡¯d let the battery go flat. She was really out of it. Maybe she should have done as Britney said and rested for another week. Still, she grabbed her paper cup and cutlery and stood up. ¡°I have to go. See you, Britney.¡±

    ¡°Bye!¡± The blonde sent distractedly before reporting her attention to Killian, who showed no sign of leaving.

    A step away from the table, Morgan paused. She couldn¡¯t ignore a summon from the Marketing Director. But the idea of leaving Killian alone with Britney really didn¡¯t appeal to her. At all. It was like abandoning an oil container next to a blazing fire and hoping they behaved.

    Eventually, however, she had no choice but to walk out of the refectory, thrusting the rest of her meal in the bin as she passed by, a little stronger than necessary.

    * * *

    In a dimly lit room, deep underground, emerald green eyes fluttered open

    Even the relative obscurity proved too much to endure however and they immediately shut again. A month of total darkness had left the man¡¯s retinas overly sensitive. His other senses weren¡¯t of much help either. All he could hear was a rhythmic, high-pitched and inorganic beeping noise that was already grating on his nerves. Everything else¡ªsmell, touch, taste¡ªonly reported back a jumbled mess he couldn¡¯t make head nor tail of.

    Moving also seemed out of question. Although, he knew not whether the issue laid with his control or something else.

    He focused his slowly waking mind inwards. He was conscious of the flow of magic gradually resuming within his body. For now, it only trickled strenuously out of his soul, in amounts barely noticeable, but there nonetheless. This was what had roused him up. The seal he¡¯d put on his soul had finally broken. That much he¡¯d expected. Such a weak and haphazardly carved seal wouldn¡¯t have lasted long. The question was if it had nevertheless lasted long enough for his soul to recover. The whole point of forcing himself into hibernation was to allow all the magic left within his soul to focus on healing.

    A quick peek relieved him. The worst of the tear had mended. The result was far from perfect, a good physical comparison would be an ugly red scar made of still tender skin. But as long as he remained careful, he was confident this level of damage could be handled. Being alive was already no short of a miracle. He had shredded a part of his soul after all.

    Reassured he was in no immediate danger of dissolving into nothingness, the man returned to assessing the state of his body.

    At first, what he sensed only confused him. Everything felt deeply, intimately wrong. He remained stunned for a short while.

    Then, as the haze still lingering in his mind progressively cleared up, he started making sense out of the chaos. He remembered and understood, his body felt wrong simply because it was not the one he¡¯d grown accustomed to. Although, what exactly he was supposed to be now, he knew not for sure. He assumed human from the glimpse he¡¯d gotten, right before falling unconscious, but confirmation would have to wait until he was able to fully examine himself.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    He stopped relying on his memories, and instead decided to approach his constitution like a foreign object to study. Quickly, outlines and patterns started to appear before his mind¡¯s eye, still confusing, but not nearly as incomprehensible.

    He chose to disregard the inner workings of the more complex organs for the time being. This pseudo-meditative state he was in allowed mages to examine their own bodies in great details, but in a normal situation, the mage would already have an inmost understanding of the magic flow within themselves, having lived their whole lives in the same envelope. He didn¡¯t have such luxury. For the current him, this felt more akin to trying to piece together a strange puzzle, with for only information what he could perceive of the purpose of each part.

    Thus the large cluster of slimy, twisting and pulsating flesh that occupied most of the core of this new envelope and was vastly different from Meria¡¯s original organs quite exceeded his comprehension. He could vaguely identify some. After all, Meria had eviscerated too many creatures to be that ignorant. But seeing bloody parts spilling out of dead or dying things didn¡¯t compare much to feeling them work together within your own body. Unsurprisingly, he was very partial against opening himself up to have a look.

    For the moment, he resigned to categorize the whole lot as something that kept his body alive and moved on. He¡¯d come back to it later.

    The muscles felt more intuitive. While not completely identical to the one he¡¯d had before, the similarities were numerous enough. All he needed to know was contract and relax. Nothing transcending. He also noticed his nerves and the impulses coursing through them, commanding the motions, and the circulatory system entangled with those nerves. The bones were another obvious parts he needed not think too deeply about.

    Retreating a metaphorical step back, he scanned the whole ensemble, how everything worked together and the overall shape it took. A very faint unintentional smile played on his lips.

    Apparently, he¡¯d been able to remain humanoid in this new life. This was a weight off his shoulders. Without the hassle of new and foreign limbs, he trusted he¡¯d be able to control this new form in no time. He¡¯d have to get used to having five fingers on each hand instead of four, idem for his toes, but at least he was spared having to, for example, learn how to walk with three legs. Altogether, he considered himself quite lucky. Given the odds of coming back to life at all, he¡¯d had as much chance of being reborn as a squid. Fortunately, that had not happened.

    There was, however, one detail that slightly bothered him.

    Is this body¡­male?

    He could not pretend to be an expert in human anatomy, but there definitely was no mistaking that limp excrescence between his thighs.

    Not that Meria had ever been ¡°intimately acquainted¡± with this part of the male form. Her tendency to rot everything she¡¯d made contact with, understandably had severely impeded her sex life. Even she hadn¡¯t been so twisted as to enjoy fucking a decomposing corpse whilst it fell apart in her grasp. In fact, the mere thought had repulsed her¡ªand still did. Thusly, for a large portion of her life, the demoness¡¯ experience with intercourse had been mostly limited to watching demons getting raped by other demons, a situation she¡¯d stumbled upon every now and then.

    That had changed after she¡¯d met Sheila, a couple decades into her conquest of the Demon Realms. The succubus clan hadn¡¯t been difficult to subdue. Their only strong point was their mind magic, devastating against weaker opponents, but less so against powerful ones, and completely inefficient against the likes of the self-proclaimed Demon Queen.

    It was mostly on a whim that Meria had spared the life of the succubus leader, but she¡¯d never regretted that decision. Sheila, on the other hand, had been utterly appalled¡­ by the abyssal sexual knowledge of her new mistress. At least, it could be called abyssal from a succubus¡¯ standpoint. The dethroned seductress had thus taken it upon herself to educate her liege. And she was pretty resourceful.

    As it had turned out, even if the death mage couldn¡¯t touch anything directly, a good pair of enchanted chainmail gloves went a long way. The Queen¡¯s ¡°practice partners¡± would end up dying after a while despite the precautions, but they¡¯d always find more ¡°volunteers¡± amongst the many prisoners whom Meriataneesh¡¯s growing army had been accumulating during her march through the realms.

    I wonder how she¡¯s doing.

    Shaking off the memory of his former self, the ex-demon let his mind drift to the people he knew¡ªhad known. His soul had spent an untold amount of time in that dark void. Certainly, high demons such as succubi and vampires had extremely long lifespans, and human mages also had a decent one, but they were not, despite appearances, immortal. They might already all be dead. The chances he¡¯d meet them again were slim at best, even on the off chance he still was on Zarath. And somehow he doubted that was the case.

    He knew other worlds existed, or at least he knew of one other mortal plane, the one heroes were summoned from. Although to his knowledge, none from Zarath had ever traveled there, he had a gnawing suspicion this was precisely the place he¡¯d been transported to¡ªor reincarnated, depending on the interpretation. The low level of ambient magical power definitely matched the accounts of past heroes being surprised at how spells worked on Zarath.

    However, he would need to confirm the phenomenon wasn¡¯t just a localized anomaly. And for that, he¡¯d have to leave the place he currently was.

    Wherever that might be.

    As far for the matter of his sex change, ultimately he didn¡¯t care. A body was a body. Meria had never been too attached to hers anyway. It had been strong, certainly, but magic had always been her main weapon past her first century. The same applied to her gender. She¡¯d grown up in the wilderness, and by the time she¡¯d had enough contact with civilization to understand gender dissociations, she¡¯d been already far too powerful for anyone to dare ask her to conform to any given societal norms¡ªor talk to her in general.

    So, yes, from his previous life he might be more familiar with the female form. But beyond that, the distinction really didn¡¯t matter to him. He would continue to do what Meria had always done before, and that was whatever he damn pleased. He knew not what the future held and perhaps events to come would change his mind. But for now, he was actually a bit intrigued with the perspective of testing his new ¡°equipment¡±, since hopefully in this life his touch wouldn¡¯t carry death and decay to every bloody damn thing.

    Ironically, Shadow had once complained that the only way he could see to get rid of Meria¡¯s curse would probably be to get herself a brand new body.

    ¡­Uh.

    That thought gave him pause.

    Why did we discard that idea anyway? I¡¯m sure we discussed it. Soul transfer is risky, but it¡¯s not unfeasible. So why¡­ Damn, what did that dumb reptile say again? Something about monks and fishing¡­ No that can¡¯t be right.

    A sudden noise broke the monotony of the incessant beeping before he could remember anything more. The footsteps barely registered with him, however. Immediately they were overshadowed by the crushing magical pressure that came with them. For the first time in a small eternity, the reincarnated being felt fear from the simple presence of another.

    Resurging from a distant past, when Meria had still been a child surviving in an environment where everything had surpassed her in strength and had been trying to kill her, his first instinct was to hide his own presence, by quieting the flow of magic within its body in order to blend into the ambient power. It wouldn¡¯t make him invisible, but it was better than nothing.

    To his surprise, he succeeded easily. This was something he hadn¡¯t done in centuries. Not only because there¡¯d been no reason for the Demon Queen to hide at all, but also because she couldn¡¯t. By the time she¡¯d sat on the throne of the Unified Demon Realms, her power had been so overbearing even she had lost her ability to precisely control it. A suitable comparison would be to say not even the greatest martial artist could use a war hammer with the subtlety of a stiletto.

    This realization brought another and he abruptly realized his error. Like when he¡¯d first inspected his new body, he¡¯d failed to remember he couldn¡¯t apply Meriataneesh¡¯s old standards anymore. This wasn¡¯t Zarath¡ªprobably. He wasn¡¯t the mighty demon he used to be. And the ocean of magic he¡¯d once possessed had dwindled to little more than a flimsy pond.

    He rectified his perception and the truth became quickly evident. The pressure he felt from the new arrival wasn¡¯t because they possessed overwhelming strength. It was him who¡¯d become far too weak.

    As paradoxical as it might seem, that sobering epiphany caused him to instantaneously relax. If he wasn¡¯t up against a boundless deity like he¡¯d first assumed, but just a decent mage, at least his chances of survival weren¡¯t completely null.

    As long as even the slimmest most remote possibility existed, he would fight. If his body refused to move, he would crawl and bite. Pride? Honorable death? Only worthless notions. In a fight, only mattered being the one left standing. Pride could wait after all your enemies laid motionless in a pool of their own blood. Winners wrote history and would spread tales of their heroic deeds if they so wanted. The dead were always in the wrong.

    ...Ah.

    Only when he¡¯d finally set his resolution did the thought occur to him that, maybe, the newcomer wasn¡¯t hostile. He felt slightly silly, but not much. In a situation where he was essentially defenseless, erring on the side of paranoia was definitely the safest option. Like Zephyr always said, better overcautious than dead. A saying Meria had often laughed at, but that the man she¡¯d become now wholeheartedly intended to put into practice.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re awake. You can stop pretending.¡±

    The footsteps had stopped, and so had the beeping, when a voice cut through the relative silence. His eyes were still closed, but from the sound of these words alone, his mind conjured up the portrait of a sharp middle-aged woman, probably with angular features, narrowed eyes, graying hairs and a few wrinkles. A pair of glasses too, for good measure.

    She would be someone used to giving orders and expecting to be obeyed without question, with also the strength to back up those expectations. A natural leader. But her voice also lacked the raucous undertone that came with frequent yelling, which probably excluded a position of field officer within an army and suggested a quieter working environment.

    Allowing himself a little leap of logic, he imagined her as either a military strategist or a scholar with a sufficiently high position within some guild. Other options could have fitted, but he also took her magical presence into consideration. By Zarath¡¯s standards it was barely passable, but given the level of ambient magic around here, this woman¡¯s level of power might, in fact, be quite commendable. Strength was relative after all. A dwarf was a giant amongst pixies. And no one got that tone of voice by being only ¡°passable¡±.

    He also had once again received confirmation that his soul had most likely not returned to Zarath. Meria had learned about any dialect worth knowing, and yet he had not understood a single word of what that woman had just said.

    He could guess, though. He recognized an order when he heard one. Although honestly, he had much more experience in dishing them out rather than receiving them. It made sense. Who would dare to order the Demon Queen around? Nobody had that kind of death wish. Or almost nobody. Only one person had tried and lived to tell about it. And that woman became the Empress of Mankind.

    Elise¡­He¡¯d only been conscious for a few instants that already longing was gnawing at him.

    He forced his mind to focus on the present. Considering his current condition, the only thing the woman could reasonably expect of him was to stop feigning sleep. So very likely she had commanded him to do just that. However, not one to take useless risks, he still waited to see if she would leave when he showed no response, but she didn¡¯t. Instead, she repeated her order, although with many more words.

    ¡°Merlin, open your eyes right now. I¡¯m really not in a mood to deal with you, and I¡¯m probably the person least irritated by that stunt you pulled off. All the data I got from the few sensors that didn¡¯t melt was worth years of research but hardly compensates for all the damage you caused. Now look at me, or I let your sister in. And I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want that.¡±

    The end sounded like a threat. He very much disliked to be threatened. Sadly there was little he could do at present. He opened his eyes¡ªif only to get a good look at whom he would need to teach her fucking place as soon as he got somewhat back in shape. The light didn¡¯t aggress him so harshly this time, but he still had to blink several times before he started seeing anything besides blurry blobs.

    Half of his vision was obstructed by a translucent mask covering his nose and mouth and he was staring up at a white ceiling. A failed attempt at moving his head, then sitting up confirmed what he had suspected. He was restrained. He cursed under his breath. This was not a weight on the ¡°not hostile¡± pan of the scale.

    The question he asked himself was whether those restraints meant his captors knew about him taking over this body, or if the previous owner had done something that warranted his incarceration. In either case, the former Demon Queen was royally screwed.

    In fact, the answer to that question was neither those options and a little bit of both at the same time. Merlin¡¯s failed ritual had indeed earned him the undying hostility of NovaTech¡¯s management, but it was really Meria who had caused the shockwave that had resulted in them wanting to lock up the wannabe summoner.

    But of course the current occupant of Merlin¡¯s body had no mean to know that, and neither did anyone else. Possession by an overpowered demon from another reality was, after all, fairly low on the list of potential scenarios anyone could conjecture. As for the man at the origin of this debacle, body, and soul, he simply didn¡¯t have a clue what was going on, beyond that he was weakened and immobilized at the mercy of some female mage more powerful than his present self. ¡°Royally¡± didn¡¯t even cut it. He was imperially screwed.

    At least he finally got a glimpse of the female in question, who stood by the bed he supposed he was laying on. His mental image of her was pretty much spot on. The details he hadn¡¯t been able to get solely from her voice was that she was human¡ªor at least she looked the part¡ªand that she was wearing a white coat as well as tight fitting black gloves.

    Her lips lifted in a smile, but there was no warmth about it. She narrowed her pale gray eyes shielded by a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and her gaze shone with a calculating glimmer.

    ¡°So, Merlin, I will now remove that breathing mask. Then I will ask you a few questions. I¡¯d like your answers to be quick and to the point. As it is, you¡¯ve already wasted heaps of everybody¡¯s money and time, especially mine. Not that I care much about the former, but others will and I¡¯m sure they won¡¯t be as amiable as me. In fact, think of me as your best friend within this company right now. Do we have an understanding?¡±

    With little else to do, he blinked. The woman seemed to take that as an affirmation.

    ¡°Excellent. Let us start.¡±

    * * *

    Morgan frowned as she peered through the thick one-way mirror. The room beyond was bare, containing only a bed and the necessary medical equipment to monitor and keep alive a comatose patient. Objectively, it looked like a special prison cell rather than a hospital room.

    That assumption wouldn¡¯t be too far off, although not completely accurate either. Contrary to many urban legends, NovaTech did not, in fact, conduct evil illegal experiments on parahumans, and thus very much lacked any need for a dungeon. They¡¯d had to repurpose a small laboratory of the eighth basement floor, originally designed to hold volatile components, in order to contain a man they considered very volatile himself. Understandably so. After all, as far as they were concerned, Merlin Pendragon had nearly blown up the whole city with nothing more than a bucket of paint and a glowing rock. Of course, this was a bit of an oversimplification, but the point stood.

    Inside the room, dimly lit though still brighter than the corridor Morgan stood in, said the potentially dangerous man was currently being questioned by Sonia Harris, Director of Research and Development at NovaTech and also renowned technopath. She¡¯d been chosen for this task in virtue of her being the only one who really understood anything about what Merlin¡¯s catastrophic light show had been about.

    However, the interrogation didn¡¯t seem to be progressing well¡ªif the narrowed eyes and pinched lips of the female executive were any indication. Merlin also hadn¡¯t said a word since his sister arrived, only staring at the Director with a vaguely bored expression sometimes broken by a faint chuckle. In fact, that was all he¡¯d been doing even before Morgan showed up.

    The heroine wondered if he didn¡¯t understand the situation he was in, or if he¡¯d simply given up caring now that his supposed apotheosis had so spectacularly failed.

    Or did it? Deeply she felt something was amiss.

    ¡°Did he really lose his power?¡± she asked.

    ¡°All the tests came out negative.¡± The answer came from a rotund middle-aged man standing beside her.

    He was clad in an impeccable business suit strained almost painfully over his protruding belly. If buttons had possessed the ability of speech, no doubt the distressed cries of his would have been audible from miles away. A full white beard sat comfortably on his chest and countless small facial wrinkles told the story of someone who liked to smile and laugh. However, his expression at the moment was far from merry.

    He was also bald and, for a while now, Morgan had been debating whether or not to point out the paperclip sticking, apparently by itself, to his hairless scalp. She couldn¡¯t decide which course of action would be less disrespectful.

    Klaus Hoffmann was the director of the marketing department, and also the man in charge of supervising the hero team, making him doubly Morgan¡¯s superior. Given his name, appearance and usually jolly character, it came as no surprise that most of the staff had taken to calling him ¡°Santa¡±. He didn¡¯t mind. He liked having a good reputation amongst the employees. That said, Morgan knew there were no nice kids on this Klaus¡¯ list, only stockholders.

    ¡°Could he have messed with the results somehow?¡± she inquired again.

    ¡°While in a coma?¡± He raised a hand to scratch his scalp. ¡°I really doubt¡ªDammit!¡± His fingers had found the clip. He tried to pull it off, but the small coiled wire refused to budge. ¡°Oh, for the love of¡ªHow do you people deal with this?!¡±

    ¡°With practice, Director. And technically you are now part of ¡®us people¡¯ too.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°I¡¯m too old for this.¡±

    ¡°I respectfully disagree. Even if awakening mainly happens in teenagers, people of all ages have been recorded to manifest powers. There¡¯s no such thing as ¡®too old¡¯ in this case.¡±

    ¡°Save me your smartassries, Pendragon,¡± he snapped back, but without bite. Then he started mumbling to himself. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t I awaken something useful instead of turning into a fridge magnet? I¡¯ve been dragging office supplies everywhere these days. At least if I could use this for anything consequent, but I can¡¯t even lift anything bigger than a stapler! Damn this Scheisse!¡±

    The Power Surge had awakened magnetic powers in the Director. But to his dismay, and most of everyone else¡¯s amusement, those powers were extremely¡­ mild. And he still hadn¡¯t them fully under control.

    He gave another tug before dropping his arm. ¡°Could you?¡±

    Almost without thinking, Morgan let out a short localized burst of her power. The paperclip fell to the ground.

    Looking down at the small item, she let out a small sigh. The media would have a field trip knowing that Nemesis¡¯ ability had indeed evolved like they suspected. She still couldn¡¯t choose whom she targeted within her range, but now she possessed some level of control over said range. It wasn¡¯t all improvements, though. Keeping her power active for too long now tended to trigger debilitating headaches, something that had never happened before. There also didn¡¯t seem to be any rhyme or reason as to how long the headaches took to manifest. Never under fifteen minutes, but beyond that, the timing was completely up in the air.

    Like Morgan and the Director, there were many people whom the Power Surge had affected, causing awakenings or strengthening preexistent supernatural abilities. The only one who seemed to have suffered the complete inverse effect was her brother.

    Whatever the true nature of the Surge, it had thoroughly roasted Merlin, who had been sitting at its very epicenter. At first, everybody had thought he was going to die, but then his healing power had flared into overdrive, restoring his wounds despite them being way beyond what he¡¯d been capable of before, and at an astonishing rate.

    It had made everyone quite nervous. The only other recorded case of parahuman with such a fast regeneration rate was a self-proclaimed vigilante nicknamed The Immortal. ¡°Self-proclaimed¡± because that person had been very much a serial killer, although only targeting other criminals.

    Vigilantes were globally notorious for their wanton ways, but even amongst them, The Immortal held the place of some sort of bogeyman, counting hundreds of victims all over the States, both normal people, and parahumans, including many other vigilantes.

    The numerous clashes between Justice Man and the bloodthirsty regenerator were famous for their violence. Their last battle, in particular, had marked the minds of a generation, as one of the very few times the acclaimed ¡°Greatest Hero¡± hadn¡¯t successfully subdued one of his opponents alive and had had to put them down. Definitely. The fact Justice Man had retired less than a month after that ultimate fight also added to The Immortal¡¯s notoriety. Speculations were still running wild as to what kind of wounds the hero had received to force him to step down.

    So, knowing Merlin¡¯s temperament, that parallel, no matter how farfetched, had understandably gotten everyone on edge.

    However, the tension had quickly waned and been replaced with perplexity. Even after his body had fully healed, Merlin hadn¡¯t woken up and instead his power had completely vanished. It hadn¡¯t just gone dormant either. No amount of testing could find even a shred of parahuman DNA within his body. It was as if his ability had burnt itself out with that last stunt that saved its wielder¡¯s life.

    All of this had been explained to Morgan after she¡¯d come out of her week-long coma. But even with her testimony to complete the fragmentary recording retrieved from the fried remains of her helmet¡¯s memory card, nobody still had the faintest idea how this unprecedented case had occurred.

    ¡°A peek at the untapped potential this world has to offer,¡± her brother had claimed. She couldn¡¯t help but wonder, what potential? Had he been referring to some supposed ¡°magic¡±? Nobody was able to spark off any reaction from neither the runes he¡¯d drawn nor the shards of the necromancer¡¯s stone. Was this really magic? Morgan refused to believe it. Magic was fairy tales stuff, for the ignorant and children. If magic was real, what was next? Would dragons suddenly start walking the streets? Hah! Ridiculous.

    Yet Morgan had certainly seen the glowing patterns. She¡¯d felt that nauseating pressure. And she couldn¡¯t convince herself she¡¯d imagined the creeping cold and that stench of death.

    Then there was the Power Surge itself, which no one could plausibly explain. Energy did not simply appear out of nowhere, more so in such quantity. It would completely defy the laws of physics, and not even all those so-called ¡°supernatural¡± abilities could escape those laws. It might sometimes look like they did, but in ninety-nine percent of cases, a little bit of critical analysis sufficed to reveal at least some scientific logic behind any power.

    The remaining one percent was to be chalked up to humanity¡¯s still very incomplete understanding of the world, and not on some ridiculous hocus-pocus. Morgan firmly believed this. Ironically, her own power happened to belong to that one percent.

    What did you do, Merlin? What did you fucking do?! AH!! I can¡¯t even think with those fucking headaches!

    Morgan groaned and brought a hand to her right temple, drawing small circles against her skin.

    The Director noticed. ¡°You still have headaches?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she replied, trying not to sound too curt. She couldn¡¯t go snapping at a Director.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked¡­¡±

    The man¡¯s comment had been mumbled low enough that Morgan could pretend to have missed it without seeming rude, so she did exactly that. Focusing back on the room where the fruitless interrogation was continuing, she redirected the conversation away from her.

    ¡°How is he, physically?¡±

    Hoffman cast her a meaningful glance but didn¡¯t pursue. He too turned back towards the tinted window, then let out a scoff.

    ¡°Physically? He¡¯s the healthiest post-comatose twenty-nine years old on the planet! In fact, even removing the ¡®post-comatose¡¯ he could still be amongst the top ten, not counting parahumans. I don¡¯t have the faintest bloody idea what his power did to him before bowing out, but it¡¯s like he¡¯s been rebuilt entirely. Hell, even my three-year-old granddaughter doesn¡¯t have a bloodstream as clear as this asshole! Oh, sorry, I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±

    ¡°No. It¡¯s okay. He really is.¡± An asshole was in her opinion the best way to describe her brother. Something stinking, shameful, better kept out of sight and that could do nothing but produce more and more crap every day.

    She already knew about his condition in fact. She¡¯d read the reports, all of them. She felt responsible for what had happened. She¡¯d just asked because she had trouble believing the Merlin she was seeing right now truly was in such pristine shape. Bluntly speaking, he looked like someone had clad a skeleton in human skin with only the smallest layer of muscles as padding, then added eyeballs and wig. Except, his skin tone and hair had a healthy shine to them she hadn¡¯t seen on her brother in more than fifteen years. She found the contrast extremely weird and disturbing. And that wasn¡¯t all that disturbed her.

    Trying to steer her thoughts away from the unidentifiable feeling of unease gnawing at her, she refocused on Director Harris, who was visibly about to lose her cool from Merlin¡¯s obstinate silence.

    Why isn¡¯t he saying anything?

    An idea suddenly crossed her mind.

    ¡°Could it be¡­ amnesia?¡±

    ¡°What did you say?¡±

    Morgan hadn¡¯t meant to speak out loud, so her voice had been quite low. She turned towards Director Hoffmann and repeated herself more clearly.

    ¡°Could Merlin be amnesiac? We¡¯re not sure what his power did to him, apart from cannibalizing his body fat and nearly all his muscles. And from what I¡¯ve read nobody was able to do a proper MRI before he was half-way through healing. If his brain was as fried as the rest of his body, wouldn¡¯t it be so strange if his memories had been erased? Could he have lost the ability to speak too? Can amnesia do that?¡±

    The older man¡¯s hands shot up in an irritated helpless gesture.

    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me! I¡¯m no brain doctor.¡± He frowned and looked pensively into the room. ¡°I¡¯m no doctor, but I know of people. Tell me, girl, does that look like the face of someone who¡¯s lost all his memories to you? Does your brother look even remotely lost and confused?¡±

    Morgan swallowed, nervous. She didn¡¯t want to look at her brother¡¯s emaciated face. She¡¯d been avoiding doing exactly that since she¡¯d gotten here, in this dark hallway, peering through a tinted window like a witness identifying a murderer from a lineup. Because that was what her brother had become. A murderer. No matter if he never went to trial and never judged guilty. All those death during the Surge were on him. And on her too, she thought, for failing to stop him. She still had trouble coming to terms her brother could fall so low.

    Then she forced herself to look at that skeletal parody of her brother¡¯s face, bound to the bed with straps designed for patients with head trauma. Merlin¡¯s emerald green eyes, so similar to her own, where fixed on Director Harris, unblinking. And indeed she could see no confusion or uncertainty in his expression. His stare was intense, focused, and the corners of his mouth were raised slightly with a hint of condescending amusement.

    Now, she was used to seeing her brother smirk like he knew something everybody else didn¡¯t. He went through life looking down on the world he thought couldn¡¯t understand his own greatness. But there was something different here, a calm confidence that Merlin, so afflicted by his delusion of persecutions and his fervent need to prove his worth, had never possessed.

    But was it really confidence, or resignation, Morgan couldn¡¯t tell. At the very least, she had to agree with the Director. This was not the face of someone who¡¯d suddenly woken up in a strange place without his memories.

    Suddenly, as if sensing her gaze on him, Merlin¡¯s eyes shifted to look at her. Not just in direction of the one-way mirror she was hiding behind, but directly at her, straight into her own green eyes, as if he knew perfectly she was there, watching.

    His half-smile broaden for a fraction of a second. For an instant, Morgan¡¯s heart forgot how to beat. All her senses were yelling at her not to move, not to make a sound, not to breathe. Avoid anything that might attract the attention of the beast before her. She was insignificant, a non-entity, certainly not a threat and even less of a worthy prey. She was nothing. She wanted to hide. To run away screaming. To collapse to the ground in fetal position and cry in despair. But she didn¡¯t, she couldn¡¯t, unable to move a muscle, rooted into place by the gaze of the predator like a deer caught in the headlights.

    Then he looked away, his eyes passing dismissively over where the Marketing Director stood, and finally returning to the woman talking to him. The spell broke and finally she could breathe again. She stumbled a step backward, a hand clutching her aching chest, ignoring the concerned calls of her superior beside her.

    What was THAT?!

    It took a while for her to regain her cool, taking slow breaths while blood thumped in her ears. She persuaded herself the feeling just now was nothing more than the compound of her recent lack of sleep and her paranoia acting up. She had not, she repeated herself, she had not just been terrified by a casual glance from her brother. He wasn¡¯t even looking at her, only in her general direction. He couldn¡¯t see her. There was simply no way.

    And the cold chill embracing her whole being was just her imagination.

    * * * * *

 Chapter 03 â€“ The Next Step

    8 October 2017. Justice City. New Industrial Park. NovaTech Industries Headquarters.

    Merlin laid prone, on the tip of his toes, arms taut supporting him. Sweat covered his body like a sheeny, sticky coating, trickling along his gaunt limbs, dripping from short black hairs, from his nose and eyelashes. A puddle already had formed on the slick floor under him.

    Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself down for the seventh time. It felt like torture to pace his descent to avoid dropping like a rock. His whole body was shaking, screaming at him to stop. The muscles in his upper arms, shoulders, chest and abdomen were searing, as if on fire.

    Yet he stubbornly persevered, using burning anger as fuel. Anger at being imprisoned for gods knew how long. Anger at being repeatedly interrogated, prodded, pricked and scanned. Anger at being dragged roughly across claustrophobic hallways and into even smaller rooms, to the point he was beginning to develop a deep hatred for enclosed spaces. Anger at being forced to keep a low profile. Anger at dealing with people who persisted in trying to gauge his abilities despite having no clue how magic worked. Imbecilic, self-conceited, incompetent, dim-witted, dull brained¡­ The torrent of insults rolled endlessly in his mind.

    And, above all, he felt enraged at his own weakness.

    ¡°Huff¡­¡± Reaching the lowest position he could, his emaciated a hair¡¯s breadth from the floor, he began to push himself back up, ignoring the pleas of his organism.

    Suddenly his vision blurred. A sharp pain jolted through his chest. ¡°Argh!¡± It wrested a strangled gasp from his throat. His strength faltered, his arms lurched from under him and he collapsed, his hand slipping on the wet floor. His left shoulder impacted the hard surface with a sharp noise. He groaned and rolled on his back, clutching his bony upper arm.

    Ravens and crows. It¡¯s getting worse! Ever since he¡¯d woken up, ever since that stupid seal broke, magic had been coursing through his body again. Not the raw energy stored in his soul, but processed power attuned to his unique affinity with Death, carrying the same burden of decay he¡¯d borne in his past life. His touch wasn¡¯t corrupting¡ªyet¡ªbut his newly obtained, breathing, living, mortal body wasn¡¯t built to endure the lethal power gradually filling it up.

    Merlin¡¯s own magic was slowly killing him. Damned.

    The naked man remained down for a few breaths, unmoving but seething, teeth clenched. He raised a hand up above eyes, squinting at its backlit form, watching it shake, and bit back a furious roar. He knew it would only come out as a whine. His throat felt sore.

    Would his new life be like this? Trapped in a crippled prison of flesh, slowly eroded from within, devoured by the very power that had made his past self a living god? Not if he could help it. He already had a countermeasure in mind, based on a theory the black dragon Shadow had thought up one day while they¡¯d been discussing Meria¡¯s cursed touch. The risks were significant, and the success uncertain, but Merlin lacked alternatives.

    However, he would need to get out of this prison first. So far Merlin¡¯s jailors remained unaware of the extent of his abilities. Their lame attempts at assessing them had taught Merlin as much and he wasn¡¯t eager to enlighten them. The measures for his containment were relatively lax at the moment. He didn¡¯t want to give reason to reinforce them.

    His days were numbered, but he still had a decently safe margin to act. It was a gradual process. His body wouldn¡¯t just die unexpectedly, although knowing it didn¡¯t make him any less irritated.

    Heaving a frustrated sigh, he sat up. His right hand dropped to his stomach. The pain was always explosive, but brief. Nausea, however, lingered longer with each fit, sometimes accompanied with debilitating migraines.

    He stood up, repressing a wince when his every muscle screamed in protest. His hurt left shoulder pulsated with a dull throb.

    With deliberate, laborious movements, he walked to the sink tucked in a corner of his cell. Every step felt like progressing through dense viscous matter, with weights attached to his limbs. Pathetic human body, he swore silently. It just couldn¡¯t compare to his former envelope. The mind was as sharp and as fast as ever, but the flesh couldn¡¯t follow, like it was stuck in an alternate time stream, always four or five thoughts behind and insanely languid.

    Merlin stopped in front of the basin and leaned heavily against its edge, panting from the short walk. Absently, he rubbed a finger on the cold porcelain. The chilling sensation against his soft human skin still felt so foreign he was momentarily dazzled.

    He snatched a washcloth hanging from a hook on the wall and turned the knob of the sink. Hot water poured out of the spout. You have to hand it to these primitives. They can do quite a lot even without magic. A few notable exceptions aside, all the people he¡¯d met in this world were for him magically handicapped. Which was admittedly unsurprising, considering the low power density present in the air. Few could learn how to swim in a desert.

    He¡¯d have given them his pity if he had any to give. He felt no pity for the weak, only annoyance. And these particular weaklings were testing his patience.

    After soaking the washcloth, he started vigorously washing the sweat off his body.

    Sweat. Another rather novel and unpleasant discovery. He¡¯d known humans sweated, of course, but he¡¯d underestimated how dirty it would make him feel. It still wasn¡¯t as bad as excreting wastes, but close behind. He could not believe all humans were so disgusting. No, he refused to believe it. There had to be something wrong with him. Or surely this was a male thing¡ªbecause his mind reeled at the idea that his lovely Princess, his beautiful Elise, the most perfect creature on Zarath, would ever produce such repulsing substances out of her flawless body¡ªa body that still haunted his every dream¡­and often his nightmares.

    Merlin quickly finished scrubbing himself as best as he could. There wasn¡¯t much surface to clean anyway, not with how skinny he was. He wished for a mirror, but there was none in the room. He¡¯d catch glimpses of himself in windows whenever he was being moved to one place or another for whatever tests his jailers felt like subjecting him to, but such quick peeks hardly sufficed to get a clear objective picture of how he looked to others.

    He returned the washcloth to its hook and grabbed a large towel to wipe his twiggy form. Once clean, he finally felt like himself again. Human again, I suppose. You have to appreciate the irony. He chuckled dryly.

    He ran a bony hand through short still damp hairs, marveling an instant at their softness. Meria¡¯s hair had been coarse and frankly unpleasant to the touch, although Elise had pretended she¡¯d liked it. The princess had always seen the best in her, even where there had been nothing good to see. And secretly, the Demon Queen had always envied Elise¡¯s silky mane. Maybe I¡¯ll let these grow. Merlin briefly wondered about the fashion in hairstyles for human males in this world, before his thoughts drifted in another direction.

    Towel hanging from his shoulders over his bare chest, Merlin crossed the room back to his bed. With the sink, those were the only two pieces of furniture in here. Not that Merlin cared. Even in his past life, Meria¡¯s room had been bare. Her Death Touch hadn¡¯t affected inanimate objects as badly as living creatures, but eventually, anything remotely organic she¡¯d made contact with would crumble to dust. Enchantments could only delay the inevitable for a short while.

    With a sigh, Merlin discarded the towel and plopped down on the soft quilt, secretly enjoying the bouncy sensation. He closed his eyes, intent on taking a nap to sooth his aching feeble excuse for muscles before someone decided to drag him away again for more ineffectual experiments. Just how much sleep does a human need? How can they ever get anything done if they spend half their lives unconscious? What a waste of time. Did Elise sleep so much? The answer to that question was no. Mages needed much less sleep than normal people as long as their reserves of magical power weren¡¯t depleted.

    Merlin was barely slipping into unconsciousness when a knock on the door cut short his attempt at resting. Pure rage twisted his features and his eyes snapped open, for an instant solid black before he managed to calm down and their normal green irises and white sclera reappeared.

    Damned Ptaeesh. He swore silently and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was far too high strung. He¡¯d almost unleashed a blast of necrotic power through the door. It would have, undoubtedly, decomposed whoever stood on the other side and dared to bother him but it would also have likely obliterated his own arm in the process. If this body couldn¡¯t handle a passive trickle of death magic, Merlin dared not guess how it would react to an actual spell.

    Fortunately, he¡¯d recognized one peculiar presence amongst those behind the door and stopped just in time. He¡¯d rather avoid hurting that woman.

    After all, she was family.

    A small smile replaced the scowl on his face. The idea of blood relatives held a strange fascination for him, who¡¯d lived a millennium without any family in the midst of the highly clannish demonic society. He gave no thought to the fact whatever family he might have in this world actually belonged to the original Merlin, the man whose life he¡¯d stolen. The former demon didn¡¯t give a damn. That man was gone, definitely, his soul obliterated beyond any hope of recovery.

    He stood up. The previous knock was a warning that he was expected to get decent. If he wasn¡¯t going to kill everyone for their insolence, he might as well comply. Over the footboard of the bed laid a thin bluish-white gown. He threw it over his head. The garment fell formlessly on his skeletal frame, descending to his bony knees. He reached around his neck and tied the single thread that prevented the back slit to open and reveal the crack of his butt.

    Merlin very much disliked this outfit, especially its unflattering cut, reason why he spent most of his time naked. Immodesty didn¡¯t bother him, but looking like a buffoon in a potato sack most certainly did.

    Intellectually, he understood the purpose of this hideous vestment. It was easy to remove and allowed quick access to his body for the tests performed on him. But if those researcher people wanted to be able to disrobe him fast, why force him to wear anything at all? However, they also made clear he wasn¡¯t allowed to walk around in the nude, even in the company of people who¡¯d seen him in the buff already. He couldn¡¯t really understand why. Or actually, he could guess but found such nonsense tiring. Humans are so self-contradicting. Why do they need all those etiquette rules? Even they dislike abiding by them.

    No sooner was the gown tied around his neck, the door swung open. A guard in uniform stepped in, wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying a gun in hand, muzzle down. Merlin, of course, didn¡¯t know exactly what these two items were, but he¡¯d seen enough leather armors and miniaturized crossbows in his past life to place a pretty accurate guess.

    The man glared at Merlin with pure hatred and the former demon had to keep himself from responding with a challenging grin. Instead, he grimaced inwardly. He had to constantly remind himself he wasn¡¯t Meriataneesh anymore. Otherwise, that pesky human would already have discovered how hard it was to breathe without lungs, shiny pseudo-crossbow or not.

    At the guard stiff tilt of the head, Merlin resolutely walked out the door. Passing by the armed human, he kept his arms to the sides of his body, feigning obedience and trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. To his shame, it wasn¡¯t all that difficult in his current state. Few feared malnourished cripple.

    Although, Merlin didn¡¯t let the shame get to him, strong in the knowledge he could still take out both this man and his colleague outside with only minimum damage to himself. Of course, then he¡¯d still be trapped in a building with an unknown amount of enemies. He wasn¡¯t about to try anything, however¡ªarmy of guards or not¡ªbecause of the third member of his escort.

    His sister.

    Or at least the woman he firmly believed to be his sister. He had no proof of their relationship, aside from the extraordinary resemblance and an odd instinctual feeling of kinship, which he¡¯d been sensing ever since first detecting her presence¡ªor lack thereof in her peculiar case. Despite the lack of evidence, he had no doubt. He¡¯d learned to trust his guts and she was of his blood, no questioning it. From snippets of overheard conversations, he¡¯d figured out her name. Morgan. A fine name if anyone asked him, which of course nobody did. Not that¡¯d he¡¯d be able to understand if they did anyway.

    Merlin stepped out into the corridor. Ignoring the second guard standing by the door, his eyes zeroed in on the sole female in the group. Green jewels, identical to his own, stared back with cold suspicion and unabashed hostility. His smile widened imperceptibly. He couldn¡¯t help but find her hateful glare endearing. He¡¯d faced angry dragons and gods, there was simply no way a human girl in her twenties could intimidate him. Quite the opposite in fact. My kin ought to have a fierce temperament. He nodded approvingly in his mind.

    Whenever he saw her, pride welled up inside him. Morgan was a strong willful woman who commanded respect to her surroundings by simply standing still in a room, and whose magical power vastly outranked anyone else he¡¯d met so far in this world. Had this been Zarath, she¡¯d have made a fine general in the Demon Army. Too bad her control was so deplorably clumsy. That wouldn¡¯t do, Merlin thought. The girl would end up hurting herself if she continued like this¡ªif that wasn¡¯t already the case.

    But it was alright. Merlin would fix that. It was his duty as the eldest. Sadly this would have to wait. Right now he had to escape this place. In truth, he didn¡¯t mind terribly. There would be plenty of time to teach her later. He¡¯d come back for her after he regained enough of his own power. He¡¯d never taught anyone before, but he believed he would enjoy that.

    Most certainly enjoy it. He let his gaze roam up Morgan¡¯s long legs clad in form-fitting black pants. He imagined her calves and thighs underneath, as toned as the defiantly crossed forearms the rolled-up sleeves of her shirt were revealing. With its hem tucked under her belt, the white shirt also did nothing to hide her firm rump, which perfectly matched the rest of her tight athletic frame and the palm-sized breasts pushed up by her current angry posture. Her angular face void of makeup spoke of determination with an enticing touch of ruthlessness. Chin-length, straight raven black hair, and piercing emerald eyes completed the picture handsomely.

    Truly, this woman was a sight for sore eyes, and one of the only half-decent specimens of human females he¡¯d seen so far. Most of them always seemed lacking in some way. He briefly wondered if the company of Sheila and Elise had spoilt him. The succubus went without saying, but even as a human, his princess¡¯ looks had been acknowledged by the demonic seductress. With one embodying the epitome of lust and the other a paragon of noble elegance, other women could hardly compare. So yes, the former demoness was definitely spoilt. Not to mention he lacked any objectivity regarding the Imperial Princess.

    Merlin¡¯s eyes lingered some more on his sister¡¯s enticing forms and a now familiar warm tension roused in his groin. Immediately a frown scrunched his eyebrows. He knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to hide his arousal in his present outfit. Male humans were pretty obvious on that matter and, in his recent experience, females tended to get upset when they noticed the signs¡ªor one sign, really.

    Here was another exemplary oddity of the humans. Shouldn¡¯t females feel flattered to be thought of as desirable? He couldn¡¯t wrap his head around this seeming contradiction.

    Truth was¡ªbecause a succubus had been in charge of his sexual education¡ªthere were understandably quite a few gaps in Merlin¡¯s knowledge. Moreover, demons¡¯ general notions on interpersonal interactions greatly differed from human¡¯ morals, which didn¡¯t help either. Modesty notably, was a rather foreign concept to them, as was any taboo on incest. Demons were creatures equally as magical and biological. Inbreeding had never been a problem for their race. In fact, because some clans counted only a few handfuls of individuals, such practices were even very often the norm.

    That said, Merlin wasn¡¯t so clueless not to know how to behave in human company. He also preferred to avoid upsetting his irritable sister, if only because she could easily beat the current him to a pulp since he felt averse to using any magic, especially against her.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    To counter his growing arousal, he reluctantly conjured up in his mind the memory of a defecating dwarf. The effect was immediate. The warmth in his underbelly left as if fleeing. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. Dwarves were especially vocal about their gastric problems, and this was one image he¡¯d have lived happily never recalling.

    ¡°You got something to say?¡± Morgan¡¯s harsh tone cracked like a whiplash in the silent hallway. Merlin didn¡¯t answer, only kept staring wordlessly at her face with a sly grin. Eventually, she looked away, muttering angrily. ¡°Let¡¯s go. The directors are waiting.¡±

    The guards reacted fast, getting in front of and behind Merlin, with his sister bringing up the rear of their short procession, likely to keep an eye on him. Not that he planned on opposing any resistance. He quietly allowed them to guide him through the maze-like underground complex. The tiled floor was cold under his bare feet, but he didn¡¯t mind, paying more attention to where they were going. He¡¯d already drawn a pretty accurate mental map of what he¡¯d seen so far of this facility he was being detained in.

    Only when they suddenly turned into a hallway he wasn¡¯t familiar with did his alertness flared. His magical awareness spread to the maximum of his diminished range. However, he could only detect his three escorts, who made for a disturbing impression to his mind¡¯s eye. One he was slowly getting used to.

    First, the two men had barely any presence at all. Weak auras were to be expected from non-mage, but back on Zarath, even plants had stronger aura than these two. It wasn¡¯t only them either. This world¡¯s low power density made it difficult to notice normal folks. Merlin was a little concerned about this as it forced him to rely on his weakened five senses far more than he felt comfortable with.

    Second, was Morgan. She had no presence. The only reason Merlin even knew she could use magic was because he had enough experience to read the flow of power in her vicinity. Otherwise, his sister was a void. Paradoxically it made her stand out even more. Magical stealth required one to blend their own energy with the ambient power. Morgan didn¡¯t blend in, she stuck out like a sore thumb¡ªa sore hollow thumb. Or maybe like a shadowy silhouette standing right in the middle of a bright room. You might not know what you were dealing with, but you certainly knew exactly where it was.

    He¡¯d also witnessed her extend that area of void around her, literally sucking the magic from the air in a large radius. His sister was a true nightmare for mages. He had trouble fighting the wide grin that threatened to take over his mouth whenever he thought about this. He was so proud of her, even if she was one of the main obstacles between him and his freedom.

    He was pondering on that very issue when a few more auras suddenly entered his range. His focus snapped to them. One, in particular, caught his attention. Something about it felt¡­wrong, but also familiar. Irritatingly, he couldn¡¯t pinpoint what exactly. He lacked the necessary power. If it were the old me. He groaned inwardly but didn¡¯t dwell on it. There was literally nothing he could do about it at the moment.

    The presences were getting closer with each step, but not faster than Merlin and his escort were advancing, which meant they were likely stationary and his group were the ones walking towards them. Merlin tensed briefly, then forced himself to relax. If a fight occurred, he needed to stay calm and clear-headed. He wasn¡¯t in a state that allowed him leeway for mistakes.

    Eventually, the lead guard stopped in front of a non-descript door and knocked once.

    Almost immediately, the panel swung inwards and a young woman appeared in the frame. She was dressed in a professional but elegant navy blue pencil skirt that stopped short of her knees and a matching jacket. Her brown hair was up in a simple bun. Crescent-shaped vermeil earrings hung on both sides of a face that traipsed on the prettier side of plain and she wore a simple golden pendant around her neck. Her eyes were a dull swampy green but her light makeup brought them out nicely. In short, not an outstanding beauty but a woman who knew how to appear her best. She was holding a rectangular tablet in her left arm folded over her stomach.

    Her gaze surveyed the group, pausing ever so slightly on Merlin then looking away with what he thought was a blush. He frowned at this, unsure what to think. The woman eyes then landed on Morgan, still at the back, and her smile broadened. ¡°Hey, hi. How are you doing?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine Audrey, thank you,¡± Merlin¡¯s sister replied in a tired but amiable tone, which instantly took a turn for the worse in her next sentence. ¡°I¡¯ve brought him, as asked.¡± Merlin couldn¡¯t tell what they were saying, but it was obvious Morgan was upset about something. And for once, he didn¡¯t think he was the direct cause of it. He found he felt annoyed by that.

    Audrey replied with a helpless half-smile then composed herself a business-like mask. ¡°Please come in. Everyone is already waiting.¡±

    She turned on her heels and disappeared back into the room, soon followed by the first guard. Merlin hesitated a heartbeat to follow. The auras he¡¯d been feeling since a little earlier had grown stronger when the door was opened, but at the same time, they were now overlapping each other so that he couldn¡¯t distinguish which one was worrying him.

    Cold metal pressed against the small of his back, pushing him forwards. He stumbled a step then shot a glare over his shoulder at the second guard. He was short but burly, with a small mustache. The former demon committed his features and tiny magical presence to memory, adding the man to the fast growing list of people to whom he owed a beating¡ªmaybe a lethal one, depending on his mood.

    The guard pointed at the door with the muzzle of his weapon. Merlin quelled his urge to break his hairy wrist and obeyed.

    He entered a conference room illuminated brightly with crude artificial white light. No windows, only plain gray walls and two doors, including the one he stood in. A long table took up most of the available space. Comfortable seats surrounded it, seven of which were occupied by middle-aged human men and women.

    All wore official-looking suits and scowls on their faces, except for one woman Merlin recognized as the first ¡°local¡± human he¡¯d met. She was also the one in charge of most of the tests conducted on him. Sonia Harris was garbed in the white lab coat he always saw her in and unlike the rest who were glaring somberly at him, she looked lost in her own thoughts.

    He almost chuckled at the sight. He probably should have felt angrier at the woman, as she was responsible for much of his discomfort since coming to this world, but he wasn¡¯t. She reminded him of an old acquaintance, another old woman whose head had been filled only with her research, with little place left for people skills, even though she had technically been the Headmistress of the Imperial Magic Academy.

    Merlin still remembered fondly the day the place known as the Empire¡¯s Second Stronghold, the Academic City, had surrendered to the Demon Army without even a pretend fight. The Headmistress had boldly called Meria ¡°the lesser of two evils¡± in comparison to the Emperor, which she¡¯d taken as a compliment. Elise had been overjoyed obviously and, according to reports, the Emperor had nearly choked when the news reached him. It had been a good day. A very good day indeed. One of the last¡­ The war had picked up in brutality from then on and Elise¡¯s beautiful smile had become a rarer and rarer sight as time passed.

    Merlin¡¯s mood abruptly darkened. If I had been stronger, more in control, if I had done it differently, perhaps I¡ªAh¡­ Hahaha. Not good. Not good. I can¡¯t think like that. It¡¯s all useless now anyway. And Elise wouldn¡¯t like me wallowing like a sulking child. She¡¯d scold me. The princess truly was one of a kind, to dare call the fearsome Demon Queen a sulking child to her face.

    Focusing on those happier earlier memories, the former demon shook off the gloomy thoughts that were starting to invade his mind and reported his attention to the people in front of him.

    The fat, white-bearded magnet-man was also amongst them, his prominent belly pressed against the tabletop and the buttons of his suit crying in agony. The woman who¡¯d greeted them at the door was now standing behind and to the side of the largest seat in the room, at the extremity of the long table, directly facing Merlin. Occupying that seat was a man.

    A neatly trimmed pelt of short white hair sat on top of his pale and narrow face. Prominent brow ridges cast a permanent shadow on his sunken gray eyes. His eyebrows grew more prominently next to his slightly crooked nose, looking oddly like sideway tears, and his lips were so thin and tensed, it might hurt him to smile. His left arm rested on the tabletop while, with the right, he was pointing a silver pen at a lonely chair set at the opposite extremity of the table.

    ¡°Sit down.¡± Language barrier or not, the message came across pretty clearly.

    Keeping his anger in check, with a self-control he¡¯d never known he possessed, Merlin stepped further into the room. The two people still outside filtered in after him. The short guard took his post standing beside the door, next to his colleague. Merlin¡¯s sister crossed the room and went leaning against the wall in a corner. She¡¯d addressed only a token greeting to the important looking gathering. Once again, she was radiating disapproval and it was not targeted at her brother. Merlin had to fight a sudden urge to slaughter the old farts.

    Instead, he sat calmly and considered every other person with an unreadable expression, trying to figure out to whom belonged the abnormal presence that continued to disturb him. It felt like standing in a familiar room and knowing something had been moved, but unable to tell what. A few squirmed and averted their gazes under his scrutiny, but that didn¡¯t prove anything, except maybe their cowardice.

    ¡°Merlin¡­¡±

    At the mention of his name¡ªanother thing he¡¯d picked up on¡ªMerlin¡¯s impassible fa?ade pivoted back towards the man sitting at the center of the elderly lineup, who was annoyingly tapping the silver pen against the tabletop. From the disposition and body language of everyone else in the room, he had to be their boss, king, chief, or whatever passed off as a leader around here. From the corner of his eyes, Merlin caught Morgan sending a brief glare in the man¡¯s direction, and in turn, the former demon had to conjure up his self-control once again not to obey his instincts and kill the irritating pest on the spot.

    It wouldn¡¯t even be difficult. Even in his deplorable physical state, Merlin¡¯s mind still retained centuries upon centuries of experience in fighting and massacring, and what his muscles lacked in endurance or strength, they made up with explosive power. He might not look like it, but he was the quintessence of health right now, slow erosion by death magic notwithstanding. He could have run over the table and stabbed that stupid pen through the vermin¡¯s eye and into his brain before anyone could react.

    However, no matter how much relief and satisfaction that might bring, it would be a tactical suicide. Even if he wasn¡¯t killed on the spot, all his hopes of freedom would no doubt go up in fumes. So he decided to exercise self-restraint and cautiously plan on how to murder the shit out of that bastard later on. Zephyr would be proud of me. He chuckled darkly.

    ¡°Do you find something funny perhaps?¡± The pen-wielding boss asked. Merlin decided he found his voice annoying and replied only with an expressionless stare. After an awkward silence, the man clicked his tongue, coughed and launched into a series of questions.

    Merlin quickly tuned him out. He¡¯d heard those same questions what felt like a thousand times already. He had no clue what they were asking of him, but the same words kept popping up so he could only assume they were repeating themselves. Although, he could guess some kind of incident had accompanied his reincarnation. Such a massive discharge of raw magical power wouldn¡¯t be without consequences. People had died, undoubtedly. It would at least explain why every guard in this place looked at Merlin like he¡¯d killed and ate their daughters, and not necessarily in that order.

    Eventually, surely noticing Merlin wasn¡¯t going to answer his interrogations, the tone of the boss-man¡¯ speech shifted to a lecture, punctuated with orders and threats. The former demon wouldn¡¯t mistake those inflections, although he was more accustomed to dishing them out than be on the receiving side, and he very much hated being threatened. However, he had decided against rash actions.

    Which was lucky for the other. The foolish human had no idea how many times he narrowly avoided death during those forty-five minutes he rambled on and on.

    * * *

    Jonathan Brayers, NovaTech CEO, concluded his speech with an irritated tone.

    ¡°You are thus to leave the premise of NovaTech Industries this instant and, once out, are banned from ever stepping on the grounds of the company ever again without express permission of one of the directors present here. I would go into details about how screwed you¡¯d be should you ever reveal any secret about this company or anyone, anyone working for us, but you¡¯re clearly not giving a fuck, so why should I?¡± Merlin had indeed been staring at him with bored apathy for a while now. ¡°Everything is written inside the file that will be handed to you with your personal effects at the exit.¡±

    His brown gaze moved from the skeletal man to the two guards standing at attention by the door. ¡°Get him out of my sight.¡±

    Strong hands grabbed the seemingly frail Merlin under each armpit and yanked him up, before turning around. Briefly, he looked at his sister, but Morgan refused to meet his eyes. He smiled faintly and let himself get dragged out of the room.

    The door closed behind the trio and silence fell on the gathered people inside. There were a few awkward coughs and exchanged glances, but no one dare speak first.

    Suddenly one woman stood up. Her lab coat swayed with the movement and she distractedly straightened it. Her sharp tone cut through the tense atmosphere. ¡°If we¡¯re over with this farce, I have important experiments that need my attention¡­ Sir.¡± She nodded at the CEO, then made her way around the table towards the second door. When she walked passed Morgan, she lightly patted her shoulder but said nothing. The door slammed shut behind her, sounding louder than it probably was.

    After Sonia Harris¡¯ departure, the other directors slowly left the room, murmuring amongst themselves.

    Still standing motionless in a corner, a deep frown on her face, Morgan was staring pensively at the closed door through which her brother had disappeared. She couldn¡¯t help but feel uneasy. Although maybe her constant pessimism of these past few days could be blamed on the headaches that continued to torment her.

    Recently, she¡¯d even started having nightmares. They were always similar, with her running away from some unseen beast through dark woods. She would always wake up right before the beast caught up to her. She¡¯d tried telling herself these were only dreams¡ªhorrible, awful, terrifying dreams¡ªbut her mind wasn¡¯t listening. It had gotten to the point she was afraid to close her eyes. She was exhausted, but she struggled to stay awake. Sleep never lasted long anyway. She was trapped in a vicious cycle. And her pride forbid her to talk to a therapist, though it was likely a matter of time before the company ordered her to.

    Eventually, she looked away from the door, pushed away from the wall and called out to the CEO, who was last to leave the room, along with Audrey Whitmore, his secretary. ¡°Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?¡±

    Both man and woman stopped in their tracks and pivoted to face her. Audrey wore an apoplectic expression, while Brayers¡¯ obvious annoyance bordered on anger. However, he was quick to regain his cool. NovaTech CEO was known to be temperamental, but also to very rarely direct that temperament at those he thought didn¡¯t truly deserve his ire. He didn¡¯t like people contesting his orders, but he wasn¡¯t insensible to the heroine¡¯s plight.

    ¡°Miss Pendragon.¡± He addressed her formally, aware how much she valued propriety, a character trait they shared. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this already. The search of your brother¡¯s apartment revealed he had in his possession several rare books on occultism. Regardless of whether or not we give any credits to their content, it is a fact some of those so-called ¡®grimoires¡¯ would sell for tens of thousands on very specific black markets. Those are articles your brother certainly didn¡¯t have the means to acquire by himself.¡±

    Morgan couldn¡¯t disagree. She knew Merlin was completely broke. He would often come to beg her for money whenever he was too short on cash to remember he despised her. Of course, she¡¯d never given him a penny, which he would repay by calling her a heartless bitch.

    She still believed that the CEO¡¯s plan was a stupid mistake. Not that she¡¯d tell him so plainly to his face.

    ¡°Are we even sure his supposed accomplices will show up?¡± she said instead.

    ¡°We lose nothing by trying to lure them out.¡±

    ¡°We could lose him. What if he escapes somehow?¡±

    ¡°Miss Pendragon,¡± the CEO repeated in a tone that now steered towards condescending. Morgan cringed internally. She hated to be patronized. ¡°Your objections have been duly noted. But we have bugged his home with our latest spyware technology. He will also be under watch by one of our heroes twenty-four-seven. We had Miss Whitmore use her power to mark him in the unlikely chance he escapes our surveillance. And we took measures against teleporters. There is virtually no possibility for him to slip away unnoticed.¡±

    Like there was virtually no possibility for something like the Power Surge to happen. Morgan swallowed her retort. With Audrey involved, she had very little room to complain.

    The woman wasn¡¯t a licensed hero because her power wasn¡¯t suited for action on the field, but she was part of the NovaTech select team of employees who had useful powers and helped in the background. Her ability allowed her to mark someone and then be able to pinpoint their exact location wherever they might be. She was limited to a single beacon, but as far as anybody knew, distance didn¡¯t affect her ability and the mark was impossible to remove unless she willed it.

    Still, Morgan felt like she had to make one last attempt. ¡°Couldn¡¯t we get a mind reader first?¡±

    The CEO let out a deep sigh and moved his hands away from his body in an irritated helpless gesture. ¡°If you know one that can be trusted with such sensible company information, please, do introduce me.¡±

    Morgan swallowed. She knew of a few mind readers, but none personally. In the first place, mind-related powers were strictly regulated. Anyone manifesting them would have their freedom restrained and be constantly monitored. They were prisoners in all but in name, for something they had no control over. So of course, most were bitter, unstable and certainly untrustworthy. It was a case where the cause of the problem and its solution blended unsatisfyingly, but Morgan still believed parahuman with the ability to read or manipulate minds shouldn¡¯t be allowed to roam the streets unsupervised. They were simply too dangerous.

    ¡°What about a truth teller?¡±

    ¡°Miss Pendragon, your brother isn¡¯t even talking at all. What kind of lies are they supposed to detect?¡± The CEO¡¯s exasperation was now plainly audible in his voice. Morgan lowered her eyes in defeat.

    She knew she sounded paranoid. But she couldn¡¯t help it. She knew something was very wrong with Merlin. Of course, many things had been ¡°very wrong with Merlin¡± for several years now, but this was different, somehow. Never before had she been scared of her brother. Disgusted? Yes. Ashamed? All the time. But scared? Never.

    Several times in the past week, she¡¯d caught him staring at her with lust in his eyes. She¡¯d like to believe she was just imagining things. However, lustful desire was an emotion she was much used to seeing directed at her whenever she went out as Nemesis in her skin-tight bodysuit.

    And there was more. Many small details she¡¯d picked up now and then, which at first glance matched her disdainful asshole of a brother, but on second consideration just didn¡¯t fit. There was a new assurance in his demeanor, where before there had been only the pretense of self-confidence. His haughty smirks had less spite in them now, replaced with calm arrogance. Above all, he didn¡¯t seem to give a crap whether people recognized him or not, when before he¡¯d been all about rubbing his supposed worth in everyone¡¯s face.

    She could tell something wasn¡¯t right. She knew something wasn¡¯t right. She felt it in her guts, whenever he was close, or in the same room, like a cold force reaching inside her and twisting her insides. It drove her mad. She was constantly on edge. And she was so, so tired. Tired and in pain. She couldn¡¯t go on like this. She would break.

    When she looked up again, she was alone in the room. And truly, she felt more alone than ever before. Unable to stop trembling, she walked up to the deserted table and lowered herself into a chair. She fished out her smartphone and, with shaking fingers, dialed the number of the one person she really needed right now. The phone rang twice before a female voice came out of the receiver.

    ¡°Pendragon household.¡±

    The old-fashioned greeting, delivered coolly with almost no emotion to speak of, washed over Morgan like a refreshing breeze. She folded an arm on the table and laid down, her forehead against it, eyes closed.

    ¡°Hi, Mom.¡±

    * * * * *

 Chapter 04 â€“ Watched From All Sides

    8 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Eastern Side.

    ¡°The hummingbird is reaching the nest. Over.¡± Consternation met that statement over the com line, which didn¡¯t discourage its author. ¡°I repeat. The badger is coming home. The¡ª¡±

    ¡°Killshot. Stop this nonsense.¡± A sudden scathing interruption caused a grin to spread under the mask of the hero in question.

    ¡°Hey, Nem! Where did you come in? Nice to finally talk to you! How¡¯s your¡ª¡±

    ¡°Killshot.¡± The warning echoed grimly inside his helmet.

    You''re too tensed, girl. Killian shook his head with a wry smile. But still, he returned his attention out the window.

    Peeking through the blinds, he spied on a nondescript gray van driving down the street seven floors below. The sun had set some time ago and clouds were hiding the moon and stars, but his helmet provided him with excellent night vision. For all their annoying rules and regulations, NovaTech certainly did provide top notch gear. He could make out the vehicle clearly without risk of its headlights blinding him. ¡°Okay, okay. I see them. Oh, sorry. I mean ¡®I have visual confirmation of the target¡¯s approach¡¯. Happy?¡±

    A sigh answered him. ¡°Just keep us updated if anything pertinent happens.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do that. You can trust me.¡±

    Morgan didn''t reply immediately. For a moment, Killian thought her temperamental cousin had already disconnected the call. Then he heard a tired murmur. ¡°I know.¡± And the line went dead.

    Killian remained stunned frozen for a second, then sighed. She really must feel like crap. The last time Morgan had acknowledged, even indirectly, that she needed help for anything, they''d been both in primary school, along with Merlin.

    The van stopped across the street, in front of a decrepit apartment building nearly identical to the one the hero sniper was hiding in, save for a faded sign representing a sunflower and hanging askew on its fa?ade¡ªKillian¡¯s stakeout had a tree instead. The back doors of the van swung open and a twiggy figure stumbled out, likely pushed by someone inside. Killian fiddled with the helmet¡¯s controls and zoomed in on the man.

    He looked slightly less inhuman dressed in jeans and tee-shirt, but Morgan¡¯s brother still hadn¡¯t changed much since last time Killian saw him. Which was to be expected since that had been two days ago. Merlin tottered on the pavement for a couple steps before steadying. He then spun around towards the vehicle, only to get hit in the face by a small backpack that was thrown at him. Before he had the time to recover, the van was already speeding away, back towards the city.

    Killian deactivated the zoom and night filter on his visor and leaned away from the window. He idly scanned the room he was in, but there wasn¡¯t anything of note. No assault team barging in, nor a group of ambushed super ninjas, nor any wizened old men dressed in robes and threatening him with wands. Considering the situation, Killian at least had some hopes for the latter, but so far he¡¯d been disappointed. All he saw was dated furniture, stained walls, a carpet that likely housed life, and a scary amount of dust. NovaTech had repurposed an abandoned flat into a temporary surveillance center, all in order to try and catch Merlin¡¯s hypothetical accomplices.

    Killian¡¯s eyes stopped on the only other person in the room, a woman sitting stiffly at a table in a corner. In front of her were three monitors, each displaying eight camera feed. ¡°You have cams on him, Vera?¡±

    The woman, one of NovaTech¡¯s security guards, nodded without looking away from the screens. Her eyebrows were scrunched in concentration. Here¡¯s another one who''s too tensed, Killian thought as he observed her profile lit up by the glow of the monitors. Vera had rather strong features and dark blond hair held up in a ponytail. Not without charm if you were into manly women.

    He crossed what had been the living room before they pushed all the furniture against the walls, and glanced over her shoulder at the miniature Merlin who was now looking around with visible curiosity. On the next feed to the left, the same image was showed in thermography¡ªall in reds, yellows, greens and blue¡ªto spot any hidden sources of heat, mostly people in this case. The only warm body it picked up in the street at the moment was Merlin¡¯s.

    ¡°What the hell is he doing?¡± Killian asked.

    ¡°Maybe he''s been locked up inside for so long he''s forgotten what the outside looks like?¡±

    ¡°Oh! She actually talks!¡± It was his first time working with the woman and she hadn''t said a word since introducing herself two hours ago.

    At this, the Vera finally looked at him. She had blue eyes, he noted. ¡°Sir, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nuh-uh. ¡®Sir¡¯ is my father. Call me KS. Everyone does.¡± Not. He really wished they did, though.

    Her mouths snapped shut and she looked away.

    ¡°A¡ªnd, Huston, we¡¯ve lost her again.¡± While teasing the woman who was five to ten years older than him, Killian kept an eye on the monitors. ¡°Is it me, or is he looking this way?¡± In his observation of his surroundings, Merlin¡¯s gaze had seemed to linger longer on their hiding place, but Killian couldn¡¯t be sure.

    ¡°I don''t think he did, Sir.¡± Vera insisted strongly on the title.

    Killian sighed. ¡°Right.¡± He walked to a small fridge sitting a couple feet away and took out a couple of carbonated drinks. ¡°Soda?¡± He didn''t wait for an answer and put the opened can on the table next to her. She glanced at him, then accepted the drink with a mumbled: ¡°Thank you, Sir.¡±

    Killian nonchalantly plopped down onto a banged-up couch, sending a cloud of dust spiraling in the room. He lifted his own soda can to his face. The lower section of his full-face visor parted sideways to reveal his chin and mouth.

    This was a feature added for long lasting missions when he¡¯d need to eat in "unsafe" company¡ªmeaning people not privy to his secret identity. Vera knew, but since it was uncertain when Killshot would need to act, he¡¯d been ordered to stay fully equipped at all time. Although nobody really expected him to comply, which obfuscated him a little. He liked to play troublemaker, but he wouldn¡¯t disregard a direct order when the bosses were tenser than bowstrings and ready to snap. Contrary to what Morgan believed, he did want to keep his job. He just didn¡¯t see the need to be such a stick-in-the-mud about it.

    Laying on the couch with one leg over the armrest, he took a sip of lemon-flavored soda. His face distorted in disgust and he nearly spat. ¡°Pwah! Geez. You¡¯d think a company that makes billions would buy us something that doesn''t taste like dish detergent.¡±

    ¡°Do you want me to go out to get something else, Sir?¡±

    ¡°Nah, thanks, it¡¯s fine.¡± He took another mouthful, managing to look only mildly repulsed this time. ¡°I think that stuff¡¯s growing on me. Maybe later. I¡¯ll need real caffeine at some point. Anything new on MP. the First?¡± He let his head dangle from the couch and glanced at Vera, upside-down from his point of view.

    ¡°The target is looking through the bag containing his personal effects.¡± She said nothing else for a moment, then Killian caught a murmur. ¡°It''s weird...¡±

    Weird? Silently, he stood up and tiptoed to her side. He brought his mouth next to her ear without her noticing and asked in a whisper. ¡°What''s weird?¡±

    ¡°Hah!!¡± Vera let out a startled gasp. Her arm jerked and the can she was holding was launched upwards. With merely a side glance, Killian deftly snatched the container out of the air and, chuckling, he handed it back to the woman.

    ¡°KS! You scared me!¡±

    He smiled mischievously at her, and this time she could see it, as his visor was still opened. ¡°You called me KS!¡± He clamored triumphantly.

    Vera only gaped at him in disbelieve. Something between annoyance and dismay flashed on her face. She''d been warned about the hero¡¯s character, but this was beyond what she¡¯d expected.

    ¡°So, what''s weird?¡± Killian scanned the monitors, spotting nothing out of the ordinary.

    Merlin had stopped rummaging through his bag and was holding what looked like a key chain. Keys in themselves were relatively uncommon items these days, people preferring more sophisticated electronic locks. But this was the South Edge¡ªalbeit one its nicest parts, which didn¡¯t mean much¡ªand most buildings here dated back to the seventies, if not further back. For this reason, people also called it the Old City.

    Parahumans had only started appearing en masse in the sixties, and it had taken another decade to see any widespread technological improvement due to the influence of technopaths. At first, the population had been understandably wary. So Merlin possessing keys didn¡¯t qualify as weird. Old school maybe, but not weird. ¡°I don''t see it.¡±

    Having recovered from her surprise, Vera shook her head, causing her ponytail to sway. ¡°No, I meant...¡± She hesitated. ¡°It''s weird to think they are brother and sister. They¡¯re nothing alike.¡±

    Killian didn¡¯t need to ask which siblings the blonde guard was referring to. However, he disagreed. ¡°I think they¡¯re pretty similar.¡± He glanced at the figure of Merlin who was now walking towards the building with the sunflower logo.

    ¡°I know they look the same, Sir. They''re almost like twins.¡± Vera raised her hands helplessly. ¡°I''m talking about their personalities. How is it possible for Nemesis¡¯ brother, the Nemesis¡¯ brother to turn out like that? I don¡¯t understand. She¡¯s the city¡¯s most outstanding hero and he¡¯s just¡­trash.¡± She spat the word with hate. Like every guard at NovaTech, Vera had lost friends to the Power Surge. Watching the culprit walk free, even temporarily, made her guts twist.

    ¡°Hah...¡± Killian exhaled tiredly. How many times had he heard that question? It wasn''t a secret amongst NovaTech¡¯s ¡°safe¡± personnel that he was distantly related to the notorious pair. So people who didn¡¯t dare brave Morgan¡¯s icy death glare or Merlin¡¯s stormy temper came to him with their incomprehension. He always gave the same answer. ¡°Hell if I know.¡±

    On those words, he looked away from the monitors and returned to the couch.

    Slowly nursing his chemical-filled drink, he stared at a damp stain on the moldy ceiling. His mind went to Merlin and Morgan. He¡¯d known the siblings since childhood. Back then they had been inseparable and, if not for the age difference and gender, you¡¯d have sworn them to be something like clones. However recently people kept talking about how different the two were. Killian disagreed. To him, they were both still pretty much identical. Both pathological perfectionists. Both too smart for they own good; never satisfied by anything they achieved. Both chronically depressed and hating their lives with passion.

    Both despising each other because they so much wished to be the other one, and hated how the other couldn¡¯t appreciate what they had. It would have been hilarious if it wasn¡¯t so tragic.

    The only difference Killian saw between his two cousins was how they each dealt with their insecurities. Merlin by lashing out against everyone and blaming others for his perceived failures. And Morgan by clinging to rules and regulations to give herself a sense of purpose. Both refusing to let their true feelings show on the surface. They¡¯re quite the pitiful pair. He took another sip to drown his bitterness with another more tangible.

    His internal musings were interrupted by his colleague¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Sir, he¡¯s entering the building.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Vera.¡± Killian switched on his communication channel to the headquarters. ¡°Killshot speaking. The turkey is stuffed. I repeat. The sausage has slid into the hotdo¡ª¡±

    ¡°KILLSHOT!!!¡±

    ¡°What? I¡¯m hungry.¡±

    * * *

    As the vehicle he¡¯d just been thrown off drove away, Merlin merely stood still, staring coldly as its rear lamps faded away, melting into the huge cluster of lights rising in the distance. The view of this bright foreign city at night under dark foreboding clouds brought back unpleasant memories to the former demon monarch.

    Unlike the Spires of Life of Empyrea however, these buildings held no uniformity, no harmony. They had no soul to them. And their brightness shone only in the physical plane. They were pale, measly shadows of the radiant oppressive towers which haunted Merlin¡¯s every nightmare. In comparison, this otherworldly city looked to him like a disorderly mess where each edifice tried to crush its neighbors. He wouldn¡¯t be surprised if each belonged to some kind of human noble. That vermin always put appearances before anything else, including and especially common sense.

    If he had to be honest, demons weren¡¯t free from vanity either. But the inhabitants of the Seven Realms revered strength as the highest form of beauty. And an aura of true power could neither be faked nor bought with riches. Demons also had a sense of the proper order and place of things, including themselves.

    ¡°Sigh¡­¡± Turning away from the skyscrapers, and his own drab memories, Merlin considered his more present and immediate surroundings.

    His first reaction was an unimpressed snort. So far, this city wasn¡¯t making a great impression on him, or at least not a favorable one. He had, admittedly, yet to grasp this world¡¯s sense of aesthetics, but the appearance of neglect and poverty knew no border, even between dimensions. Cracks burrowing the pavement, grounds littered with trash, and weeds growing wildly were all his eyes¡ªhis crummy human eyes¡ªcould see clearly in the darkness.

    Merlin was standing in a long straight street, overlooked from both sides by twin rows of similarly tall and rectangular buildings, all about ten stories high. Scarce lights permeated through scattered windows, but most showed no signs of life. Some were even condemned with wooden planks.

    His wandering gaze slowed down ever so slightly when it reached the block right opposite him. He could feel it. Somewhere in there, up above the sixth floor, at the very edge of his crippled magical perception range, Merlin had caught traces of one of NovaTech¡¯s mages¡¯ presence. The feeling evoked a memory of a young man with long brown hair tied up in a loose ponytail and sporting a short goatee. In his weakened state, Merlin might not be able to pinpoint the man¡¯s exact location, but he never forgot a magical signature.

    A smirk started to twist his mouth, but he wiped it off before it even formed and quickly looked away. No point in alerting his unseen watchers. Are they trying to remain unnoticed? How cute. Cute, but useless. NovaTech¡¯s people had busted themselves the moment they¡¯d stuck a tracking spell on him, halfway through Mr. Silver Pen¡¯s boring speech.

    Merlin could¡¯ve easily blocked the spell. It was less a matter of power than ability. However, he¡¯d decided not to. The spell in itself was obviously harmless and had hinted at a very interesting prospect. Indeed, why put tracking magic on someone you kept constantly locked up? At the very least, why wait for so long? Chances had been high he was either being released¡ªin appearances¡ªor they were transferring him to another facility. In either case, it hadn¡¯t been in Merlin¡¯s interest to arouse his captors¡¯ suspicion at that stage.

    And now he stood free¡­ish. The pesky beacon attached to his aura would be child¡¯s play to remove, but Merlin would have to find a way to ditch his undesirable chaperons. One step at a time, he told himself. Haste bears only failure¡­is something Zephyr would probably say right now.

    Finding nothing left of interest in the scenery, Merlin refocused on the bag in his grasp. His eyebrows twitched in resentment as he remembered the backpack being hurled at his face. It was official now. That short mustachio guard was receiving a new orifice in his guts as soon as Merlin got his hands on him.

    Inside the bag were a few trinkets the outworlder didn¡¯t have the patience to make sense of at the moment, as well as a folder containing written documents he knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to read, one of those flat ¡°phones¡± the people of this world apparently used as an alternative to long-range communication magic stones, and a set of keys attached by a metal thread to a small token in the shape of a flower.

    He fished out the keys and took a better look at the token, his eyes shifting a couple times between it and the large emblem loosely screwed on the closest building. No need for a genius¡¯ intellect to come to the obvious conclusion. He evidently hadn¡¯t been dropped at random.

    Twiddling the keychain in his hands, he briefly considered his next course of action.

    Escaping right this instant sounded very appealing, but sadly unrealistic. Dashing blindly through the darkness, in an unfamiliar territory, trying to outrun an opponent whose numbers and abilities he both knew nothing about was not, not even remotely, a smart move. At least he¡¯d need a head start. He¡¯d love a sword too, to feel a little less vulnerable. Although¡ªhe sighed¡ªhe doubted he¡¯d be able to properly wield it in his current state. His motor coordination was an utter disgrace.

    His other option was to go inside the building, which was expected of him if he was reading the situation right. As unappealing as this sounded, he might not actually have any real choice. He was still very much a prisoner, just with looser shackles. That thought caused his eyes to narrow in anger and his knuckles to whiten around the keys. Fast he forced himself to calm down. One step at a time, he reminded himself.

    On the brighter side, if this decrepit structure with its hideous flowery fa?ade was, as he assumed, the original Merlin¡¯s home, he might find some clues inside. He needed to figure out how the cretin whose body he now inhabited had managed to gather enough power on this magic-forsaken planet to summon Meria¡¯s soul from the afterlife.

    But stepping into another probable cage after finally being let out? The mere idea made him nauseous.

    He hesitated for a short time before clicking his tongue in annoyance. His options were really limited, weren¡¯t they? He shouldn¡¯t let himself be tricked by this illusory freedom. A dark glint tainted his emerald green irises. Very well. I shall go along with you people¡¯s little game for a while longer. He just hoped they would enjoy his games as much when it was finally his turn to play. It would be only fair.

    Pivoting on his heels, he left the dark street behind and walked in direction of the sunflower building and the small feeble light sputtering at its entrance. In a swift movement, he threw the bag over his shoulder. He instantly regretted that move. Pain flared across the whole upper left side of his body and his step faltered. Ravens and crows! He¡¯d forgotten about falling on that shoulder during his earlier workout.

    Thankfully the pain quickly receded as he made his way to the entrance, where a low tunnel led deeper into the building up to a metal barrier blocking the passage.

    As he approached, a frown formed on his face, quickly turning into a full-blown scowl. Crossing the threshold, the smell of old urine and garbage assaulted him. He stopped and gagged, his hand jumping up to cover his mouth and nose. By the rotten teeth of Gnoom! He blinked away tears. Have those savages never heard of cleaning runes?! Or whatever alternative they use on this backwater planet! Gods in heavens.

    His reaction would likely have been much more subdued without the death magic already wreaking havoc inside his body, but as it was his stomach lurched and acid bile gushed up his throat. He managed to keep it in, but barely. He hastened his pace, inwardly raging.

    This is an abomination! Do people really live in this place?! Damned Ptaeesh! Those are no humans, they¡¯re trolls! Even the castle dungeons didn¡¯t reek this bad. Meria had always prided herself in the cleanness of her dungeons. Having lived her first couple centuries crawling through the lurid sludge of Zarath¡¯s Wilderness, she¡¯d felt extremely averse to having anything in her home that reminded her of those years. Especially considering she¡¯d spent a non-negligible time in said dungeons of hers, using prisoners to offset her chronical boredom.

    Doing his utmost to ignore his prickly eyes and nose, Merlin looked around. To his left, rows of wooden boxes overflowed with papers, telling him that indeed people did live here. On each box was a small plate with a short text written on them. He could also detect several faint presences above him. Likely this was some sort of shared residence and these texts were the name of the lodgers. The idea of having to share such a small living space with so many people irritated him, especially with the ones who allowed this gods-awful stench to set in.

    Coughing against the acrid smell, he tried the key on the steel gate, but it wouldn¡¯t enter the keyhole.

    ¡°¡­¡± His low reservoir of patience was draining at an alarming rate.

    The Demon Queen, blocked by a door. If anyone from back home could see me right now, I¡¯d have to kill myself all over again. There would be no grave deep enough to hide my shame. Trying to quell the frustration rapidly welling up within him, Merlin took a deep breath. Which turned out to be a terrible mistake. ¡°O gods! Ack!¡±

    When his fit of coughing finally receded, his eyes traveled to a small rectangular pad next to the lock. Each of its twelve round buttons was engraved with a glyph, which he supposed was a numeral or letter of some kind. He sighed. His lack of mastery over this world¡¯s language was already becoming a greater hindrance than he¡¯d expected.

    Literacy rates on Zarath weren¡¯t that high. Most peasants still counted with sticks and stones, but it didn¡¯t hamper their daily lives. However, it would seem that in this world, even opening a freaking door required a basis in calculus. In all honesty, run-locked gates also existed in Zarath. This had to be the local equivalent. Now he just needed to find the code.

    Easier said than done.

    There were two symbols on the key Merlin held, but only one matched any of those engraved on the pad. Not giving up just yet, he returned to examining the content of his bag. It took him some time and failed attempts, but eventually, he found the code. It was written on a small piece of hard paper tucked inside an oddly shaped leather pouch that otherwise contained coins, cards, and more papers. He suspected the latter to be another form of currency. I feel like a baby who knows nothing. Damned Ptaeesh, I can¡¯t even spell my own name! How mortifying.

    He typed the code and the gate finally swung open with a high-pitched buzzer sound. ¡°Ah-hah!¡± Merlin pumped up a fist and pointed a vindictive finger at the gate, feeling stupidly proud of himself. When he noticed his own childish behavior, warmth flushed his cheek. Why am I so happy to have accomplished so little? Ridiculous. He quickly forced a frown on his face, coughed, and stepped past the open gate. The smell improved, but only slightly.

    A little further, he spotted a wooden door and, opposite, the bottom of a staircase. Next was a metal door without a handle or a keyhole, but with two buttons marked with arrows, one pointing up and one pointing down. The purpose of that last one was rather obvious. He¡¯d seen the same inside the NovaTech building, he even looked inside, but never stepped in. For some reason, none of his jailers had been willing to be trapped in a small room with him.

    A small mocking smirk on his lips, Merlin glanced back at the wooden door. He noticed a small plate marked [0A] nailed on the panel. Similarly styled characters on his keys spelled out [6C]. On a guess, he turned to other door and pushed the button marked with an upwards arrow.

    With a ding, the metal panel slid sideways. These humans really love their dings and buzzes, don¡¯t they? Ever since he¡¯d reincarnated, except when he was alone in his cell, there had always seemed to be something ringing or buzzing around him. He longed for silence.

    Inside the box, as expected, was another row of buttons. One was marked [6]. The rest of the symbols mostly matched the ones he¡¯d seen on the entry keypad, from [0] to [9], plus a couple others. He decided to memorize them and consider them basic numerals until proven wrong. Time to start his own education. He was already more than fed up with feeling like a retarded country bumpkin.

    He pressed the number six, the door closed, and after a small shock, the cabin began moving up.

    And it moved up very, very, very¡­slowly.

    Tapping his foot impatiently on the floor, Merlin took a deep calming breath. Gods in heavens, I miss teleportation circles. The annoyingly merry tune filling his ears wasn¡¯t helping his mood in any way either. What is it with humans and constantly being surrounded by noise? Are they afraid of silence or something? As if to spite him, the elevator chose that exact moment to stop, with yet another resounding chime.

    The door opened with a rasp and he stepped out. His sinuses were once again immediately attacked¡ªbut this time, less by fermented piss and more by old garbage.

    Grimacing, he pressed a small glowing button on the wall. Light flooded the place, revealing stained walls of a suspicious yellowish beige coloring and worn-out blue-grey carpeting, both forming a drab hallway filled with numerous overflowing black bags, the content of which made the source of the smell obvious. At both extremities of the corridor were squared windows, both of them cracked. One of the ceiling lights was blinking, adding to the depressing spectacle. Merlin didn¡¯t know if he ought to laugh or cry.

    ¡°One step at a time¡­¡± he mumbled dejectedly in the demon tongue. He wasn¡¯t too worried someone spying on him might hear. To human ears, it probably sounded like senseless hissing, tongue clicking and teeth snapping. The common language of the Seven Demon Realms had evolved over millennia from countless dialects to accommodate even the less human-looking clans, many of them insectoids.

    Fortunately for his nerves and nose, Merlin easily found the door to apartment 6C. The key worked like a charm this time. Under his push, the door swung slowly inwards with a foreboding sound. Needs better runes¡­or¡­what was it those small villages used again? Right. Oil. A not-so-all-purpose lubricant. His mind was attempting to flee reality. Light from the hallway poured inside the habitation, and what little it showed wasn¡¯t making Merlin enthusiast, at all. ¡°Welcome home¡­¡± he grunted, finding some meager solace in irony.

    What was greeting the master of the house were trash, glass bottles and cans littering the floor. Stepping in and picking one of the metal containers, he smelled the content. This world has ale, apparently. What are the odds? He chuckled drily and dropped the can back on the floor, before making his way further inside, still lost in thoughts. Although, what are the odds for there to be a human race looking exactly the same in two separate universes? I shouldn¡¯t be surprised they brewed similar beverages.

    Again looking at the brighter side of things, he pondered maybe in this life he¡¯d finally be able to taste what all the fuss was about with alcohol. His former body had been far too resistant to toxins to even dream of getting drunk. And everything entering Meria¡¯s mouth had always tasted like ashes and rot anyway, making her not much of a gourmet. This body was obviously different, but so far nothing Merlin had eaten at NovaTech had convinced him he¡¯d been missing out on much all these centuries.

    The tiny entrance hall led to a larger room furnished ¡°lavishly¡± with a grand total of four pieces of furniture: one beat-up couch, one table, and two mismatched chairs. Merlin cringed. This was a home? Even his former cell looked better.

    His gaze was then attracted to several books and sketches loosely piled up on the table. He dropped the backpack by the couch and sat in a chair, casually picking up one page and skimming through the heavily annotated drawing.

    Almost immediately, however, he paused, blinking slowly in bewilderment. Wait a¡­I know these symbols. Both intrigued and confused, he set down the page and picked up another. He only gave this one a cursory once-over before moving on to the next in the stack. As he progressed, increasingly fast, his nonchalance melted away and his frown deepened. Reaching the last sheet, his expression was set in a cold serious mask that would have given the chills to all those proud NovaTech executives who had so casually dismissed him less than a couple hours before.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    None of the pages held a complete design, but together they fitted like a puzzle and created one large and complex runic formation. One Merlin might have simply been impressed with as the first piece of decent magical technique he¡¯d ever encountered in this world, or the first hint that this world even had any decent magical techniques, if not for the fact he¡¯d seen almost the exact same formation before. He¡¯d even studied it.

    There are some differences¡­But without mistake, this is the Empire¡¯s Hero Summoning Ritual. A version of it at least. When the Headmistress of the Magical Academy had defected to the Demon Army¡¯s side, she¡¯d brought with her several partial sketches of that very summoning circle that had been kept in the Academy¡¯s safe. What in the name of Ptaeesh is this thing doing here?

    Merlin grabbed the first book on the pile next to the sketches. He fervently scanned through it a first time, confirming his thoughts. He returned to the first page and read it again, this time focusing attentively on the illustrations. Unfortunately, the text was in this world¡¯s language, thus he couldn¡¯t understand the explanations. But the drawings and graphics were telling enough. Once he finished the first one twice, he took up the second grimoire.

    In no time, he was finishing the sixth and last tome. Refolding the back cover over the last page, he set the book on his lap and reclined in his chair, eyes closed. He wasn¡¯t sure what to make of what he¡¯d just discovered.

    Based on the diagrams only, out of the six grimoires, three contained complete nonsense. A fourth had the right idea, but Merlin conjectured its author had misconceived the nature of magical power, and especially how to harness it because the runes inside were overall correct, but several glaring mistakes made them completely ineffective. Mistakes even a newbie mage in his first year of apprenticeship wouldn¡¯t have made back on Zarath.

    Still, it was enough to make Merlin reconsider his previous evaluation on this world¡¯s level of magical knowledge. Evidently, there were people who had at least put some thoughts into it, as off track as they might be. This fourth book especially is impressive¡­in a way. Like a treatise on the properties of light written by a blind man. It¡¯s amazing he got this much right¡­if he started from scratch. Which I have. no. idea. of. Damned. Merlin was truly cursing his illiteracy right now.

    However what puzzled him most were the two last and thinnest books. Everything inside was without a doubt perfectly correct¡ªas far as drawings were concerned¡ªbut both felt like odd step-by-step manuals to one very specific ritual. He couldn¡¯t be sure without knowing what was written inside, but he suspected whoever followed those instructions wouldn¡¯t have the faintest clue what exactly they were doing. Like someone blindly following an alchemical recipe without any knowledge of why the substances he was using reacted together.

    Returning his attention to the sketches of the summoning ritual, Merlin compared them to the two booklets. Indeed, they were rigorously identical.

    However, the more Merlin studied them, the more he remembered the original ritual he¡¯d analyzed on Zarath, and the more he started to spot differences between the two versions. He didn¡¯t pin those differences on negligence, however. These alterations gave an impression of purpose, experience, and intimate familiarity with the runic design. Otherwise, they wouldn¡¯t fit so well. This was clearly the work of a master. But how?

    ¡°Ahhhh¡­¡± He sighed in frustration. If only Shadow were here right now. He sighed again, mournfully this time. The black dragon would have figured this conundrum out in a heartbeat. Merlin himself knew enough on magical theory to stand above the masses, but his companion/son had been the true scholar in the duo. He had also been unreasonably smart, which always helped in these kinds of situations. Even though he¡¯s just a dumb reptile, Merlin gibed fondly.

    Reclined in his chair, the former demon was idly thumbing the pages, his mind drifting through old memories, when he suddenly froze. His heart missed a beat and he drew in a sharp breath. His eyes, one instant prior glazed over, cleared and widened as they zeroed in on the opened book and for a moment they turned solid black as rage exploded within Merlin.

    Previously, he¡¯d skipped the sections of the books that contained only text, assuming he¡¯d be incapable of deciphering them. But right there, in the dead center of a page, laid a sentence he could perfectly comprehend. Although he suspected few besides him would be able to, even back on Zarath, for it was written in the language of the gods, the First Language in which each word contained the true nature of each thing.

    Roughly translated, the sentence said:

    I call forth the spirit of Meriataneesh, scion of the Death God.

    Merlin knew not for how long he remained petrified, staring at the words handwritten on yellowish paper. What was the meaning of this? Did someone call specifically for him¡ªor her? How was it even possible?! This was a whole other world, one where a magic of the caliber of a transplanar summoning shouldn¡¯t even be feasible. This made no sense.

    Moreover, was this true? Was he really the offspring of the God of Death? Falsehood shouldn¡¯t be possible in the Tongue of Heaven, even in written form. But how? Ptaeesh had disappeared millennia before Meria¡¯s birth. It made no sense.

    But how was I even born? Merlin had no memory of his early childhood as a demon. Of course, it was expected for a newborn not to remember of their firs years, but as far as he recalled Meria had always been fighting in the wild to survive. It made no sense.

    How had she survived before she¡¯d been able to fend for herself? Had someone protected her, or had she somehow formed out of nothing, her body already at the end of childhood and self-sufficient? How did any of this make sense?!

    ¡°THIS MAKES NO SENSE!!!¡± Finally, Merlin broke out of his trance. He roared in the demon language and threw the book across the room. It slammed against a wall and fell onto a pile of discarded magazines. Standing up, he started pacing angrily, back and forth in the bare living room. This double revelation had opened the door wide to a whole new can of worms and interrogations. It made him reconsider truth he¡¯d thought carved in stone.

    If someone in this world truly knew how to call him¡ªher¡ªmoreover doing so using the language of the gods, then how much of this was planned? How deep did this go? How much, how long had he danced in someone¡¯s palm? The ritual described in those books was so eerily similar to the hero summoning one, it couldn¡¯t be a coincidence. And heroes came from a world with little magic. Was it this world? Where is the connection?!

    Had someone sent the hero specifically to kill Meria? So that her soul could be called here? What else could have been staged? The Demon Queen had been holed up in her castle for millennia. She would never have been killed if not for the war with the Empire. Hero or no hero, she wouldn¡¯t have fallen if she hadn¡¯t exhausted most of her power breaking through the Eight Spires¡¯ holy barrier. Was this also part of a plan? Paranoia was flaring up in Merlin¡¯s mind.

    Then what about Elise?

    As if struck by lightning, he abruptly stopped his pacing and grabbed the backrest of a chair, his knuckles turning white and his short nails digging painfully into the wood. The princess had been the main, if not sole reason why Meria had even left her castle in the first place. Had it all been a trick? A lie to lead the Daughter of Death to a calculated demise? Did Elise ever truly love him¡ªher?

    Merlin¡¯s breathing was ragged. His thoughts were confused, going haywire, swirling into a dark downwards spiral. Face it Meria, you aren¡¯t very likable, whispered voice that sounded troublingly like his past life self. Not even talking about love, who would enjoy the company of someone who kills without second thought, who even relishes in it, in inflicting pain, bathing in blood and bring torment onto others? Of someone who cares for no one but themselves? A monster sired by the most hated creature of all creation. Nobody would¡ª¡°HAH!!¡±

    A violent stab of pain tore through his blackening delirium. He gasped and stumbled backward, slipping on a bottle and collapsing on the dirty floor. Spasms rocking his body, head pounding, he curled into a fetal position and hugged his hands close to his chest. His palms felt as if they were melting, needles were prickling the entire length of his arms, and his heart was beating jerkily as he struggled for breath.

    The pain eventually receded to a bearable throb. Uncurling, he cast a blurry glance at his hands. Bulging black veins ran over his forearms, all the way up to his elbows, but already they were fading along with the pain. What¡­His brain slowly caught up. Had he used magic unconsciously? His gaze moved to the chair, which he had dragged in his fall. Two faint but clear handprint marred its backrest as if burnt into the wood.

    Carefully he stood back up. His tailbone hurt, his head hurt, his hands hurt, his elbows hurt, his whole body hurt. He would have more bruises to add to his growing collection, along with the one on his shoulder. He picked up the chair and observed it again. The imprints weren¡¯t as obvious as he¡¯d first thought. They would be easy to miss as long as one wasn¡¯t looking specifically for them. It was still embarrassing. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d lost control of his magic like this. It couldn¡¯t have happened more than a handful of times past his second century.

    He sat down and dropped his face in his hand. A winced twisted his features when his cheeks came into contact with the raw skin of his palms, but he remained unmoving. His face felt hot and clammy to the touch, and each breath gave him the impression his heart was beating directly into his skull.

    It took him several minutes, but eventually, he regained a semblance of countenance. He straightened and stood up. He mouth was dry and his throat sore. His need for water lead him out of the living room.

    By a stroke of luck, he found the kitchen on his first try. Numerous plates and utensils were piled up in the sink and the rotten remains of a half-finished meal laid abandoned on the counter. His thoughts had calmed enough to conjure up a sarcastic quip. Leave it to that guy to leave a mess in his kitchen before attempting a major summoning. Cretin. From others¡¯ attitude towards him, Merlin hadn¡¯t a very positive opinion of the original owner of his body, and the more he learned, the less impressed he became.

    Nose wrinkled in disgust, he hurried to the window. It opened on some side-street, six floors below, as the dumpster that was apartment 6C made a corner of the building. Down below, an actual dumpster stood ideally placed. A quick trip to the counter later, the pile of rot was diving six floors down, plate and everything, followed by an eager army of flies.

    Merlin found glasses in the second cupboard he checked. They looked clean enough. He filled one with tap water and quickly walked out of the foul-smelling biohazard of a kitchen.

    He returned to the table and dropped on the same chair once again, wincing when his tailbone hit the wood. He didn¡¯t touch anything however and only sat in silence, slowly sipping his drink as he stared at a stained wall, idly trying to figure out what its original color had been. Simple, harmless thoughts.

    Once his glass was empty, at last feeling more settled, Merlin picked up the sketches once more and tried to find something he¡¯d missed. Almost immediately, he chuckled wryly. He wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d failed to notice earlier, but this magical circle was still incomplete. He¡¯d been so focused on comparing it to the book and his memories, and analyzing the differences, that he¡¯d nearly missed the bigger picture.

    A key part was absent from the design, the one supposed to create the dimensional rift indispensable to the transplanar summoning. This spell had everything else, except for a way to open a portal. To dumb it down, it was as if someone had built a road between two cities, prepared the bridges to cross rivers, the guards to patrol along the highway, specified the destination of his road and what could travel on it, everything, but forgot to add a way to open the city gates.

    There was one incoherence, however. The runic formation drawn here was definitely lacking, yet the summoning had obviously worked, as his presence in this world clearly proved.

    This meant either these sketches didn¡¯t show the whole runeswork, or the original Merlin had gotten his inexperienced hands on an artifact that contained the last portion of the spell. It wasn¡¯t impossible. During the war against the Empire, it had been common practice to create what basically were portable rituals. Thus turning destructive spells that would normally require days to perform into items that only needed to be activated to unleash hell. Although bombs were only the most basic use of such artifacts. And these tended to become unstable after a while.

    Thinking back on the day of his pseudo-reincarnation, Merlin vaguely recalled using a black stone shard to carve a seal into his own body. That could have been it. The black stone might also have provided the power necessary to fuel the ritual. A dangerous combination, storing both the formation and the power to activate it inside the same artifact, but not unheard of.

    But who would have given the stone to Merlin? Or the books for that matter? The current Merlin had no doubt his predecessor lacked the proper knowledge to create or alter such a complex ritual. Otherwise, he would have added securities to shield his soul from Meria¡¯s. It was such an amateurish mistake. And the handwriting in the two manuals didn¡¯t match the annotations on the sketches, which he supposed belonged to the previous Merlin.

    This whole situation prodigiously irritated him.

    Someone had used Morgan¡¯s brother as a pawn to get Meria¡¯s soul into this world. And now Meria¡¯s soul was going to find out who, and why, and then how well they fared without arms, legs, or a beating heart.

    Another thought crossed his mind. He needed to leave tonight. If someone had orchestrated this whole masquerade, the more time he spent on their radar, the more he remained exposed to more unpleasant surprises. He didn¡¯t know if ditching the NovaTech people would suffice, but it was a start. One step at a time.

    With a more precise goal in mind, Merlin went to fetch the backpack he¡¯d dropped next to the couch, then the book he¡¯d previously thrown against the wall. He put the small tome inside the bag, where it was soon joined by the second of its pair, the sheets containing the sketched magical circle, and the not-so-wrong magical treatise. He¡¯d have liked to take the last three with him too in order to study them later and maybe revise his judgment, but they were simply too voluminous. Nonsense took up a lot of space apparently.

    That done, he didn¡¯t run out immediately. Instead, he put down the bag on the old couch and returned to the kitchen, where he began calmly washing the dishes. If he planned to escape tonight, he needed all the chances on his side. He wasn¡¯t as na?ve as to think the mage in the building across the street was all NovaTech had in place to keep tabs on him. He didn¡¯t know exactly what measures they had taken because he couldn¡¯t sense their odd technology with his magic, but he was sure he was being watched.

    And with the tantrum and seizure show he¡¯d just put on, his watchers had to be on high alert, if only for the morbid entertainment value. Better lull their caution back to sleep by acting as inconspicuously as possible for a while. It also allowed him some time to think and recover. His head was still dully throbbing and he felt sickly warm.

    As his hands moved in the soapy water, his mind worked at planning his escape. Now¡­ Let us assume NovaTech somehow came to the same conclusion as I and think Merlin received help in creating that runic formation. On hindsight, he could see no other reason why they¡¯d let him go, if not to play bait and draw out those accomplices. How would I keep myself under surveillance while waiting for my supposed partners to show up or me to go to them?

    The answer was, he wouldn¡¯t. When Meria had wanted to get ahold of someone¡¯s secrets, she would have them tortured to break their spirits, then call for a mind mage. Simple. Efficient. The prisoner didn¡¯t leave the dungeons. Little risks for screw ups. And completely unhelpful in figuring out his present predicament.

    His hand slipped and he dropped a plate, which shattered in the sink. ¡°Aw¡­¡± He wasn¡¯t exactly used to household chores. In fact, this was only his second time washing dishes, so accidents were bound to happen. The only other occasion had been once when Meria had tried to prepare a surprise for Elise. It hadn¡¯t turned out well. Apparently, giant clawed hands and tiny, fragile porcelain didn¡¯t mix very well. Who¡¯d have guessed?

    Merlin threw the broken pieces through the window and returned to his previous line of thoughts, with a change of perspective. What would Zephyr do to spy on someone? Yes, that¡¯s better. Putting himself in the place of the meticulous vampire, Merlin continued to hatch his getaway plan. It took him some time, and two other broken plates, to finally come up with a few good ideas. Simple ones, but he only needed a head start, not a foolproof strategy.

    Before leaving, he decided to look around the apartment at least once to see if he could find anything useful. A glance at his hands covered in filth and bubbles also convinced him he needed a shower. Who knew when he¡¯d be able to take one again? Wiping his hands with a dishtowel, he walked out of the kitchen and down the short hallway in the direction opposite to the living room.

    The next door he encountered lead into a drab bedroom, lit up by a single naked light bulb. There was no real bed but only a mattress lying on the dirty tiled floor, covered in a crumpled quilt. Did this man have no money to buy furniture at all? Piles of approximately folded clothes were lined up along the leftmost wall. More bottles were scattered on the floor, along with several magazines. A glimpse at one of the magazines caused Merlin to raise an eyebrow.

    He bent down, picked it and casually browsed the content as he made his way back into the hallway. Well, that is something we didn¡¯t have back on Zarath. Is this a catalog for whores, or are the picture themselves the entertainment? My¡­Is the human body supposed to bend that way? This girl would make a better assassin than a whore. Although I suppose those professions aren¡¯t mutually exclusive. Eh¡­Sheila would have loved this.

    The following door opened on some kind of closet full of cleaning utensils, which ironically were much cleaner than the apartment itself, probably from having never been used.

    Next, he finally happened upon a small bathroom. Old splintered blue tiles covered the floor and up to half the height of the walls, before giving way to crumbling gray paint. A tiny bathtub occupied a corner, a toilet another, and a sink had somehow been squeezed in there too. A far cry from the castle hot springs¡ªperk of living atop an active volcano¡ªbut it would have to do.

    He dropped the erotic magazine on the toilet seat, stripped and stepped into the bathtub. He had a small fight with the knobs before he could get the shower head to spit anything but just-above-freezing water, but he eventually managed. As he cleaned away the grime of the past few hours, he already started working on the first step of his escape plan.

    Closing his eyes, he immersed himself in his magical perception, visualizing his own¡ªdepressingly feeble¡ªaura. The sight wrested a sigh out of him. He knew his rash decision to tear a hole in his own soul had indeed saved his life, but the damage would take time to mend¡ªtime he wasn¡¯t sure he had at his disposal. He needed to replenish his reserves as fast as his body could endure¡­which sadly wasn¡¯t much.

    Magical power existed in three main states. Firstly was its most natural, wild state that permeated the atmosphere, and which this planet so cruelly lacked. Second came the raw, equally untamed power that every living creature accumulated within their soul throughout their lifetime. The process was gradual at first but increased exponentially as years went by and could be further boosted with special techniques including but not limited to meditation. And finally, there was the processed power released by the soul into the body.

    It was that third, tamer, and admittedly weaker form that spellcasters almost exclusively used. Depending on the individual, it could go from a rather neutral to a highly specialized energy. On Zarath, humans tended to have the former while demons leaned heavily towards the latter. It was to the point a demon¡¯s clannish magic became more like a part of their nature rather than a learned ability, which made up for their lack of versatility and gave rise to many fearsome bloodlines.

    In theory, nothing prevented from directly using the power contained within one¡¯s soul to circumvent these limitations of processed power. However, for one, the risk involved was much higher. Depleting one¡¯s processed power would merely cause unconsciousness, but exhausting soul power invariably led to death, or worse if the soul shattered. And for two, the difference between handling refined and raw magical power was comparable to attempting to ride either a trained or a wild horse, only with that difficulty scaled up a thousandfold. Talent and experience were both required in large amount. Meria herself could only achieve basic manipulation of her raw innermost power by the time of her death. But she¡¯d had special circumstances.

    In his current circumstances, however, Merlin lacked options. He couldn¡¯t manipulate the energy attuned to his death affinity. Otherwise, he¡¯d likely just kill himself.

    Pushing aside the dismay this made him feel, he focused on the small stormy pond of power sitting at the bottom of his soul. With a thought, he brought out a thin thread of magic.

    Like when he¡¯d tried to hide his aura right after waking up at NovaTech, he was briefly stunned at how easily he succeeded. Certainly, the energy was still violent and untamed, but to continue with the former analogy, it was as if he¡¯d learned to ride on a wild stallion, and suddenly his violent steed had been replaced by a sickly foal. No matter how temperamental, in the end, a baby horse wasn¡¯t hard to dominate.

    Well, at least one good thing to come out of this mess. If he could learn to maintain this level of control when he regained more power, this would become a fearsome new weapon to his arsenal. But that was a worry for way down the road. One step at a time.

    Pulling along the tendril of power, Merlin¡¯s consciousness exited his soul and moved through his aura towards the foreign body that was glued to it like a parasite. The beacon wasn¡¯t actually that ugly to look at, from a spiritual point of view. The spell was even spun very elegantly. But its purpose made it an eyesore. Gently, prudently, Merlin coiled his tendril of power around the beacon, just short of touching it. Once the magic was in place, he let his mind float back to the surface and opened his eyes.

    Now, all he needed was to will it, and his power would crush the beacon. As simple as that. Easier than crushing a goblin. This tracking spell might be elegant, but it cruelly lacked any defenses. It felt very single-minded in its conception in fact, but Merlin decided he would ponder on this oddity later.

    His shower finished, he plucked a towel off a hook and wiped himself up before dropping the cloth on the ground, beside his dirty clothes. He remembered seeing clothes in the bedroom and hoped they were reasonably clean.

    However, as he walked out of the bathroom, a glint behind the door¡ªwhich he had left open¡ªcaught his attention. He took a step back and closed the panel, revealing a tall mirror behind, cracked in several places but still miraculously whole, and Merlin got his first good look at himself.

    He was tall¡ªbut that much he¡¯d already guessed¡ªand lanky in an unsightly way. He was all in angles and someone could have played the xylophone on his ribs. I¡¯ve really turned into a twig, haven¡¯t I? This really needs fixing. If he was going to live as a human male, at the very least he hoped to be an attractive one. Strength might be the ultimate form of beauty for demons, but being easy to the eye wasn¡¯t frowned upon either.

    Standing naked in front of the mirror, he gave a disgusted look at his pathetically thin body covered in bruises from his shin to the nasty one on his left shoulder. He wanted to curse the original Merlin for this, but blaming every trouble he came across upon the idiot who got himself swatted out of existence wouldn''t get the current Merlin anywhere.

    The face wasn¡¯t too bad if one looked past the skeletal complexion. He believed his short black hair and piercing green eyes would look quite handsome once he regained some weight. The eyes especially fascinated him.

    All of Meria¡¯s long life, her eyes had been two orbs of pitch black darkness. Zephyr had once claimed they looked like they were sucking the very Essence of Life out of the world. Always the charmer. Sheila had simply said they sent shivers down her spine, which she meant as a compliment. Elise however, had always insisted the Queen¡¯s eyes had been a bottomless abyss that had devoured the darkness of the world to allow light to shine more brightly. She always had such a ridiculously positive outlook on everything. A bittersweet smile lifted the corner of Merlin¡¯s thin lips at the memory.

    Now his eyes were most definitely human, and he couldn¡¯t tell if he was actually happy or disappointed about it. At least this shade of green was nice, and much less conspicuous than pitch black balls with no iris or sclera.

    Scanning his body from top to bottom, then upwards again, his gaze eventually settled down over his nether region. He pursed his lips and raised an appraising eyebrow. I...have no idea. Would this be considered big? Again, if he was to be male, he¡¯d preferred to be well-endowed. He had his pride.

    But he lacked reference. Meria comparatively hadn''t seen many naked male humans in her lifetime, considering her millennium of existence. Humans didn¡¯t venture much into the heart of the Seven Realms. And whenever they¡¯d actually capture humans, the Queen would let Shelia deal with the males, while she would toy with the females.

    The war had, of course, made human prisoners much more numerous, but by then Meria¡¯s mind had been on other preoccupations.

    As for the more humanoid demons... Merlin wisely decided that comparing himself to incubi would be just depressing. Orcs were similarly out of the question. Werewolves too. Beastmen in general in fact, although most weren¡¯t technically demons. Why else would they be as popular as sex slaves amongst human nobles, when the latter found the former so repulsing? Because most humans couldn¡¯t hold a candle to beastmen in bed, that was why.

    What about vampires? They were probably the closest to humans appearance-wise. Sadly the vampire clan counted very few individuals. And the only one Merlin had actually seen naked was his killjoy of a retainer. Zephyr.

    Again, demons didn¡¯t care for things like modesty. The baths in the castle were mixed. Although Meria had had her own private basin within the common area. Not so much by royal privilege than for everyone else¡¯s safety, given that her whole body, not only her skin but also her saliva, sweat, all her fluids in fact, and especially her blood, had been highly toxic. Point was, she¡¯d had plenty of opportunities to observe the vampire in the buff.

    Trying to summon up the memory, Merlin mentally compared himself to his red-eyed subordinate. I guess¡­it''s about the same size? Which is a good thing? Maybe? Sheila did always say Zephyr was impressive. Coming from her, I guess¡ª ¡°Ah.¡±

    A sudden thought gave him pause. What am I doing? He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then reopened the door and walked out of the bathroom.

    He had an escape pending. Assessing his new genitals could certainly wait until he wasn¡¯t in potentially mortal danger.

    Still, that very rational worry didn¡¯t wipe the smirk off his face.

    * * *

    Killian watched Merlin dress up in his bedroom, while also keeping an idle eye on the pocket knife twirling through the air. The blade reached the highest point of its vertical movement, then initiated its descent, and eventually stabbed with a sharp noise in the table top, exactly between two of Killian¡¯s fingers, in a gap barely visible. Several thin holes in the wood showed he had been playing this little game for a while now.

    Pressing his fingers against the cold metal, he plucked the knife from the wood, then threw it up again, higher this time. He even closed his eyes.

    A door opened behind him and Vera stepped in, holding two fuming coffees. She gasped when she saw the knife plunging towards the hero¡¯s hand on the table. ¡°Sir¡ª!!¡±

    ¡°Oh, Vera, you¡¯re back.¡± Completely unconcerned, Killian caught the falling weapon between his thumb and forefinger without as much as a glance. It danced in his hand, the blade retracted into the handle, and it disappeared back into a hidden compartment of his suit, all before the female guard had the time to add anything. Killian then jumped up from his chair by the monitors and scurried towards her, hands held out in eagerness. ¡°Mmmmh! Caffeine. Gimme, gimme, gimme!¡±

    Vera handed him the paper cup. ¡°Black as you asked, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Thank you~¡± He took a long sip and sighed in contentment. ¡°Ahhh~ That¡¯s the stuff. I feel like I could go on forever as long as I have my daily dose of caffeine. He¡¯s out of the shower, by the way.¡± Lowering the cup, he cast a thumb over his shoulder at the three screens displaying the video feeds from Merlin¡¯s apartment, the building''s staircase, elevator, entrances and fire exit. ¡°You can take back your throne, Milady,¡± he added with an extravagant bow.

    Vera fidgeted and looked away, clearly uncomfortable. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir.¡±

    Killian raised an unseen eyebrow behind his visor. ¡°What for? It¡¯s understandable for a woman to be uncomfortable with watching a strange man naked. I didn¡¯t mind taking over. Not that I enjoy watching other men¡¯s nude bodies myself.¡± He sent her a roguish grin and raised his cup. ¡°And now I have coffee. Everyone wins!¡±

    The woman only nodded wordlessly, stiff as ever, and returned to her vigil of the monitors. Killian moved to lean against a wall behind her, also keeping an eye on the screens.

    Earlier, he¡¯d watched, concerned, as the man they were surveying had what looked like a mental breakdown. NovaTech had copied all the books they¡¯d found in Merlin¡¯s home, but the originals had been left in place as not to arouse suspicion. Killian didn¡¯t know what his cousin had read in those supposed grimoires that had upset him so much, but he¡¯d felt bad for the guy. Despite what everyone said, and with reason, about Merlin being a deranged mass murderer and an ass in general, Killian couldn¡¯t simply turn off his empathy.

    As the young hero continued to sip his coffee, he watched attentively as the skinny man, now clad in a clean pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt, walked out of his bedroom with an erotic magazine in hand. Not the same one he¡¯d abandoned in the bathroom, Killian noted. A grimace twisted the hero¡¯s expression. He wasn¡¯t going to critique a fellow man for owning porn, but he truly hoped he wouldn¡¯t be subjected to watching his cousin jerk off.

    Thankfully, Merlin entered his kitchen and dropped the booklet on the counter. He started putting away the dishes and cutlery he¡¯d left to dry before going for his shower. Killian, for his part, was starting to get bored. Despite the coffee, he could feel his thoughts growing more sluggish by the minute.

    Half of him wanted for this night to end without incident, so he could pass the torch onto the next hero and just go home and sleep. The other half wanted for something to happen in order to get this whole mess behind them, once and for all. He wondered what would happen to Merlin afterward. NovaTech couldn¡¯t hand the disgraced hero over to the authorities, not without exposing their cover up of the incident, and they wouldn¡¯t allow him to go free either. He knew too much.He couldn¡¯t be allowed to talk.

    Well, that didn¡¯t sound ominous at all. Killian frowned. They wouldn¡¯t just¡­get rid of him, would they? He didn¡¯t want to believe the company he belonged to could go so far. He wasn¡¯t a na?ve little boy. He knew his employers weren¡¯t completely honest people. But there was a distinction between dishonest and criminal. All in all, NovaTech¡¯s bosses weren¡¯t too bad for corporate types.

    That said, this Power Surge affair had everyone so on edge, and Killian worried someone might take extreme measures. Even the cool-headed Morgan had been snappy for the past couple weeks.

    And it would seem that second half of him would get what it wanted tonight, because, at that moment, Merlin stepped out of the kitchen, still with his porn mag in hand, which he stuffed into the backpack he¡¯d already put those two books in. Then, without warning, the skeletal man threw the bag over his shoulder, walked through his apartment, out the door, and started running.

    It happened so suddenly, Killian¡¯s mind needed two seconds to catch up. With a curse, he pushed himself off the wall, a little too fast because he stumbled a couple steps and almost dropped his coffee. Steadying, he stepped next to Vera and leaned forwards with one hand on the table top, while at the same time opening the com to HQ.

    ¡°KS speaking. Target is on the move. I repeat. Target is on the move.¡± Now wasn¡¯t the time for jokes.

    ¡°Roger Killshot. Keep us updated,¡± a male voice replied. Morgan must have left to get some shut eye. Forced to leave more likely. She could be stubborn, but God knew the woman needed rest.

    On the monitors, Merlin¡¯s image ran briskly down the hallway, slaloming between garbage bags. Instead of the elevator, this time he entered the staircase. Killian couldn¡¯t tell his expression because the image was sort of blurry, but he imagined Merlin looked determined.

    ¡°Target is taking the stairs down. Vera, switch to the entrance cam.¡± They had cameras a bit everywhere, but not all could be displayed at the same time, otherwise the images would be too small to see anything. Especially with that quality...Wait. Were those always so hazy?

    He didn¡¯t have the time to worry about it more¡ªbecause his mind jumped to another issue. Merlin had yet to exit the stairs, and the camera on the sixth floor showed be hadn¡¯t retraced his steps back to his apartment. ¡°Wha¡ªShit! He stepped out on another floor! Check the fire exit.¡±

    Vera complied silently, but there wasn¡¯t anything there either.

    ¡°Where is he?¡± An idea suddenly struck him. ¡°Vera, is there only one fire exit? A building this size should have at least two. Why don¡¯t we have a camera on the second one?¡±

    The woman wasn¡¯t answering. Killian turned to her, and he was confused to see she too was blurry. ¡°Wha...¡± He couldn¡¯t finish his question that gravity shifted abruptly and the dirty carpet jumped at him. His head hit the table on his way down. His helmet, fortunately, absorbed most of the shock.

    It still hurt when he collapsed on the floor. The carpet was too thinned off to soften the impact. The coffee he¡¯d still been holding spilled as the cup rolled out of his limp grasp. With his last remaining strength, he laboriously pivoted his head to look at the woman whose blurry silhouette towered over him. ¡°Ve..ra¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sir. I¡¯m truly sorry.¡± Her stiff apology delivered in a slightly quivering tone was the last thing Killian heard before darkness took him.

    Vera stared down at the unconscious body at her feet, her lips pinched and a lump in her throat. With a shaking hand, she retrieved a mobile phone from her pocket and called the only number registered.The other side picked up immediately. ¡°Is it done?¡± A calm male voice came out of the speaker.

    ¡°Ye-yes.¡± Her strong demeanor crumbling, Vera stammered. ¡°But Merlin left the apartment. I don¡¯t know¡ª¡±

    ¡°Let us worry about the details, Mrs. Dawson. You have done your part. You know what to do next.¡± The last sentence wasn¡¯t a question.

    Vera swallowed. ¡°M-my daughter¡ª¡±

    ¡°Will be returned safely to her grandparents¡¯ house and your late husband¡¯s gambling debts are forgotten, with a small bonus to pay for Maggie¡¯s college, or to receive when she turns eighteen. We keep our promise, Mrs. Dawson. It is important that all parties uphold their ends in a bargain. Am I understood?¡±

    ¡°Y-yes.¡± Vera only managed to whisper.

    ¡°Excellent,¡± replied the voice evenly. ¡°Goodbye, Mrs. Dawson. We won¡¯t talk again.¡± On those final words, the line went dead.

    Fighting to keep her tears in, Vera removed the chip from the phone and crushed it under her heel. She walked to the window and threw the device as far as she could. After a short stop by the control station to shut off all the monitors, she moved to the center of the room. Trying not to look at the hero lying sedated on the floor, she took her handgun out of its holster.

    As she raised the weapon and unlocked its safety, the sob she was repressing escaped her, along with the name of her daughter, who had just celebrated her seventh birthday.

    ¡°¡­Maggie¡­¡±

    Closing her eyes, Vera stuck the muzzle against her palate and pressed the trigger.

    * * * * *

 Chapter 05 â€“ Real Nightmare

    The monster was gaining on her. She could hear its chitinous-bladed legs tearing through the dense vegetation and obstacles like chainsaws through paper. Each time she jumped over a rock or skirted around a giant tree, it simply bulldozed through and gradually caught up to her.

    She slid on the slippery ground, her bare feet failing to gain purchase in the thick foul mud. Her balance collapsed and she tumbled down. Pain jolted from the bleeding gash in her side. In her fall, she caught glimpse of the creature chasing her as it toppled a whole copse. The giant black centipede was larger than a freight train and covered in armored shell plates.

    It screeched, she gasped, coughed a mouthful of blood and scrambled to her feet, ignoring her ragged breathing and the gore oozing from her abdomen. She ran. Fear pulsed in her head, bile crept up her throat, yet she felt determination.

    The scenery blurred around her, changing fast, not just from speed, but with the disjointed succession of dreams. Marshes soon gave way to dry land, then suddenly the world abruptly ended. The dark woods ceded place to a black void filled with multi-colored stars and two huge moons, one blue and the other red. The ground disappeared from underside her feet and she plunged down into the abyss.

    Spinning in the air, she grabbed a root protruding from the cliff and coiled it around her wrist. The root was ripped off the rock, snapping and recoiling each time it tried to resist the sudden traction, until it brutally tensed, interrupting her dive. Her shoulder was yanked up with enough force to dislocate it, the supple wood dug into her wrist and she slammed into the stone wall. The shock wrenched a yell out of her.

    Her shout of pain was echoed by a louder screech from above. She looked up just in time to see the centipede bursting out of the woods and tumbling down past her, its humongous body and countless sharp legs twitching uselessly as it plunged to its death.

    Panting, she closed her eyes and took a second to catch her breath. Then, with her teeth and fit hand, she uncorked the goatskin dangling from her shoulder and bathed her ripped abdomen in water. The clear liquid poured over the gory filth, revealing dark lacerated flesh and severed muscles already knitting themselves back together. Pulling on the root, she dragged herself up, straining her muscles until a satisfying snap accompanied her shoulder jerking back into place.

    Holding to the cliff, she cut the root loose with her fangs then started her long trip down. She moved so fast her descent was less climb and more haphazardly controlled free-fall. But she couldn¡¯t idle. Losing time to safety would only lead a slower death by starvation. If she wanted to eat tonight, she needed to get to the corpse before the bigger and meaner scavengers were attracted by the smell of her prey''s blood.

    In this wilderness, the monstrous centipede was only a small fry.

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. New Industrial Park. NovaTech Industries Headquarters.

    ¡°Hah!!¡±

    Morgan jolted awake, heart pounding, breath short and broken, skull aching, a foul taste in her mouth, and hair sticking to her face drenched in cold sweat. Her wild eyes darted around the room and in the darkness her panic peaked, before slowly receding as the haze of her nightmare faded away. Eventually, she recognized the small office she had been forced to rest in after she¡¯d refused to go home.

    Her gaze switched to the door, closed, a faint glow filtering from underneath. Just down the hallway was the mission control center set up to keep contact with Merlin¡¯s surveillance team, the very room she¡¯d been thrown out...how long ago exactly?

    Her left hand moved her forehead, pointlessly trying to keep her pounding headache at bay. With the other, she groped in the dark for her phone. She eventually found it on the floor, next to the sofa she was lying on. Bringing it to her face, she squinted against the sudden bright light and glanced at the time displayed.

    A quarter to one. She had slept less than an hour. She dropped the device on her heaving chest with a groan. Her whole body screamed for rest but she knew she wouldn¡¯t willingly go back to sleep. Not when those nightmares lied in wait for her. She knew none of it was real. She was no stranger to nightmares. But these felt real. She could have sworn she still felt the sensation of her clawed hands peeling away chunks of broken shell off a monstrous corpse. She still tasted the disgusting tang of raw bloody meat on her tongue.

    O, Lord. A gag shook her throat. She jumped to her feet and rushed out the door and into the bathroom across the hall.

    Bent over a toilet bowl, one hand on the wall to keep her balance and the other holding back her long black hair¡ªdistractedly cursing she¡¯d cut it shorter¡ªshe heaved drily for several minutes, trying to empty her stomach of something it didn¡¯t contain. In fact, her stomach didn¡¯t contain much of anything. She hadn¡¯t eaten a proper meal since...when? She couldn¡¯t remember.

    A noise from behind Morgan caused her head to jerk back. Her eyes searched the white bathroom fearfully. But she was alone. With a curse and a sigh, she pushed herself up and away from the wall. She walked out the stall and to the bathroom door and peeked out in the hallway.

    Before the door of the office she¡¯d been sleeping in, a member from NovaTech security was standing, fidgeting, a fist raised and visibly hesitating to knock. FromMorgan¡¯s position, she could see a quarter of his back profile, and something in the man¡¯s expression made her insides to twist again. He had bad news written all over his face.

    ¡°What?¡± she barked, harsher than she¡¯d intended¡ªbut she was too worn out to care.

    The way the guard jump nearly to the ceiling would have been comical if she had been even remotely in a mood to laugh. He spun around fast enough to give himself a whiplash and his face lost two shades of color when he met her gaze. That pissed her off. She didn¡¯t look that messed up, did she?

    His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Morgan was already beyond losing patience. ¡°Are you dumb or just plain stupid? Come on. Spit it! What went wrong?¡± She almost added a barb on how the CEO¡¯s plan wasmoronic and bound to fail, but her respect for hierarchy was hardwired deeply enough that, even in her state, she still kept herself from trash-talking her superiors.

    The guard¡¯s face whitened some more. NovaTech didn¡¯t make a habit of hiring wimps and weak-minded individuals, but being shouted at by a disheveled and bleary-eyed version of one of the world¡¯s most successful heroes was especially nerve-wracking. ¡°We, We lost contact with the stakeout team. The leader thought...you''d want to...know...¡±

    Morgan was already halfway down the hall by the time the poor man finished his first sentence.

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Eastern Side.

    In another hallway across the city, on the second floor of a decrepit apartment building, where the drab stained walls differed much from the austere cleanness of NovaTech¡¯s basement, Merlin was unknowingly mimicking his sister¡¯s actions. Sidestepping a leaking garbage bag, he reached the window at the end of that hallway.

    He stuck close to the wall and peered through the dirty glass. Beyond and below was an obscure side-street filled with trash and darkness. This was the opposite side of the block from where NovaTech¡¯s mage was stationed. Unfortunately, the window couldn¡¯t be opened and the sound of breaking glass would undoubtedly catch the attention of anyone keeping watch outside. Discretion might be a moot point if NovaTech had an adept at divination or scrying magic amongst their ranks, but Merlin couldn¡¯t act recklessly on a supposition. Although all this sneaking around is so unseemly.

    Pushing his discontentment aside, he shot a glance to the closest door to his left. The wood wasn¡¯t quite rotten yet, but like everything in this foul place, it had seen far better days. Closing his eyes, Merlin focused on his magical senses, searching for presences behind the door. He detected one. Unfortunately, non-mages in this world had too little in the way of aura for him to determine whether that person was awake or not just from sensing them.

    Not one to waste time pondering over things he could do nothing about, Merlin took a running step, jumped and slammed the sole of his shoe on the panel right next to the lock. The shock rippled painfully up his leg, but his thin yet excellent muscles did the job. The door frame splintered and the door brutally swung inwards. Merlin rushed forwards and caught the handle before it banged into the wall. He stepped in and closed behind him, eyes scanning the darkness inside.

    This apartment mirrored his own to a tee, except tidier and with actual furniture. The cans and bottles of beer were also notably absent. Confidently, Merlin crossed the short hallway and walked into a living room. His gaze wandered around, glossing over two armchairs wrapped in dusty quilts, a low table covered in lacework, a thick carpet on the floor, a closet topped by a bookshelf and a few other items that looked old but well cared for.

    He snorted. The room was in no way luxurious, but compared to Merlin¡¯s own flat, this might as well be a queen¡¯s boudoir. He¡¯d really gotten a drab starting point in life.

    A movement from one of the armchairs caught his eyes and he found himself staring straight into a pair of green eyes with slit pupils. His senses perked up and a sigh escaped him. ¡°I don''t have time for this.¡±

    He stepped aside, and out of the way of a vase aimed at his head. His annoyance hadn¡¯t been for the cat¡ªwhich slithered under the table when the pot shattered on the floor¡ªbut for its master standing behind him. Moving by instinct, Merlin pivoted, arm extended. His sideway chop caught the old lady in the cheekbone. She went down with a gasp and didn¡¯t get back up.

    Merlin looked down impassively at the old woman, rubbing his hand, numb from the blow. A slight frown wrinkled his eyebrows. From under the table, the cat yowled at him. A quick glare from the former demon silenced the feline and even caused it to flee the scene. Merlin¡¯s gaze returned to the collapsed elderly.He could almost imagine Elise shaking her head in disapproval. ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± he grumbled to the silent room. Of course, no one replied. He looked away and resumed walking to the window.

    A peek through the lacy curtains confirmed another deserted street. This world¡¯s humans seemed to possess the same aversion for being out after dark as the ones in Zarath did. Merlin could already draw a few conclusion on this place day-night cycle. The Demon Realms saw more night than day, so demons never really cared for daylight. Many were even nocturnal by nature. Humans were pretty much the opposite.

    Bringing his backpack to the front, he opened it and pulled out the rolled-up porn magazine. From within the booklet, he retrieved two large kitchen knives. He¡¯d slid them inside earlier while putting away dishes. Again he didn¡¯t know how he was being watched, but he moved under the assumption the surveillance wasn¡¯t perfect and could be deceived. Maybe he was wrong, but he could not do nothing.

    Sadly the blades weren¡¯t too sharp. But beggars didn¡¯t have the leisure to choose their tools.

    Merlin slid a knife through two belt loops on his pants and held the second one in his right hand. He then unlocked the window and slid it open. Cold air blew inside, rustling his black hair and causing him to shiver. He grabbed the ledge and was about to haul himself out¡ªwhen another flash of his beloved¡¯s disapproving face shot through his mind. He stayed frozen, a hand on the windowsill, for a heartbeat, before sighing and stepping back in.

    With irritated gestures, he ripped a quilt from the closest armchair and threw it over the limp body of the elderly woman, making sure to cover her extremities and not suffocate her. Humans were such fragile creatures. At least this way she wouldn¡¯t freeze to death¡ªsince he¡¯d have no way to close the window from outside. ¡°There. Happy?¡± The empty room once again met his growl with only silence. He shook his head. I''m losing my mind.

    He leaped back to the window. The knife he was holding was relocated to his mouth. His jaws closed on the handle of the blade, he checked the one at his waist, then pushed himself up with both hands and stood crouching on the ledge.

    A quick glance and a magical sweep of the area revealed no one outside nearby. But he didn¡¯t know how long before some night howl strolled by, or if someone wasn¡¯t presently watching him from one of the many buildings around, so he quickly lowered himself from his perch. Holding the bottom of the frame, he let his feet dangle down. The smooth painted concrete offered little hold for scaling, but the floors were low enough that he could stand on the upper ledge of the window below him.

    His feet found the narrow platform just as his feeble arms were about to give out. He heaved a sigh of relief and even had a small wry smile. This brings back memories. When was the last time he¡¯d had to physically exert himself in a pinch? Even that last fight against the Hero had been more of a contest of magic power rather than strength or technique.

    However, his mood quickly returned to sour. Those distant years of daily struggle had been a time when Meria could have died any day just to find food or shelter. The parallel was nothing to rejoice about.

    ¡°There he is!¡±

    A shout pierced the nightly silence and Merlin swiveled his head to the left. At the furthest corner of the building had appeared three men sprinting in his direction. The runaway ex-demon swore colorfully and jumped the last floor down to the ground. He landed in a controlled roll on the hard pavement and was on his feet running in a heartbeat, thanking his hard bones and cursing his new future bruises. This was a stunt he was sure to regret in the morrow.

    A brush of wind and a tingle of his sixth sense alerted Merlin an instant before one of the men materialized seemingly out of thin air to block his path. The man hadn¡¯t teleported, however, only moved faster than the human eye could follow.

    ¡°You can¡¯t run¡ª¡±

    But Merlin didn¡¯t rely on his human eyes, and there was no way he¡¯d missed the mage in the group. Merlin¡¯s spirit senses hadn¡¯t lost track of him an instant, and when the mage seemingly materialized after his high-speed race, it was to receive a kitchen knife in his own human eye.Under the force of his own inertia, the blade dug into his eye socket and eventually impaled his brain. His speech was abruptly cut short and he collapsed into a flaccid heap of limbs that rolled another few meters before coming to a definite halt.

    Merlin took off after the corpse.Passing by, he bent down and retrieved the knife, then increased his pace as fast as he dared. His feet hammered the pavement and propelled him through the backstreets.

    ¡°Stop! You gutless bastard!¡±

    As if anyone would, imbecile. Merlin could hear the curses shouted by his sole pursuer. The last of the trio had stopped to check on his dead comrade. A mistake. Merlin might have been in some trouble fighting two opponents, but one-on-one would be child¡¯s play if he was smart about it.

    And speaking of child¡¯s play, Merlin suddenly remembered the tracking beacon stuck to his own aura. With a thought, the coil of power he¡¯d prepared beforehand constricted and crushed the elegant construct like a giant stomping on a glass sculpture. Brutal but efficient. A bit like Merlin as a whole.

    The former demon took the first turn left, which lead him further away from the building where he¡¯d sensed NovaTech¡¯s agent.

    On that matter, he had no idea if his current pursuers belonged to that same group, but he felt no remorse for the man he¡¯d killed, nor for the one he was preparing to kill. At present, Merlin¡¯s greatest weakness was his endurance. He had good muscles, but far too little of them. He needed to get rid of his hunters as fast and surely as possible before his stamina hit rock bottom.

    As soon as he was out of sight of the man after him, Merlin jumped behind a large dumpster and held his breath. Not an easy feat when your lungs felt on fire. He cursed silently. This wasn¡¯t like when Meria had survived in the wilderness, this was much worse. Back then Meria¡¯s body had already been a fearsome weapon in itself. Now Merlin was weaker than the average human.

    Although, on second thoughts, the enemies back then had also been on another scale entirely. So all things considered, the odds evened themselves out rather well. And by ¡°well¡±, he meant in his favor.

    Soon his pursuer stormed blindly into the alley, convinced his prey was still running away. When he passed the dumpster, unsuspecting, Merlin rushed out, silent as a whisper, and swiftly stabbed both knives into the back of his neck. The tall guy slumped down like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He¡¯d been well-built and fast, and he might have put up more of a fight if he hadn¡¯t been so upset from seeing his much stronger companion be taken out almost immediately. Coldly thinking, that should have made him more cautious, but the mind worked in mysterious ways. Emotions were a double-edged sword.

    Merlin retrieved his two weapons and wiped the blood off on his victim¡¯s own clothes. Distractedly, he noted the stylish garb reminded him of what the elderly councilmen at NovaTech had been wearing, only with a sharper cut. Some sort of uniform? Or a formal wear perhaps? He didn¡¯t dislike the design. He¡¯d see to get one for himself.

    Shaking theses useless thoughts off, he started running again at a leisurely jogging pace. He didn¡¯t mean for it to be leisurely, but this was the fastest he could currently manage without dropping out of exhaustion.

    Not too much later, a guttural shout informed him the third member of the group was catching up and had most certainly happened upon his second colleague''s corpse. Merlin looked around and clicked his tongue. He was in a narrow street with nowhere to hide. He had no choice but to lengthen his stride and hope to find a good ambush place before his legs failed him.

    However, before either could happen, a light *pop* echoed from behind Merlin, and nearly instantaneously, an acute burning pain stabbed through his right thigh. ¡°Argh!¡± Eyes widening, he stumbled and tumbled down. His body agonized from the impact against the hard ground and his face scraped against the pavement, the uneven asphalt ripping his skin away.

    ¡°Damned Ptaeesh! You fiend! That''s twice today I fall on that shoulder!¡± Merlin¡¯s muffled roared escaped through gritted teeth. Although, the petty complaint wasn¡¯t really the point. He¡¯d long ago discovered anger was an efficient way to cloud the mind to hurt. One just had to care not to get lost in it, for it clouded judgment just as well. And currently, Merlin¡¯s whole body felt like one big bruise, especially his thigh, where an unpleasant yet familiar warmth was spreading around the throbbing hole in his flesh.

    He tried to push himself up, but a sudden blow to his nape sent him right back down. His chin hit the pavement and he tasted blood. A rough hand grabbed him by the shoulder¡ªthe left, unfortunately¡ªand flipped him over. Merlin found himself nose to muzzle with the man¡¯s gun, fitted with a large silencer. The edge of the books in his pack was digging painfully between his shoulder blades.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky the boss wants you alive, you piece of trash. Or that bullet wouldn¡¯t have missed your brain.¡±

    Merlin¡¯s squinted at the weapon pointed at his face. His gaze then slithered up the barrel, a hand and an arm, up to a visage that looked¡­like the blood felt on his thigh. Unpleasantly familiar. But the blows to his head had jumbled his thoughts too much. He couldn¡¯t recall where he¡¯d seen those black hair and slanted black eyes before.

    His mouth felt stiff and heavy when he tried to speak. ¡°And whom may thy ¡®boss¡¯ beest? NovaTech mayhaps?¡± Honestly, Merlin had his doubts these people belonged to the same company as his sister. Too many things didn¡¯t fit.

    The gunman¡¯s face twisted into a nasty scowl. He pressed the metal of his weapon painfully against Merlin¡¯s nose. ¡°You trying to be funny, trash?¡± Then he added, half to himself. ¡°What¡¯s with that way of speech? You think this is the Heian era or something? Shut up, gaijin. Your accent is making me sick!¡±

    Merlin blinked in confusion, suddenly realizing, a bit belatedly, that for the first time since coming to this world, he was understanding someone¡¯s words¡ªfor the most part. Several terms still slipped past him, but he got the gist of it. He¡¯d even instinctively switched his own speech to match. But obviously, there were some discrepancies. What in the name of...

    Then it hit him, like a sudden lightning bolt. Those slanted eyes,those black irises and hair, and this dark yellowish skin. Merlin hadn¡¯t recognized the similarities right away because this man was older, and his vicious facies looked so remote from the youthful determination full of sickening naivety which the former demon had come to associate with those features. But certainly, Merlin wouldn¡¯t forget the appearance of the brat who¡¯d killed him.

    Saitou, Hero of Mankind. More like ¡®Saitou, Pawn of the Empire¡¯. Merlin was still bitter about it.

    However, the words Merlin had spoken weren¡¯t related directly to that particular Hero. In his past life, the demon monarch had known of nearly every language on Zarath and mastered more than half of them. Those words belonged to a dialect spoken in the easternmost province of the Empire, an island called Atarashii Nihon, allegedly populated in great part by descendants of a former Hero. The man had indeed been recorded down in History as having many wives, and most inhabitants of the island did exhibit those traits habitually connected to summoned heroes. Traits Merlin was now recognizing in his attacker.

    Is this really the world heroes come from? The thought speared through his dazed mind, reminding him suddenly why he was running away so recklessly in the first place. At the same time, another discreet thought formed at the back of his mind, barely a whisper. If humans could be summoned from this world, could Merlin maybe reverse-engineer the process and ¡°summon¡± himself back home? Could he possibly go back? His heart clenched. Elise¡­

    He closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. Here and now wasn¡¯t the time to dwell on wishful theories. His dreary situation was a much more pressing and tangible issue. He needed to turn this around. But how? His brain worked furiously, inventorying the means at his disposal. He had dropped his knives in the fall. Glancing around for them, he tried to distract his assailant, while also fishing for information. ¡°What art thee going to doth to me?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    That question earned him a kick in his side. ¡°I told you to shut up! The others are coming and we¡¯ll see then if you still dare run your mouth. You¡¯ll soon regret I didn¡¯t grant you a swift and painless death.¡± He spat on Merlin, and the latter had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Who exactly was running his mouth?

    Finally, from the corner of his eye, he spied the glint of a silvery blade a couple feet away. Discretely, he tried to extend his left hand in that direction.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it!¡± A foot came down on Merlin¡¯s creeping hand. He gnashed his teeth and swallowed a scream of pain. But his goal wasn¡¯t only the knife.

    The thug had briefly looked away from Merlin¡¯s face to stomp his hand. Merlin took advantage of the lapse in attention. With his free hand, he grabbed the man¡¯s wrist and yanked the gun away from his face. At the same time, his good leg lashed up and his foot slammed into every man¡¯s infamous weak point. Asphalt shattered in a blast inches away from Merlin¡¯s face, the noise of the fired shot covered by a high-pitched squeal that brought great satisfaction to the former demon.

    Nuts crushed, the brute stumbled back a step. As soon as Merlin¡¯s left hand was free, he used his hold on the man¡¯s wrist to pull himself up, while clenching his injured hand.

    His fist connected with the other''s nose in a downpour of blood, and an explosion of pain for both of them. Not slowing down, Merlin, danced around his stunned opponent, pulling his arm along. Once behind his back, the limb in an arm-lock, with a firm jerk, Merlin dislocated the man¡¯s shoulder. He shouted. ¡°BASTARD!!¡± The gun fell out of his limp grasp and clattered on the pavement.

    Merlin ducked under a backward elbow sweep by crouching and kicks his opponent¡¯s right leg from under him, breaking his already disrupted balance. A crude bodyslam finished throwing him to the ground.

    They struggle on the pavement. Merlin¡¯s opponent clearly had the upper hand in brute strength, but the former demon fought viciously, poking eyes, biting and ripping hair.

    Merlin¡¯s bony hand eventually grabbed a fistful of short black hair and he violently slammed the man¡¯s back of the head into the hard ground, ignoring a punch to his own face that almost knocked the light out of him. Barely conscious, he slammed the head again, and again, and again. The sounds impact grew wetter with each blow. Blood splattered around, dappling Merlin¡¯s forearms with red.

    Dazed by the many blows he¡¯d received to the head, it took the former demon a moment to notice after the man had stopped moving, the back of his head now a gory mess of brain matter and mangled bones. Panting, Merlin released his grasp. He had some trouble prying his cramped fingers open. The sticky hair clung to his skin. Blood was pulsing in his ears and dripping from his nose, face, mouth and hands. Only half-awake, his eyes two pools of solid darkness, he reached out, covered the man¡¯s face with his bloody palms and summoned his power, his groggy mind drifting to distant memories.

    * * *

    Year 12,976 of the Imperial Calendar. Zarath. City of Nox.

    Meria was seated on a stone chair hovering a few inches from the floor, in the middle of the immense library of her castle situated in the Demon Capital Nox. Or was it more accurate to say the castle was the capital? The whole gigantic complex had been carved eons ago into a single huge volcano, which remained active up to this day.

    Around the Demon Queen floated blue orbs, diffusing a soft glow to the surroundings and revealing tall heavy bookshelves that seemed to go on forever in every direction. Far above, near the high vault shrouded in darkness, pointed windows decorated with stone traceries allowed dim moonlight in. It was all that ever passed through those windows. The three suns never shone upon Nox, located on the exact opposite side of the planet to Empyrea. But the three moons of Zarath were always visible in the eternal night sky. Most demons liked it that way, the Queen included.

    Meria¡¯s metal-gloved hands delicately closed the book she¡¯d been reading. In her large palms, the thick grimoire appeared like a small pamphlet. With a sigh, she dropped it on a pile to her left and reclined in her seat. "Put them away."

    Three servants exited the shadows¡ªliterally. They emerged from the shadows, vaguely humanoid figures looking as if made of gaseous shadows themselves. In complete silence, their black vaporous limbs coiled around the books and they faded back into the darkness. Meria had a fondness for shades as servants. Those creatures were simple, both of mind and nature, but very diligent if properly taught. They fed on fear, and Meria¡¯s surroundings were always full of it. Their relationship was very mutually beneficial.

    Sitting a few feet away from her, at a table covered in a mess of books and parchments, a young man, looking barely out of boyhood, raised his head from the cramped scribbles he¡¯d been reading. He glanced at the Demon Queen, long straight silken black hair framing his delicate features. A single braid hung across his pale face, black tribal tattoos crept up his cheek from the collar of his simple black robe, and tiny black scales encircled his eyes which were two golden orbs crossed by vertical slit pupils.

    ¡°Giving up already?¡± His tone made it sound like a disdainful taunt, but his affectionate half-smile betrayed he was only teasing.

    Solid black eyes met the golden eyes and Meria¡¯s lips twisted in a scowl, rows of black fangs peeking from inside her mouth. ¡°What¡¯s the point? There hasn¡¯t been a death mage since Ptaeesh vanished! And writing had even been invented back then! The gods were too worried about keeping the races under their heavenly boot.¡± She stood up and started pacing angrily. Her struggled to keep up with her.

    In contrast, the boy calmly set his quill down on the table and linked hands before him. ¡°In fact, precursor dwarves had already developed a form of logographic script at the time.¡±

    Meria paused her steps, clicked her tongue, and rolled her eyes before sending a glare his way. ¡°Big deal. When has there ever been a dwarven mage? Those rune fanatics wouldn¡¯t know how to cast a fireball if their life depended on it. This is pointless. I¡¯m going to the dungeons.¡± She needed to work off some frustration. She abruptly pivoted and walked away. The enchanted seat began to follow, but she dismissed it with an impatient wave.

    ¡°Mother.¡± Shadow¡¯s voice stopped the Queen in her tracks as she was about to disappear behind a bookshelf. She slowly turned back towards the young dragon. He only ever called her mother when he thought the matter important, and he did it scarcely enough that she was willing to listen when he did.

    Arms crossed, she stared him down in silence, something that would render anyone else to groveling in a puddle of tears, but the dragon boy only interpreted it as having his adoptive mother¡¯s attention.

    ¡°What do you believe death magic is?¡±

    She raised an eyebrow but answered without even the need to think. ¡°It is an indiscriminate power that brings destruction to anything that lives or ever lived.¡± There was neither pride nor scorn in her voice, only prosaic flatness.

    Shadow nodded wordlessly, though more in acknowledgment of her reply than in agreement. He calmly stood up and walked to a shelf, where he pensively stroked the backs of old tomes, his own back to Meria. His every movement were slow, deliberate and regal, belying his youthful appearance and hinting at the true age and wisdom behind those golden eyes.

    ¡°I think that you underestimate yourself.¡± he eventually said, his voice merely a whisper that she had no trouble hearing. He turned around to face her. ¡°In my understanding, your magic does not destroy life, it feeds off it.¡±

    ¡°What difference does it make? Destroy. Feed. In the end, there¡¯s still nothing left.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps...¡± He returned to stroking the books, from left to right, until his hand stopped on one particularly thin volume. He pulled it out and skimmed through the pages. To many, this conversation might feel frustratingly slow and interspersed. But to them who¡¯d lived for centuries, time flowed at a different pace.

    ¡°Did you know,¡± he once again broke the silence, sounding keener, ¡°there was a tribe, in the elven lands, who believed life itself was an energy that could be harnessed, shaped and used? Like an alternative to magical power. ¡®Lifeforce¡¯ they called it. There isn''t much know about them sadly. This is about all I''ve found on the subject.¡± He raised the pamphlet to her attention, then continued skimming through it. ¡°They were exterminated in a raid of the Empire, about a millennium and a half ago. The paladins were rather thorough in getting rid of their legacy. A shame. I think they were on the right track.¡±

    Meria scoffed. ¡°I bet that shiny harlot didn¡¯t take it too kindly to people infringing upon ¡®her¡¯ domain.¡±

    Shadow remained wisely silent. His mother¡¯s hatred of gods, and especially the Goddess of Life, wasn¡¯t anything new. Although he felt the need to point out the followers¡¯ actions weren¡¯t always a reflection of the divinity¡¯s will, he preferred to stay on track.

    He suddenly slapped the book shut. ¡°My point is: If life can be manipulated to such ends and extent, then what about death? Life mages in the empire are taught to heal through magic, but I think they¡¯re limiting their potential!¡±

    His voice rose a pitch and enthusiasm sparkled in his golden eyes. The faintest wry smile lifted a corner of Meria¡¯s mouth.

    Shadow always got livelier when he talked about his theories on magic.In fact, dragons as a species were infamous for their greed, but most failed to realize this greed wasn¡¯t always focused on wealth, jewels, and coins. Some dragons were hoarders of plants, other of shiny pebbles. Meria even once met a small dragon who collected farming tools with single-minded passion. Shadow, on the other hand, was obsessed with the inner workings of magic. An obsession that made him every bit as fearsome as his adoptive mother.

    ¡°You are alive. That should be proof enough your power isn¡¯t as indiscriminate as you think it is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m abnormal,¡± Meria retorted.

    If the dragon caught the bitter note in her tone, he didn¡¯t show it. Lost in his own explanation, he only took her comment in stride. ¡°I think what¡¯s abnormal is that you have a ludicrous amount of that ¡®life force¡¯!¡± He tapped the booklet to make sure she knew what he was talking about. ¡°That¡¯s what offset your death power. That¡¯s what keeps you alive! But it¡¯s still not enough to compete with your magical power, which is why you instinctively reject the surplus outwards. That¡¯s your so-called curse!¡±

    ¡°Shadow...¡±

    ¡°It makes sense!¡± He took a step in her direction, a feverish smile on his face. Meria, on the other hand, remained impassible. ¡°There¡¯s no demon with stronger regeneration than you. You can regrow half your body in mere seconds. Seconds! How is that an ability linked to death?!¡±

    ¡°Shadow.¡±

    ¡°If we could someone find a way to increase that pool of life force. With your magic, you should be able to interact with that energy. Maybe siphon it from an elder being. I know there¡¯s an ancient dragon in the Kashar desert. We could capture her and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shadow!¡± Meria hadn¡¯t raised her voice but the exuberant boy reacted as if he¡¯d just been whipped. He stopped talking and gesticulating and raised an uncertain gaze towards the towering figure of his parent. His previous air of wisdom had all but vanished. He might be a tri-centenarian dragon, but before her, he still was and always would be a little kid. ¡°I appreciate the intention. Maybe you¡¯re in the right. But it wouldn¡¯t work. I don¡¯t have enough control to pull off something like this.¡± Her tone dropped slightly when she added. ¡°All I can do is kill.¡±

    At her words, Shadow almost looked like he physically deflated. He sighed and looked away. ¡°Right. I¡­forgot. Sorry. I thought I was onto something this time.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize. It¡¯s a good theory.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not good enough if it can¡¯t work!¡± He made a gesture to throw the booklet on the ground, but stopped mid-swing and instead dropped both his arms and his head. ¡°I just wanted to help you...¡±

    A rare soft smile graced the most feared visage on Zarath, though no one was there to witness it. Without thinking, Meria raised a hand, as if to pat her son¡¯s silken black hair, which she¡¯d always imagined so soft.

    However, when she caught her gesture, her smile abruptly vanished and she froze. Concerned by her silence, Shadow raised his gaze and, seeing Meria¡¯s deadly claw inches away from his face, he gasped and took an instinctive step backward before he could stop himself. Immediately his eyes widened in horror at what he¡¯d just done. He looked up to his mother, opening his mouth to say something, but the words died on his lips as soon as he met her gaze.

    Several emotions twisted Meria¡¯s features¡ªnone positive¡ªuntil they settled into a cold emotionless mask. She retracted her hand and whirled around, walking away and disappearing into the darkness of the silent library.

    Left alone amongst the books, the young dragon could only stare at the lonely departing back of the strongest being on Zarath, with sadness filling his magnificent golden eyes.

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Eastern Side.

    In a dark alley, a not fully conscious former demon was straddling the cadaver of his victim.

    With both hands on the dead man¡¯s face, for the first time since coming to this world, Merlin wilfully summoned his death magic. His dazed mind ignored the agony that instantaneously tore through his entire body. Functioning on instinct with only a vague subconscious intent as direction, he sent his power inside the human body below him.

    The scraps of soul still clinging to the cooling corpse tried to oppose a resistance to the invasive force, but they were pushed aside like blades of grass in a flood. Merlin¡¯s power remained feeble, but this was less a contest of strength than the failure of a dwindling will at blocking a single-minded assault.

    Tendrils of power coursed through dying flesh, leaving trails of shriveled blackened cells behind. The heart had stopped pumping and the blood had stopped flowing,but a fading life still lingered, which the power eagerly consumed.

    Abruptly, the tendrils paused in their mindless destruction, shivering, as if looking around for something. Onesingle tentative thread reached out for a cell, which immediately blackened and dried up. The thread recoiled, then hesitantly moved to the next closest living cell. It approached gradually, carefully, but the result was the same. Death. A third time, it tried, slower, lighter. And failed. A fourth. Then a fifth. Slower. Lighter.

    Then, it felt it. A power, faint, foreign yet familiar¡ªlike something that always was there, but just beyond notice. It shrunk away from the tendril, concentrating in the farthest point inside the cell, pressing against its wall. Seeing its prey fleeing, the tendril lunged and wrapped around the power akin to a constrictor snake. But as soon as they touched, the latter collapsed out of existence and the cell shriveled.

    The tendrils paused once more, shivering again, but out of excitement this time.

    Once more that same thread slithered up to another cell. However, instead of piercing through, it spread out, flowing, coating the cell like dripping paint, obscuring the organic tissue with its sickly green pulsing shade. Inside, the foreign-yet-familiar power trembled and converged to the center of the cell, away from the dreadful predatory energy. If the death magic had possessed a mouth, it would have definitely smiled at this moment. Merlin certainly did, of that dazed, vacant, unfocused grin that showed he wasn¡¯t fully there.

    Inside the dead man¡¯s body, the thread began to slowly pull back, dragging the husk it had formed. The wall on one side of the cell and the immaterial border of the husk overlapped, then the latter passed through, unimpeded by the physical layer. The speck of life, trying to escape, pressed against the opposite wall of the cell. It pressed, and pressed, and eventually, it broke through. The particle flickered when its connexion to the organism was abruptly severed¡ªas if disoriented¡ªbut contrary to before didn¡¯t dissipate. It simply dimmed faintly then remained to hover passively inside the bubble of death.

    Like a fisherman who¡¯d just hooked a fish, the tendril of power recoiled forcefully, returning to its origin and hauling its catch along. As soon as the last of it crossed the threshold between Merlin and his victim¡¯s body, this thread of power unraveled, freeing the life force, which burst, expanding furiously, and was immediately sucked into the closest of Merlin''s cells, undoing some of the damages his own power had caused.

    The microscopic firework was followed by an instant of deadly quiet¡ªas if the magic itself was holding its breath. Then all the remaining tendrils simultaneously erupted into a flurry of activity. They roamed the fresh corpse, hunting for any lingering sliver of life force, driven by the survival instinct of their semi-conscious wielder. Cell by cell, the countless thin tentacles of power dismantled what had become to them no more than a source of nourishment.

    Seen from the outside, the man was visibly thinning and drying, mummifying at an accelerated rate, as life was literally sucked out of him. His skin turned a sickening dark gray. His hair fell. His eyes shriveled like dried plums. His lips pulled back, uncovering white teeth that soon started rotting and falling. Adding to this vision of horror were the bulging black veins pulsating along Merlin¡¯s bony arm.

    When the death magic found no more to rip from its prey, it retraced its steps and squeezed what remained till the last drop, till the desiccated cadaver crumbled into dust, leaving only its clothes lying flat in a pile of ashes.

    Panting, head thumping, blood dripping from his face, eyes, nose, mouth, ears, hands and right leg, Merlin stood up, stumbling like a drunk man. Mechanically, he picked up his knives and checked he was still carrying his backpack, then slowly resumed walking down the deserted alleyway, using the wall to keep himself upright, blind to his surroundings and only focusing on his magical senses.

    He needed more. Much more. Using his power had wrecked Merlin¡¯s body, and what little life force he¡¯d extracted from the already cooling corpse had barely compensated the damages done by drawing it. The slow degradationhe¡¯d been suffering since awakening hadn¡¯t been cured yet and instead compounded with the wounds sustained from the fight.

    He was dying¡ªhis whole being was acutely aware of this¡ªand in this dire state, his dazed mind was reverting to his younger days. Hunt. Kill. Eat. Hunt. Kill. This mantra circled in his mind again and again. Nothing else mattered beyond survival. All he needed was a prey.

    ¡°Stop right there!¡±

    And as fate would have it, a fresh batch of living bodies had willingly come to throw themselves into the grasp of the starved predator

    * * *

    Eye aligned with the front sight of his raised gun, which he kept trailed on the skinny back who had frozen at his call a dozen yards away, Jirou addressed a quick nod to three of the five men by his side. They obeyed without question, each pulling out from underneath their suit jacket a gun fitted with a silencer and moving past Jirou to capture their target.

    Each was as tall and twice as wide as Merlin, but Jirou didn¡¯t think this was overkill. He licked his dry lips, unable to shake off the indefinite feeling of dread that had grasped his guts as soon as he¡¯d stepped into the alley.

    Not that he didn¡¯t have any valid reason to feel uncomfortable. What was supposed to be a simple grab and run had already turned into an unhallowed mess¡ªwith two of his men down, including one parahuman, and another missing. Granted, Tanaka had been an overconfident prick, thinking himself immortal like so many of his superhuman peers, but the skill necessary to stab someone running faster than a racing car right into the eye, and the cold resolution to go straight for the kill, neither was something to scoff at. This man, Merlin Pendragon, was dangerous. At least far more than hinted at by the report Jirou had received.

    However, the fear he felt was different. It was basic, primal, a deeply buried animal instinct that screamed at him he should be running away, that there was something here he should strive to stay as far away from as possible. Jirou couldn¡¯t understand where this originated. He was an experienced killer, trained to take lives efficiently and with sound judgment. He lived with death and had learned not to fear it.

    Yet why did he feel like he had somehow stepped on his own grave?

    Trying to hide his nervousness from his subordinates, he cast a rapid glance at the two men remaining at his side.

    One looked like a carbon copy of the three who just left. Tall, wide, a brute with small slanted eyes and a military-styled cut of black hair. He wore a black suit identical to Jirou''s own, if of a lower quality. He was holding a large black cube the size of a microwave, and for what Jirou understood, it worked about on the same principle. They would need to activate this device next to Merlin to neutralize the anti-teleportation measure NovaTech had surgically implanted in his abdomen. Then Carrier could zap them out and back to the Black Lotus headquarters.

    The second man looked much different. He was garbed in a spiked leather jacket and his spiked hairs were bleached white. Burn marks crisscrossed over a face riddled with piercings. ¡°Satsu, be ready to act on my command,¡± Jirou shot sharply. For all response, a studded tongue poked out between Satsu¡¯s callous lips. The small metal bead shone red and a faint smell of burned flesh drifted in the air.

    Jirou looked away from the parahuman and licked his own dry lips again. He¡¯d rather not use Satsu if he could avoid it. The man was unstable, not to say insane. Sufficed to know most of his scars were self-inflicted to understand how screwed up he was in the head. Thankfully he followed orders. But, as soon as he stepped in, it would mean the mission was a failure. Like his name suggested, Satsu only intervened when someone needed to be put down, definitely.

    The three others had finally reached Merlin, who still wasn¡¯t moving. The inexplicable sentiment of dread torturing Jirou flared up again and his hand gripped his gun tighter. They were alone in this deserted backstreet, yet he had the impression some humongous predator was staring at him and breathing down his neck. He¡¯d seen a tiger once, freshly captured from the wild, and the sensation was similar. Only much, much worse. A shiver ran up his spine and cold sweat drenched his back. He started to worry he might simply be sick. Or maybe he just hoped he was.

    Everything is going to be alright. He forced himself to calm down. He was only nervous because it had been a long time since he¡¯d lost someone under his supervision, let alone two¡ªor three. Everything is going to be alright. One of the three men grabbed Merlin¡¯s shoulder and forced him to turn around. They had him. Everything is going to be alright.

    And then everything wasn¡¯t alright anymore. If it had ever been.

    Before any of them could react, a knife appeared, buried to the handle under the jaw of the man who¡¯d grabbed Merlin, piercing through his mouth and into his brain.

    Jirou blinked, uncertain of what had just happened. Those three weren¡¯t just mindless brute. They were trained henchmen of the Black Lotus and competent martial artists. Yet this man with literally only skin on his bones, who they had been certified possessed no offensive power, had disposed of one of them in an instant. Jirou¡¯s mind simply couldn¡¯t comprehend.

    The two other henchmen looked equally stunned, because they didn¡¯t react when the body of their colleague collapsed backward, nor when, ignoring them completely, their target jumped on the corpse.

    Everything had happened so fast, barely a few seconds had passed, and Jirou finally regained his wits. ¡°What are you doing?! GET HIM!!¡±

    The pair, at last, pointed their guns at the skinny man, who again ignored them and continued to¡­strangle the corpse? The alley was too dark for Jirou to see clearly. He swore silently. Everything would already be over if they could just kill the crazy gaijin. But their orders were to capture him alive.

    However, nothing said he needed to be whole. Why these two hadn¡¯t already shot him in the leg or kicked him off the dead man was beyond him. ¡°WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!¡± Jirou was beyond losing his cool. His legendary composure was already nowhere to be seen.

    One of the two henchmen looked back at him. ¡°Brother, he¡­he¡¯s¡ª¡±

    Jirou would never know what the man had been about to say, because suddenly a flash of green light filled the street, engulfing the two men and their target, and the voice was abruptly cut off. Blinded, Jirou heard the sound of two bodies falling to the ground. His breathing caught inside his throat. What¡¯s going on?!

    When his vision returned, he saw the target, standing straight up, surrounded by the bodies of the three henchmen and looking down at them.

    Unable to understand, Jirou stopped trying and decided to act. He lowered his own gun at Merlin¡¯s legs and fired¡­and missed. He blinked. Did he just miss a stationary target at barely twelve yards of distance? Impossible. He thought he saw some movement, but a normal human couldn¡¯t have just dodged a bullet, could he? Before Jirou¡¯s brain could form the thought that nothing about Merlin had been normal so far, they gaze met for the first time.

    Jirou froze. Two bottomless black orbs stared back at him, surrounded by a web of blackened veins on a face that could only belong to the Grim Reaper Itself. Unthinking, Jirou raised his weapon. He didn¡¯t care about the mission anymore. He only wanted to get rid of this monster before it killed him.

    A stab of pain in his chest halted his movement. Looking down, his eyes widened at the knife protruding from his chest. Blood poured out of the wound in thick spurts, directly out of his beating heart that now pumped the vital fluid straight out of his body. His forces were quickly leaving him. His breathing became laborious. He dropped to his knees, vaguely conscious of the noise his gun made when it fell clattering on the pavement. He vacillated and collapsed to the side, numb to the impact against the hard ground. Darkness crept in his vision, cold, final, ineluctable. He¡¯d thought himself prepared, but right now, Jirou was afraid of this darkness.

    More than anything else, at this very moment, Jirou feared death.

    Jirou blinked. Two bottomless black orbs stared back at him, surrounded by a web of blackened veins on a face that could only belong to the Grim Reaper Itself. He blinked again. One of his hand left his gun and shakily patted his chest. He blinked. No wound. His suit was intact and his body even more so. Had he hallucinated everything? No, he couldn¡¯t believe it. The pain, the feeling of life leaving him, of the freezing, eternal, unforgiving cold creeping inside him. This was death. Something visceral in him knew this was exactly what death felt like. No peace, no angels¡¯ choir, no salvation or hell. Only black, endless, all-consuming void.

    Nothingness.

    His gaze jerked back up to the black eyes still staring fixedly back at him. Then the Grim Reaper¡¯s thin lips arched in a smile and he took a step in his direction.

    Something snapped in Jirou¡¯s mind.

    Stumbling back, he tripped and fell on his back. Instead of getting up, he started crawling backward, without an ounce of care for appearances. Using his gun didn¡¯t even cross his mind. This monster couldn¡¯t be beaten. It couldn¡¯t be killed. His only hope was to get away. Flee. Escape. Mad, he pointed at the approaching figure of Death. ¡°KILL HIM!! KILL HIM!! KILL HIIIM!!¡± His subordinates wouldn¡¯t be able to. No one could. But maybe they would gain him some time, delay the monster long enough for him to flee.

    Satsu was the first to move. Like a tensed spring that had awaited to be released, he dashed at Death. He drew two cutlasses from his belt and their blades immediately turned white hot, igniting the air in their wake. Flames danced around the insane killer as all his piercings lit up and the smell of burnt flesh once more drifted to Jirou¡¯s nostrils. Fiery blades assaulted Death, leaving blinding after-images as they moved at impossible speeds, displaying the swordsmanship taught to Satsu by the Oyabun himself.

    Yet all was in vain in front of the monster in front of them. Death sidestepped each strike with almost disdainful nonchalance, like an adult dealing with a child throwing a tantrum. In his morbid fascination, Jirou even forgot to flee. Death¡¯s movements were neither complex nor elegant. Each was efficient and purposeful, with no wasted energy. Using his own knife, Death deflected all of Satsu¡¯s attacks, never directly blocking, but hitting the side of the burning blades and using the killer¡¯s own inertia to throw him off balance.

    The fight ended before the last henchman could even jump in. At one point, it seemed like Satsu would against all odds succeed. Death stumbled, like victim of a dizzy fit, and one of Satsu¡¯s cutlasses broke through Death¡¯s guard. However, the slash was avoided at the last second. The blade still seared a long gash in Death¡¯s cheek, but the attack left Satsu wide open, and Death¡¯s knife found its way between the killer¡¯s ribs.

    Just like that, one of the Black Lotus¡¯ bests was executed.

    The last henchman was dispatched so fast and easily it wasn¡¯t even worth mentioning.

    Jirou had abandoned all hopes of running away. Laying on the ground in a puddle of his own urine, he stared up in terror at the lanky figure standing in a hell of flames and dancing shadows. Even though only a single of Satsu¡¯s attacks had hit its target, all the misses had still set the surrounding ablaze.

    Death stepped through the fire, unharmed, like a demon walking out of Hell. In his hand was one of Satsu¡¯s cutlasses.

    The last thing Jirou ever saw were two orbs of pure darkness in which no flame was reflected.

    Then nothing.

    He didn¡¯t even have time to feel death.

    * * * * *

 Chapter 06 â€“ Ripples

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Eastern Side.

    The raging flames reflected off the firefighters¡¯ helmets like dozens of angry fireflies. Dancing shadows gave the area a surreal appearance. Black smoke rose towards the sky, mostly unnoticed in the darkness, and soon lost into the blanket of clouds. Panicked people were being escorted out of the burning building or rescued from the upper floors. They were then directed to overwhelmed paramedics. Gawkers had gathered, attracted by morbid fascination, and photo flashes joined the flames and car and truck headlights in brightening up the night.

    A frown on her dark face, Raff made her way through the running and shouting. Her target was a tall man visibly directing this organized mayhem.¡°Excuse me!¡± she shouted to be heard. It seemed to be the norm around here.

    ¡°What?!¡± The man barked harshly and turned around. He paused, his scowl dropping, replaced by confusion, then he looked down and finally noticed her¡ªand the badge she all but shoved into his face.

    ¡°Detective ¨ª?iguez. JCPD. I¡¯ve been dispatched from the Southern Precinct.¡±

    ¡°Well, officer¡ª¡±

    ¡°Detective,¡± Raff snapped reflexively, then cursed mentally, at herself.

    Taken aback, the firefighter raised an eyebrow beading with sweat. His expression clearly said he wanted to ask what her problem was. She got that a lot. She repressed a grimace. Stupid. Now he already thinks you¡¯re a madwoman. Thankfully the man abstained from commenting. ¡°Well, Detective Ing...Sorry. I¡¯m not sure I heard right. How do I pronounce your name?"

    Raff sighed. That too she got a lot. ¡°Ee-n-ee-g-y-eh-s.¡±

    ¡°Detective Any-guess...is that right?¡±

    ¡°Close enough.¡± She sighed again. Faced with such calm politeness¡ªso at odds with the man¡¯s heavyset features¡ªshe found it hard to hold onto her anger. Besides, he wasn¡¯t the one she was angry at in the first place. And she wanted to be angry, at least at someone. But a small treacherous inner voice was whispering this man had done nothing to deserve her cranky bulldog attitude.

    He extended a hand, which she shook, uncaring of the sweat and grime. ¡°John Taylor.¡± He introduced himself and threw a thumb over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m in charge of those guys. You¡¯re a bit early, aren¡¯t you? Normally I get Officer Marco. You detective people usually don¡¯t show up until there¡¯s something to, you know¡­detectivate.¡± He chuckled a bit at his own joke, only to stop when he noticed she wasn¡¯t sharing his amusement.

    ¡°Yeah¡­We¡¯re short on people,¡± she grumbled, unwilling to go into details. Truth was, she hadn¡¯t conducted any real detective work in months. Whether it was because she was a woman, Hispanic, and a parahuman, or all the above, she didn¡¯t know, but she strongly suspected the latter. In her opinion, her colleagues and superiors were all chauvinistic racist pigs.

    ¡°Don¡¯t we all¡­¡± John sighed sympathetically.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Short on people.¡± He gestured in direction of the ambulances, where a handful of paramedics were rushing from injured patient to the other, then towards the two firefighters trying to hold back the growing crowd of onlookers.

    ¡°Right¡­¡± She nodded with a frown. ¡°And I¡¯m here because Officer Marco is on a leave.¡± If recovering from a stab wound could be considered as such, she didn¡¯t say. Raff actually felt sorry for the man. Marco was far from the worse of the bunch.

    Eager to change the subject, she turned to the fire. ¡°Well, since I¡¯m here¡­I might as well ¡®detectivate¡¯. Anything you can tell me yet?¡± Even with the distance, she could feel the heat radiating from the burning building. Blinded, she squinted against the brightness. The flow of people being carried out of their ruined apartments had all but stopped. Now the men and women in uniform were focusing on dousing the flames.

    Quickly she looked away, her head pounding. Too many details, she inwardly swore. Sometimes her power was more of a curse. Bright colors, fast randomly moving objects, and loud noises were especially bad. So right now she felt like in her own personal corner of Hell on Earth.

    John too shot a quick glance towards the building before answering her question. ¡°Not sure. We¡¯ll need to wait for the experts and them. But from experience, I¡¯d say it was a gas leak or something.¡±

    She gestured for him to elaborate¡ªwhile also popping an aspirin as discreetly as she could. He pointed at an alleyway left of the building. Reluctantly, she looked once more in direction of the flames.

    ¡°The fire started from there, not actually inside the building,¡± John began to explain. ¡°We¡¯re still not sure why. We¡¯re waiting for the fire to die some to check out the alley. But those old places have shitty pipes and nobody cares much about upkeep. My guess? There was a small leak. Then someone lit up a cigarette and¡­boom.¡± He moved his hands apart to illustrate his onomatopoeia. ¡°We were lucky it didn¡¯t explode.¡±

    ¡°You think someone could have done it on purpose?¡±

    ¡°Dunno. You¡¯re the cop.¡± A second later, he corrected, ¡°Detective.¡±

    She had a wry smile. ¡°Point taken. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Like I said, it started there at the bottom left. Then the fire spread from the basement up.¡± His finger moved, following his explanations. Indeed, the lower left side of the building looked the worst, while the upper right seemed still almost untouched. Raff burned all the details into her memory¡ªnot that she had a choice, and no pun intended. ¡°It¡¯s only my opinion, though,¡± the fireman concluded.

    ¡°Thanks anyway. Anything can help¡­if a case actually opens up.¡±

    He threw her a side-glance. ¡°You think it was criminal?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t tell yet.¡± Arson wasn¡¯t Raff¡¯s area of expertise. Hers was more the white-collar criminals, conmen and traffickers lurking in the more upscale side of town, not people setting fire to dilapidated buildings. Or at least it had been her area. Her transfer to the Southern Precinct hadn¡¯t exactly been her choice. ¡°Were there any victims?¡±

    John shook his head. ¡°Everyone¡¯s accounted for so far. Like I said, we were lucky. It¡¯d have been worse deeper in the Old City. Squatters,¡± he clarified when she shot him a puzzled glance. ¡°Don¡¯t you need to take notes or something? Marco was always scribbling something in that notebook of his.¡± He awkwardly rubbed the back of his helmet. He wasn¡¯t used to the serious air this short woman gave off. Marco was more relaxed¡ªnot to say slack. Most cops were in these parts.

    Oblivious to his discomfort¡ªthough only because she was looking in direction of the ambulances, Raff distractedly answered. ¡°No. Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll remember.¡± She marked a pause, then added to herself in a low voice. ¡°I always remember.¡±

    * * *

    A couple streets away from the fire, atop an empty roof, a young man suddenly appeared.

    No bending light. No warping. No rip through space. One instant he wasn¡¯t there. The next, he was. However, more shocking even than his sudden appearance, was his flashy purple suit¡ªa show of dubious taste¡ªand the two limp bodies that materialized alongside him. The two men slumped down on the roof with loud thuds and stayed unmoving at his feet.

    With a tired sigh, the young man raised a hand gloved in thin brown leather, and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to fend off a headache. ¡°Stupid,¡± he muttered. He exhaled and then, without warning, abruptly kicked the head of the closest man. The head jerked sideways, but its owner showed no reaction. But dead people rarely did.

    ¡°Stupid!¡± the young man repeated, louder. ¡°Stupid, lousy, incompetent SHIT!!¡± He punctuated each insult with another kick to the corpse. His delicate features were deformed by insane anger as the kicks turned to stomping. ¡°Can¡¯t. Even. Capture. One. Piece. Of. Lowly. Human. TRASH!!!¡± Spittle flew out of his mouth.

    Only when the head was reduced to a gory pulp, did he finally seem to regain his senses. Panting, he adjusted his orange cravat and wiped his face with a silken handkerchief retrieved from his breast pocket. Slowly, his breathing went back to normal and his pale complexion returned.

    He gave one last kick to what used to look like a human head. Then his gaze fell on his bloodied Oxford shoes. In a heartbeat, his scowl transformed into a childish pout. ¡°Aw. And I just got those. Oh well...¡± He suddenly blinked out of existence and instantly reappeared two steps to the left, his footwear now sparkly clean, while a puddle of blood remained where he¡¯d stood before. He gave a satisfied nod. ¡°Better.¡±

    His eyes moved to the not-so-distant flames rising into the night. He sighed, this time derisively, and raised both palms up in a mocking helpless shrug. ¡°What would those morons do without me? Right. There¡¯s so lucky I¡¯m such a nice guy.¡± He flipped the other corpse with the tip of his shoe. ¡°Aren¡¯t you, lucky? Couldn¡¯t even grab a single healer who lost his powers, and now it¡¯s Nice Guy Mr. Carrier who has to clean up your mess.¡± He tutted sadly.

    The job had been simple. Grab Merlin. Get him in range of the device. Activate it. Then text Carrier. He couldn''t teleport anywhere near Merlin until Harris¡¯ prototype wasn¡¯t disabled. And he refused to expose himself to danger by waiting closer than strictly necessary.

    Idly, Carrier wondered whether Director Harris knew her portable space shield¡ªher very untested miniaturized space distortion device¡ªhad been stuffed into her godson¡¯s belly. He supposed not, but he could never tell what that woman was thinking. It was the case with most technopaths¡ªone of the reasons why Carrier disliked them so much.

    ¡°And, of course, Satsu had to go with a bang. Retard.¡± He sighed again. ¡°God, this is tiresome. Alright. Let¡¯s do¡ª¡± He vanished mid-sentence.

    He reappeared ten seconds later, holding a fuming black box the size of a microwave. He quickly let go of it and shook his gloved hands wildly. ¡°Hot-hot-hot-hot-hot!! Stupid fire.¡± Again, he wiped the sweat off his brows with his pricey handkerchief.

    At that moment, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Fishing it out, he glanced at the caller¡¯s ID before answering with a bright smile. ¡°Oyabun! What a coincidence. I just finished retrieving the evidence.¡± He paused, then nodded. ¡°Uh-uh. The box and two¡ªone man. The rest went up in smoke.¡± His gaze fell on the disfigured henchman. He would need to get rid of that one. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s Tanaka. Satsu got burnt. Ironic, no?¡± Another pause. ¡°Yes, I know this is serious. Yes, I¡¯m heading back now¡ªOkay, I¡¯ll drop there on the way and tell them. But the beacon got canceled, somehow, so they¡¯ll have to comb the streets the old fashion way.¡± He grimaced, looking up and pinching his nose. ¡°No, I don¡¯t know how. I apologize. I¡¯ll try to get the backup running. The old fashion way.¡± He nodded. ¡°See you in a bit, boss!¡± He ended the call.

    Putting the phone away, the young man lowered his gaze back to the mangled corpse and pursed his lips. Well, I¡¯ll just drop him at the Butchers. The thought of a few easy bucks made him feel much better. He¡¯d been a bit peeved since dropping the guard¡¯s daughter back at her grandparents. Contrary to her mom, the girl had been a beauty¡ªor at least she¡¯d grow into one once she passed puberty. She¡¯d have fetched a good price with the right people.

    But contrary to the henchman, the boss might have caught on if Carrier made the girl vanish. He wouldn¡¯t have liked that. Their gang leader was very strict on keeping promises. And the teleporter really didn¡¯t wish to anger the old yakuza.

    ¡°Well, enough wasted time. Let¡¯s get go¡ª¡±

    And he was gone again, effortlessly taking everything with him, faithful to his nickname. On the roof were left only traces of blood, which would soon be cleared away by the rain that had started falling.

    * * *

    Elsewhere, although not far, another personal drama was unfolding.

    ¡°Come on, girl! You can¡¯t do this to me! To us! Not after everything we went through together! Not now! Not here!¡±

    Horatio-Nelson, HN or Chen to his friends¡ªnever mind using a Chinese nickname for a black man¡ªCoach to his students, and Old Man to anyone wishing to lose a few teeth, was having trouble accepting that his longest lasting partner, a beauty half his seventy years of age, had finally decided she had enough. The battered pickup truck had out-of-the-blue just broken down, leaving him stranded miles from his home.

    He¡¯d been driving back from a friend¡¯s when his ride had started to show signs of slowing down. He¡¯d barely managed to pull in before everything just stopped. Now, a flashlight held haphazardly between his neck and shoulder, he stood hunched under the raised hood, his nose in the engine, trying to figure out why his faithful girl of thirty years was suddenly being difficult, and in one of the seediest parts of the city at that.

    Here, one lamppost out of three was out of commission, trash littered the sidewalk, hoodlums hung about in clusters of two or three, tripping on the latest drug in fashion, while a handful of women covered more in makeup than clothes attempted to sell them yet another type of pleasure. In the distance, the echoing sirens of firetrucks and ambulance announced that some people were having an even shittier night than he did.

    Ironically this neighborhood bordered the nicest part of the Old City¡ªnot that this title meant much. But the proximity to wealth, as little as may be, had turned the area into a dwelling of choice for the desperate, the penniless, the dealers and the prostitutes, making it very unadvisable to be caught alone at night around here¡ªor during the day to be frank. It was overall not a good place to be. Period.

    Admittedly, the neighborhood Chen lived in was only marginally better. But at least it was his seedy part of the city. Everything became less threatening with familiarity¡ªwhen you knew who was all bark and no bite, and whom not to piss off. And, over there, people usually knew not to piss off Old Chen¡ªor to call him that to his face. He might not be part of any gang himself, but he had connections. Anyone living in the Old City long enough was bound to have some. Otherwise, they¡¯d have left or died long before having lived ¡°long enough¡±.

    Well, that¡¯s how used to be, he thought with an annoyed sigh. The Surge had caused some shifting in the Old City power map, and many old alliances had broken, for various reasons. Mainly because of young parahuman upstarts, out to make a place for themselves on the ¡°supervillain¡± scene, mostly by removing older ones. It made Chen scoff. ¡°Supervillains¡­Hah! Just common thugs who think they¡¯re gods.¡±

    Lifting from the engine a gear that really should have been attached to something, Chen let out another deep sigh. Truthfully, he wasn¡¯t too worried about his immediate safety. Even at his age, he could still handle a few street thugs, powers or not. He was just tired and wanted to be back home. And it had started to rain a short while ago. ¡°Aw, darn it.¡±

    Suddenly, a pair of headlights swept over the street, preceding a black van. Chen quickly switched off his flashlight and hid into the shadow of his vehicle. Most of the prostitutes and the druggies who still had enough of a grip on reality had similarly moved out of sight. In an instant, the street became as deserted. Street wisdom dictated that black vans and SUVs equaled trouble. It might sound clich¨¦¡ªand it was¡ªbut clich¨¦s existed for a reason. No decent person in their right mind would ride in the Old City at night in a black car with tinted windows.

    The bulky vehicle slowed down and stopped a dozen meters away from Chen. He stiffened and reached out discreetly to retrieve a steel pipe from the otherwise empty bed of his truck.The sound of a car door opening broke the silence. He heard people speaking loudly in a foreign language. Japanese, he recognized. He quietly cursed his bad luck. There was really only one gang in J City whose members were in majority Japanese, and the old boxing coach had no desire to get in trouble with the Black Lotus.

    Risking a peek, he saw a large Asian man in a black suit, visibly arguing with someone still inside the van. Their voices rose higher, turning to insults, until the man outside threw his hands up in annoyance and stepped back inside the van, loudly slamming the door behind him. For a while nothing else happened, tension hanging in the air as if the night itself was holding its breath.

    Eventually, the black van simply started again and drove away. Slowly. Like a large predator prowling the streets in search of a prey.

    Chen watched until the vehicle disappeared at the next turn. Only then did finally heave a sigh of relief. ¡°God gracious.¡± He was about to return to his engine when a sudden loud thud caused him to freeze. His gaze shifted across the street. A few yards away, an alleyway went off perpendicular to the main street, almost exactly where the van had stopped just earlier. It can¡¯t be. A frown creased Chen¡¯s graying eyebrows. As he hesitated on what to do, the rain was rapidly worsening.

    Then Chen heard a noise he would swear was a groan of pain. He hesitated another couple seconds before his conscience won over his prudence. ¡°Aw. Darn it.¡± He walked away from his truck. The steel pipe was still firmly within his grasp.

    Reaching the corner of the building, he peeked into the alley and discovered...nothing. Unexpectedly the alley looked empty, except for an overflowing dumpster and a padlocked metal door. But the pile of trash blocking the latter showed it hadn¡¯t been opened in a long time. Somewhere down the narrow alley, a security light shone brightly on a lonely section of pavement. But close by, only the indirect glow from the street behind Chen brought pushed the darkness back somewhat.

    The shadows moved behind the dumpster. Chen¡¯s eyes snapped in that direction, but he couldn¡¯t make out what hid there.

    After one last look in direction of his truck to make sure none of the hoodlums had gotten too close, Chen stepped into the dark back street. Prudently, pipe raised in a batting stance, he braced himself, finally rounded the dumpster.

    He found himself staring into a pair of frightened brown eyes.

    ¡°P-P-Please do-don¡¯t hurt me! I wasn¡¯t...I wasn¡¯t going to take anything! I swear!¡± The kid couldn¡¯t be more than eighteen. His dark hair hung in greasy locks, stuck to his scalp by the rain and framing a pale and emaciated face. Rotten teeth, several missing, clattered as he tried to speak. He was wearing a tattered hoodie, torn jeans and a pair of mismatched slippers. It was obvious to anyone that the boy lived in the streets, and had been for some time.

    In his hands, he held an opened backpack. Papers had slid out of it, sporting a logo Chen thought he recognized, but he didn¡¯t pay too much attention right now. The kid was frozen in the middle of pulling out what looked like old, old books.

    The old man was already frowning deeply when his gaze landed on the body behind the homeless kid and his eyes widened. What in tarnation? First, he thought the man was dead, but apainful moan told him otherwise. Still, he could see a mean bloody gash on the man¡¯s cheek and wanted to check for other injuries. But the boy was in the way. He had now curled into a ball and was repeating ¡°Don¡¯t hurt me. Please don¡¯t hurt me. I¡¯m sorry. Don¡¯t hurt me.¡± Over and over again. Seeing the state he was in, Chen was hesitant to try and push him aside. It was hard to tell when a delirious person might turn from fear to violence.

    On the ground next to the kid, he spotted a needle, clean enough to be new. It stood out. However, now it laid in a pool of blood diluted by the rain, a detail which didn¡¯t presage anything good for the wounded guy.

    Chen lowered his improvised weapon, but not his guard, and let out an exasperated sigh. The needle, the kid¡¯s bloodshot eyes, and his behavior made a grisly kind of sense together. One Chen was all too familiar with. Crouching down, he took a business card out of his pocket. One of his acquaintances ran a homeless shelter that doubled as a rehab center. Chen always kept a few of his cards just in case. Of course, he didn¡¯t try to get the kid to take it. The poor bastard was completely lost to the world, crying, clawing at his face with his dirty, bloody chipped nails and gnawing at his fingers.

    ¡°Poor bastard.¡± Chen shoved the card into the only pocket of the boy¡¯s jeans that didn¡¯t look about to fall off. Maybe the boy would find it later, after he came down from whatever filth was now running through his veins. Likely he would just throw it away, because of denial, misplaced pride, or whatever bullshit he told himself to justify the hellhole his life had become. But maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªhe would take the opportunity and try to get back on his feet. Chen knew the chances were slim and he couldn¡¯t save everybody¡ªLord knows I get told that often enough¡ªbut he could do at least this much. Even if nobody else gave a crap about these kids, Chen always would.

    But right now, there was a man bleeding out on the pavement. Some things took precedence. And the old man didn¡¯t want an unstable junkie nearby to make things worse. Squaring his shoulder and already hating what he was about to do, Chen let his voice drop to its deepest, scariest tone. ¡°Kid, listen to me.¡±

    The boy abruptly interrupted his incoherent mumbling and turned a terrified gaze his way. Chen had to repress a grimace. God knows what that poor bastards¡¯ messed up brain is making of this. But the old coach didn¡¯t allow himself to soften. He pointed a finger towards the street he¡¯d come from. ¡°Scram.¡±

    The boy blinked in confusion. Clearly, he was having trouble understanding. Chen was forced to get rougher¡ªverbally of course. ¡°Fuck off. NOW!!¡± His echoing shout probably sounded like the Devil¡¯s roar to the tripping kid, because he scampered to his feet faster than his state should have allowed and ran away as if all the demons of Hell were chasing him.

    Like the van before, Chen¡¯s eyes followed him until he disappeared from view. Only then did he return his focus to the other man.

    He retrieved the flashlight he¡¯d shoved in his pocket earlier and switched it on. Directing the beam towards the shadow of the dumpster, he drew in a sharp breath. ¡°Dear god. What the Hell happened to you...?¡± The revealed body looked even worse than Chen had guessed it would. He¡¯d predicted to some extent the blood soaked clothes and face beaten black and blue, but this guy looked if he hadn¡¯t eaten in months. Different from the kid before who looked weary and drained, this one looked like a barely alive mummy, minus the bandages, which ironically he was in dire need of.

    Crouching by his side, the septuagenarian checked the mummy¡¯s pulse. It was weak but steady. He¡¯d live. Probably. But for that, he required medical attention. Chen didn¡¯t even think of calling an ambulance. None would come in this part of town in the middle of the night. The risk of a setup to rob them of drugs and medicine was just too high. In fact, even during the day, most hospitals wouldn¡¯t send anyone without a police escort. And judging by the huge bloody cutlass this man was clutching like his life depended on it, cops probably weren¡¯t the greatest idea right now.

    Chen sighed. ¡°Alex¡¯s gonna be pissed ¡¯bout this.¡± He was about to take out his cellphone when a sudden burning sensation seared through his fingers.

    He gasped and looked down at his right hand. His fingers were sticky from the man¡¯s blood, from when Chen had checked his pulse. Swearing up a storm, he fast wiped the red substance off, even ripping a piece of his pullover and dampening it in a puddle to use as a wet towel. He wanted to make sure he got everything off. He couldn¡¯t conjure up a logical explanation why blood would cause this sort of reaction, but in a world where fire-breathing crocodile-men robbed banks and people shoot lasers out of their nostrils, acidic blood wouldn¡¯t be even remotely far-fetched.

    And indeed, as soon as his fingers were cleaned, the worse of the pain vanished, replace by a dull throb and leaving his digits raw, ugly and blackened. ¡°Bloody heck. This can¡¯t be good,¡± he grunted the obvious. He cast a glare towards the man. ¡°You better not be some sort of infection-man. Dammit. I hope Percy can check this out too.¡± Using his left hand, he retrieved his phone¡ªa good sturdy old phone, not one of those flimsy touch-screen smartphones that broke at the slightest impact¡ªand dialed a number he knew by heart.

    After the fourth ring someone eventually picked up. A groggy but extremely pissed female voice filled his ear. ¡°Someone better be dying, or I''m gonna find you and kill you myself, whoever you are.¡± A smile lifted the corners of Chen¡¯s mouth. God, I love this woman. Although he loved her only as a surrogate granddaughter.

    ¡°Sophia, Horatio-Nelson here. Sorry to wake you up. But it¡¯s kind of an emergency.¡± He resisted the urge to add someone might actually be dying. It was a terrible joke, and it would just needlessly confuse and worry the woman.

    ¡°Chen?¡± Sophia asked for confirmation, immediately sounding more alert and less prompt to manslaughter. ¡°Is everything alright?¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes. I¡¯m perfectly fine. You won¡¯t get rid of me so easily. I still intend to be around to dote on your great-grandchildren.¡± He was happy when she chuckled at his bad joke. ¡°Now, is that sorry excuse for a husband of yours there? I need to talk to him. I¡¯m sure he will make a duty to report all the details to you later.¡±

    ¡°Sure...¡± she drawled, now sounding curious. Her voice became distant as she turned away from the phone and to the person sleeping next to her. ¡°Alex? Alex, wake up.¡±

    A muffled groan came from the line, to which Sophia answered by mentioning Chen¡¯s name. Then her voice was replaced by a much deeper and much more masculine one dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Old man? ¡®s that you? Did you suddenly reached enlightenment and decided to retire and leave me the gym?¡±

    ¡°Over my dead body, brat. And does Sophia still let you sleep in the bed, or did she finally come to her senses and downgraded you to the floor yet?"

    ¡°No way. She loves me too much.¡±

    ¡°That she does. Only God knows why. You¡¯re one lucky ass.¡±

    ¡°She loves it too,¡± came the smug reply. He could hear Sophia laugh in the background.

    Chen chuckled too. ¡°Cheeky brat. Seriously, though, I need a lift, fast.¡±

    ¡°What? Did that antiquity finally die on you?¡± Alex continued to mock him, but Chen could hear the ruffle of cloth as the young man readily left the warm comfort of his bed, before even hearing the full reason why the older man needed him out in the cold rain.

    He¡¯s a good lad, Chen thought, though he would rather cut off his own tongue than saying it out loud. ¡°Yes, but no. That¡¯s not the issue. If it was just that I wouldn¡¯t have risked bothering Sophia. I have company.¡±

    There was a slight pause. ¡°What kind of company? You¡¯re not in trouble, are you?¡± There was a dangerous note in his tone that sounded as if he¡¯d take a gun with him should Chen answer by the affirmative. The old man couldn¡¯t tell if he was proud, or if he was annoyed that a kid he practically raised still didn¡¯t trust him to take care of himself.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. And the company is the beaten, bleeding and unconscious kind.¡±

    ¡°¡­Oh.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Did you...?¡±

    ¡°No. Found him that way.¡± He thought funny that the brat could switch from worrying about him to asking if he nearly killed someone in a heartbeat. ¡°And I don¡¯t know who did it.¡± At the same time he said this, Chen¡¯s mind made a quick connection with the black van he¡¯d seen just before, and even the sirens he¡¯d heard. The man¡¯s face looked badly burnt on the side his cheek had been sliced open.Chen remained silent, though, or Alex would lecture him again about his ¡°reckless charity cases¡± and how they would get him killed one day. He¡¯s going to get pissed about the hand, the old man thought with a wince.

    ¡°Is it serious?¡± the young man asked over the phone.

    ¡°What?¡± Then he realized Alex was talking about the wounded guy. ¡°He¡¯ll live, I think, but I need to call Percy to make sure.¡±

    ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll hang up then. Where are you?¡±

    ¡°Somewhere between Redford and Tetson.¡±

    ¡°Near the old theater?¡±

    ¡°That one.¡±

    ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll be there in ten.¡±

    ¡°Yes. See you.¡± His gaze fell on the blood maculating the ground, then his hand again. ¡°Oh. And, Alex?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Bring a tarp.¡±

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. New Industrial Park. NovaTech HQ.

    The sound of the television was muted but the images on screen spoke loudly enough for themselves. An eight-floor tall building was going up in flames. Firefighters ran around it, struggling to tame the inferno despite the worsening rain. That same rain which also drummed against the window of the office.

    The firemen and women looked so tiny next to the blazing bulk, it was almost laughable. Almost. Morgan was in no mood to laugh. Like children fighting a dragon. She frowned. Where did that come from? Dragons? I¡¯m ten anymore! What next? Fairies and unicorns? The thought made her uncomfortable for some reason, but she was not in a mood to dwell on that either.

    She glared at the man before her. ¡°THIS is what you call ¡®virtually no possibility to slip away unnoticed¡¯?! Well, you were right, because it got bloody fucking NOTICED!!¡±

    ¡°Miss Pendragon, please calm down.¡±

    ¡°I AM calm!!¡± Morgan then unproved her own statement by slamming her fist onto the CEO¡¯s desk, startling even herself. Standing in a corner, the CEO¡¯s secretary jumped with a small squeal. Morgan cast an apoplectic glance at Audrey, then met the stern, disapproving gaze of Jonathan Brayers. She took a shaky breath. ¡°I apologize, sir. I was out of line.¡±

    ¡°Apology accepted.¡± The man turned away, looking at the flat screen on the wall. ¡°And we still have no proof this has any direct link to your brother¡¯s disappearance.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Morgan¡¯s scowl abruptly returned. ¡°Disappearance? That¡¯s what we¡¯re calling it? What about kidnapping?!¡±

    ¡°Miss Pendragon.¡±

    ¡°And what do you mean, ¡®no direct link¡¯?! Killian was drugged. His partner SHOT herself! All the cameras of the building dysfunctional! Somehow they even cut off Audrey¡¯s power!¡± The woman in question flinched and muttered a vague sorry that was ignored by the other two. ¡°And you are telling me a fire no two blocks away has NO connection?! Are you even listening to yourself?! This is stupi¡ª¡±

    ¡°Morgan!!¡±

    The heroine took a step back, surprised that the man had suddenly used her first name. In all her years working at NovaTech, it was only the second time he¡¯d done so. And the first had been to ask her if she preferred to be referred to by her surname. Then she noticed she¡¯d been screaming again, at her boss. Her scowl fell, replaced by consternation. She sank into her chair and dropped her face in her hands. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m truly sorry, sir. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s come over me.¡±

    Surprisingly, the CEO didn¡¯t scold her. ¡°You have all the right to be angry. I¡¯ll admit I have a responsibility in this mess. But you can¡¯t lose control like this. This isn¡¯t like you.¡± His tone wasn¡¯t exactly comforting, or concerned, or even kind, but he didn¡¯t sound too reproachful either. He was simply stating facts.

    She sighed. ¡°I know. I¡¯ve just been so...¡± So what? Angry? Out of her mind? Going crazy? She settled for: ¡°I''ve been so tired lately.¡±

    ¡°Have you tried medication?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t help. I wake up more tired than I fell asleep¡ªif that makes any sense. And I have those nightma¡ª¡± She stopped herself before she could go any further, but too late.

    ¡°Nightmares?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± She tried sounding dismissive.

    The CEO considered his star employee pensively. But eventually, he didn¡¯t pursue. He knew too well how stubborn the woman could get, so he abstained from suggesting she sought professional help. However, he would have a word with Director Harris. The aging technopath was the only one who could get through to the heroines when even direct orders didn¡¯t work.

    After a brief pause, he spoke again. ¡°Objectively speaking, I agree the chances are slim this incident is unrelated to your brother. However, we must keep our head cool, and not jump to conclusions. Have I made myself clear?¡±

    Morgan straightened in her seat. ¡°Very clear, sir.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Again, he marked a small pause. What he said next surprised Morgan. ¡°Can I ask you a personal question?¡±

    She hesitated a moment. ¡°Yes, sir?¡±

    ¡°Why do you suddenly care so much? Your relationship was never good and tried to kill you, or at least didn¡¯t care about putting you in mortal danger. And, kidnapping aside, we aren¡¯t even sure he wasn¡¯t accomplice of his own disappearance, and by extension Mrs. Dawson¡¯s death.¡±

    Again with that flat factual tone. Hearing him put things so bluntly made Morgan cringe. In fact, she herself had trouble explaining her present behavior. Yes, Merlin was her brother, but she¡¯d recently come to acknowledge that it didn¡¯t matter. Whom she truly cared about wasn¡¯t the current Merlin, but the memory of a kind big brother who¡¯d ceased to exist long ago. Only her delusional inner child still longed for that ghost. Her rational adult self, however, thoroughly despised the scum of a man he¡¯d become, wasting so much potential in drug and alcohol, and treating his own life like it didn¡¯t matter.

    Thus, she was the first shocked when the next words left her lips.

    ¡°I care because he¡¯s family.¡±Her voice was ice cold and her tone final, like she¡¯d just enunciated a profound truth that didn¡¯t need any explanation. The problem was, she had no idea where that conviction stemmed from.

    The silence stretched in the room. To the side, the forgotten television had moved on from the fire, as if sensing the awkward moment and trying to move past it.

    ¡°Ahem.¡± Eventually, the CEO cleared his throat. ¡°I apologize. It was I who was out of line here. We are all exhausted.¡± His gaze drifted off to space. ¡°This has been a really exhausting month.¡±

    Morgan agreed¡ªat least that the man looked tired. It was very unlike Jonathan Brayers to stray from the strictly professional. She could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he¡¯d even ask her how she was.

    The past month had been especially hard on the CEO. The Head of NovaTech Industries could be seen as stern and unfeeling, but he truly cared for the company. Morgan had never asked, but she suspected he didn¡¯t have much of a life outside of NovaTech. It was something they had in common. And ever since the Surge, he¡¯d been the pillar that kept the company from sinking under the hammering public opinion.

    ¡°Miss Pendragon?¡±

    Morgan suddenly realized she hadn¡¯t vocalized her agreement. She too was still a little stunned from what she¡¯d just said. Not only the content but also her tone of voice. It was eerie how similar to her mother she¡¯d sounded just then. Viviane Pendragon had a gift for delivering the most chilling lines. But at least Morgan felt more grounded now.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She stood up. ¡°Will you let me know if something comes up?¡±

    The CEO nodded. ¡°Whether Mr. Browning wakes up, or when we recover the hidden spycams to analyze their memory chip, you will be one of the first informed.¡±

    At least he didn¡¯t lie and tell her she would be the first informed. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± She walked to the door, but he stopped her as she was about to turn the knob.

    ¡°Ah. Miss Pendragon. One last thing. I know the timing is poor, but Director Harris would like to know when you are ready to resume the tests.¡±

    Morgan sighed. ¡°She wants to know that, now?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Leave it to Aunt Sonia to always choose the most inappropriate moments. Sonia Harris was far more rational than most technopaths, but she still was a bit out of sync with the rest of the world sometimes. Even without the present circumstances, it was the middle of the night! Does that woman ever sleep? Sometimes, Morgan doubted it.She didn¡¯t place it above her godmother to have somehow found a way to stay awake twenty-four seven.

    ¡°Since your headaches have subsided, it would be best if you could return work as soon as feasible.¡± He paused. ¡°For everyone.¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes, sir. I will go see her right after I call my parents.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°After seeing the director, try to get some rest. It¡¯s an order.¡± With this, he looked back down to the papers on his desks, tacitly dismissing her. It seemed that despite his order to her and own admission of tiredness, the CEO wasn¡¯t going to sleep anytime soon.

    Without a word, Morgan stepped out of the office, too distracted to spare more than a parting glance at Audrey, who was still standing frozen in the corner like a antelope trapped in a room with two irritable lions.

    Once the door was closed behind her and she found herself alone in the brightly lit hallway, Morgan sighed heavily. I need to call Mom and Dad. She fished her phone out of her pocket.

    Seeing the wallpaper, her lips pinched. For several seconds, she stared at the cartoon little girl in skimpy outfit smiling stupidly back at her. Killian had somehow tricked her into losing a bet, and as a penalty, Morgan had to keep the embarrassing picture on her phone for the rest of the month. It was from some Japanese TV show he said. Morgan didn¡¯t really care. He played it off as a joke, but she knew it was his idea of cheering her up. She could feel half of a tired wry smile tugging at her lips.

    He was insufferable, but he was a good guy. A good cousin. Her smile dropped. Why was it that only when she nearly or outright lost someone that she started to understand their worth? She shook her head and, taking a deep breath, dialed the number of her parent¡¯s home. She wasn¡¯t looking forwards to telling them what had happened. She especially feared how her father would react.

    After all, how do you announce to the strongest superhero of the past millennium that his only son has gone missing?

    * * *

    Still, inside the CEO¡¯s office, the tension had almost physically dropped after Morgan stepped out. Audrey cast a sideway glance at her boss. ¡°It wasn¡¯t very nice, sir.¡±

    Jonathan Brayers didn¡¯t look up from his documents. ¡°What wasn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Letting her believe she would be able to go after her brother once she got back on her feet.¡±

    ¡°I said nothing of the sort.¡±

    ¡°Of course not, sir.¡±

    This time, he put down his pen and directed a raised eyebrow at her. ¡°Are you being sarcastic?¡±

    ¡°Never, sir.¡± She replied with a straight face.

    He sighed and returned to his papers, but after a few seconds, his voice echoed again in the silent office. ¡°We¡¯re a hardware company, Miss Whitmore. We sell technology. No more. No less. If we sponsor heroes, it is for advertisement, not to save the world. Of course, if a few people are helped in the process, all the better for the company¡¯s image. Miss Pendragon is a smart woman, with an excellent business sense. She¡¯ll understand.

    ¡°Besides, we don¡¯t have the capability to look for someone who completely evaded all our surveillance. Our heroes are geared towards fighting, not to act as detectives. Your power failed, and even the tracking device inside the portable special shield has stopped functioning. We¡¯re out of options.

    ¡°And since he couldn¡¯t have managed this on his own. Who knows how long this has been going on? Or what secrets he¡¯d spilled to his accomplices? I don¡¯t deny his intelligence, but he¡¯s too uncontrolled and impulsive to plan something so intricate. He¡¯s only a pawn in someone else¡¯s game. Now we can only prepare ourselves in case someone tries to attack the company.¡±

    She looked at him with an unreadable face. ¡°So we¡¯re just giving up on Merlin?¡±

    His gripped around his pen tightened for an instant before he relaxed. Once more, he set down his pen. ¡°Yes. We are.¡± He reclined in his chair and massaged his forehead. ¡°Now fetch me some coffee, will you? Those documents need to be completed tonight.¡±

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Near the abandoned Satello theater.

    Fourteen minutes after Chen talked with Alex, a gray Ford Fiesta turned into the street. Stepping away from the wall he used as a cover from the rain, Chen hailed the car and it pulled in inside the alley.

    As soon as the engine stopped, a young, athletic black-skinned man stepped out, wearing a white tee-shirt and black leather jacket, which he immediately pulled over his head to protect himself from the pounding rain. ¡°Hi!¡±

    ¡°Hi yourself,¡± replied the old man. ¡°You got the tarp?¡± he added, cutting the greetings short.

    Alex nodded. Neither of them wanted to stay out in this weather any longer than necessary. ¡°It¡¯s in the trunk.¡± He quickly went to retrieve the waterproof canvas then followed Chen to the dumpster. When his gaze fell on the man lying under a cardboard roof Chen had haphazardly assembled, his eyes widened. ¡°Holly shit.¡±

    ¡°Precisely. Now help me put him on that. Careful, don¡¯t get his blood get on you.¡±

    ¡°Blood?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what the tarp is for.¡± Chen showed him his hand and gave a quick explanation. Alex scowled, unhappy as expected, but thankfully he abstained from commenting. Still, after they¡¯d wrap the unconscious man in the tarp, Alex refused to let the old man help him carry the gory human tortillas into the car. Chen didn¡¯t try to protest, knowing Alex was plenty strong enough to carry one mummy lookalike. In fact, Alex could probably lift the car with one hand, though only for a couple seconds.

    The young man had lowered the back seats of the Ford to create more space. Once their passenger was secured, he got behind the wheels while Chen rode shotgun.

    ¡°To Percy''s?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± confirmed Chen.

    They backed out of the alley and drove off into the dark streets of the old city. After a moment of silence, Alex asked: ¡°Will he be up at this hour?¡±

    Chen shot him a glance that clearly meant ¡°are you serious?¡±

    Alex grimaced. ¡°Fair enough.¡± Then he added, ¡°Does he ever sleep?¡±

    ¡°I hope he does. But you know technopaths.¡±

    ¡°Not really. I only ever met him.¡±

    ¡°Ah, right¡­¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s true the guy can¡¯t take care of himself,¡± Alex commented.

    The old man scoffed. ¡°As if you would if Sophia wasn¡¯t there to keep your sorry ass in check.¡±

    Alex nodded with a whistle. ¡°She does love my ass.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been twice tonight you told me that. Carful, brat. You¡¯re not too old that I can¡¯t put you over my knee. We¡¯ll see if your wonderful wife still likes your sorry ass once its beat red.¡±

    It was Alex¡¯s turn to snort. ¡°Bah. You¡¯re just jealous.¡±

    Chen mumbled an annoyed retort and that was the end of their attempt at lightening the mood.The rest of the drive went on silently.

    Outside, the city landscape was changing. The lamp posts grew taller and fewer. The quantity of trash lying around decreased, but that didn¡¯t make the area any cleaner. Cans, bottles, wrappers, cardboard and newspapers were simply replaced by discarded construction materials and crumbling crates. What little appeal the buildings of the Old City had, it disappeared completely as the low apartment blocks and individual houses gave way to massive warehouses and abandoned factories surrounded by tall metal fences with barbed tops.

    This industrial park had once been the thriving, beating heart of the city. However, about thirty years ago had occurred an event many called the Second Great Depression, an economic disaster mostly attributed to the emergence of parahumans, though without conclusive evidence. Factories had quickly begun closing one after another, leaving behind deserted husks.

    Nowadays the markets had more or less recovered, but the industries had moved to the new industrial park, built around the NovaTech Center. As for the old estate, it had been abandoned to decay, mainly because the latest environmental regulations required the place to be decontaminated from the downfall of years of heavy industrial pollution, and nobody was willing to foot the bill.

    Alex eventually steered the car into what appeared to be a dead end surrounded by windowless warehouses. He parked in front of a nondescript metal door and both men got out of the car. After Alex pulled their tarp-wrapped package out of the trunk, they walked to the door. After a short few seconds, they heard a muffled clank. The metal panel swung open soundlessly. It was dark inside, but they stepped in without hesitation. The door automatically closed behind them, the same noise echoing again when the heavy lock fell into place.

    ¡°This place always gives me the creeps,¡± muttered Alex.

    LED lights flickered on above their heads, illuminating a drab but clean hallway with several metal doors on both sides. The last door to the left opened and a tall, lanky silhouette appeared, waving them closer. The pair started moving again and the silhouette vanished back beyond the door.

    Soon Chen, Alex, and a still unconscious Merlin followed into a room that looked like what you¡¯d expect to see in Frankenstein¡¯s laboratory¡ªif the events of Mary Shelley¡¯s book took place in the twenty-first century.

    At its center stood an operating table completed with restraints. From the ceiling hung three operating lights. They surrounded a humongous contraption made of ten mechanical limbs, each fitted with various surgical tools, as well as others less conventional, such as screwdrivers, a welding laser, or even a circular saw. At one point in the past, the device had been a conventional da Vinci Surgical System, but months of tinkering had turned it into something straight out of a horror sci-fi flick. Many tubes ran along the walls and ceiling, liking the machine to various tanks and gas bottles. Three tables and several closets were tucked in a corner, all filled with even more tools, with all sorts of purposes¡ªmost debatably surgical. And right next to the operating table was a large workstation, with four monitors, one large keypad, and two complex joysticks covered in buttons.

    Standing by the door, was a young man that didn¡¯t look in the slightest out of place in this extravagant decor. The most unremarkable thing about him was his clothes. Black jeans and a Black Sabbath tee-shirt two sizes too large for him. The rest of him strayed further away from the ordinary.

    He was sickly thin¡ªalthough not as secularly as Merlin¡ªand so pale the former demon would have wondered about a vampire in his ancestry. At nineteen years old, Percy was also extremely...long. The very definition of a twig.

    Shaggy black hair fell below his shoulders and over his face, covering the left side of it and partially hiding a mess of burn scars. His right eye sat atop a pile of dark purple-blue rings of exhaustion. The pale gray color of his iris reinforced even further the ghoulish atmosphere he gave out. That eye moved constantly, never stopping on anything more than a couple seconds. And where his left eye should have been, a red light shone through the curtain of hair, twitching and shifting in intensity every time the mechanical replacement for his missing organ changed focus.

    His hands too were constantly in movement, tugging at the hem of his shirt, at his sleeves, scratching his head or his neck, rubbing his arms, pulling his hair, clenching and unclenching nervously. His legs finally, were encased in a metal exoskeleton that disappeared under his tee-shirt.

    In many aspects, Percy could be called an awkward teen, but further than that, he went beyond the territory of awkwardness and wandered into the realm of creepy.

    ¡°Put him there.¡± His voice came out barely a whisper and he pointed at the operating table. Alex obeyed without a word, lying his unconscious burden on the flat metal bed and unfolding the tarp, which freed a small stream of blood.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Chen apologized for the mess.

    ¡°It¡¯s no problem.¡± Percy nodded in direction of underneath the table. The floor was slightly sloped towards the center of the room, where the blood disappeared inside a drain. He turned back to Chen and waved him over. ¡°Come here.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Your hand.¡± Chen had informed him of the situation in details over the phone while waiting for Alex.

    Chen tried to refuse. ¡°No, no, no. He¡¯s in a more critical state,¡± he said, pointing at Merlin. ¡°Take care of him first.¡±

    ¡°No. It¡¯s not¡ª¡±

    ¡°Percy¡ª¡±

    ¡°Old man,¡± interrupted Alex. Usually he was a little put off by the creepy teen, but right now he couldn''t agree more. ¡°Just do what he asks. The more you protest, the more time we waste. You know him, he won¡¯t budge.¡±

    Looking alternatively at the two Afro-American, Percy sighed and shot a glance towards the machine above the operating table. Suddenly, its limbs gained life and started to prod, scan, and clean Merlin, moving like a mad mechanical octopus, only with ten arms. Percy looked back at the two men, who were now staring at him speechless. He scratched his head awkwardly and pulled off a hair, sucking on it. ¡°It¡¯s an automated program. For the preliminary tests. It doesn¡¯t need me. But it needed a little time to start.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say so?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t let me,¡± he murmured.

    Chen¡¯s expression turned contrite. Finally, he held his hand out. The teen grabbed it and brought it before his left mechanical eye, tilting his head to move his long hair to the side. He dropped Chen¡¯s hand two seconds later and moved to the row of closets. Because of the exoskeleton that permitted him to walk, his steps were strangely even.

    Opening the closet, he paused and considered the content for a long while, scratching his jaw ponderously, then his arm. ¡°Clepia...where did I put the PXT-67?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s on the bottom shelf to the right, Master.¡± A disembodied, digitalized but clearly female voice came out of unseen speakers.

    ¡°Right...thanks.¡± He started to bend down, but the same voice stopped him.

    ¡°It¡¯s in the other closet, Master. To the left.¡±

    ¡°...right.¡±

    The two other men exchanged uncomfortable glances. They both knew how competent Percy was, but because of how he acted, it was often hard to keep in mind.

    A minute later, the youth trekked back to Chen with a small container in hand. He put the container down on the table and picked up a scalpel, then held his hand for the hold man to give him his. His head swiveled to Alex, who was leaning patiently against a wall. ¡°Go fetch hot water?¡±

    The young man nodded and stepped out of the room. Ordinarily, Percy didn¡¯t allow people to wander around his home unsupervised. However, Chen, Alex, and Alex¡¯s wife Sophia were exceptions to that otherwise absolute rule. They were family. Especially Chen and Sophia. Alex was mostly just tolerated as an extension.

    ¡°Are you going to explain before or after you cut my hand open?¡± Chen asked, only half-joking, but still trustingly putting his damaged hand on Percy¡¯s outstretched palm.

    Percy¡¯s human eye human eye focused on Chen¡¯s face for a moment, before looking down and raising his scalpel. His previously scattered attention suddenly seemed to gather. ¡°There is necrosis. It¡¯s only superficial, but it needs to be removed. The PXT-67 will accelerate the healing. Also serves as antiseptic. It shouldn¡¯t even leave a scar. Ah. But it¡¯ll be a bit sensitive for a few days, though.¡± Without bothering with anesthesia, or a warning, he started cutting into Chen¡¯s flesh.

    ¡°Oh! God dam¡ª!!¡± The old man gritted his teeth and tried not to look at his own hand being sliced. He wasn¡¯t ordinarily skittish around blood or injuries. But while it was one thing to see a horrible wound, it was another entirely to watch your own skin being slowly, deliberately removed. To occupy his mind, he tried talking to Percy. He knew this much wouldn''t distract the teen when he worked. ¡°I thought you said you didn¡¯t do chemicals.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Then this PXT...65?¡±

    One last scalpel stroke, and a piece of bloodied blackened flesh fell off into a meal plate Percy had prepared beforehand. Then he moved to the next finger. ¡°PXT-67. I received it as payment. From a parahuman.¡±

    Another few precise stroke, and the second finger was dealt with. Chen was in agony, but his pride forbade him to admit it out loud. ¡°Is this safe?¡±

    ¡°Of course. I tested it. On another patient. He didn¡¯t mind. Would have died otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Eh¡­¡±

    Alex came back just when the last piece of necrotized flesh fell onto the metal plate. He set the basin of fuming water on the table next to Chen and Percy, along with a clean towel. His gaze drifted to the old man¡¯s hand and he winced. Then he looked at his face. His expression turned surprised and he did a double take. ¡°Percy, you madman! Why didn¡¯t you use any anesthetics?!"¡±

    Percy¡¯s hand froze as he was setting his scalpel down. He cast a blank look at a fuming Alex. ¡°I forgot.¡±

    ¡°YOU¡ª¡±

    ¡°Now, now, Alex. I¡¯m fine. And it¡¯s my hand.¡±

    The young man glared at Chen, then ran a hand over his face and sighed. ¡°You are going to be the death of me. Both of you.¡±

    Chen smirked, while Percy just shrugged, looking uninterested. ¡°Clepia, why didn''t you remind me?¡± he still asked, seemingly to no one.

    ¡°Your actions were too fast, Master.¡± The same disembodied voice once again answered his question.

    ¡°Too fast...for a computer?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to interrupt and prolong Mr. Jackson torment while you searched for analgesics. Moreover, Master, your forgetfulness doesn¡¯t follow a set pattern. Or would you prefer I remind you of any action you have to undertake before you do so?¡±

    Percy seemed to think for a short while. ¡°...please don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± The voice acknowledged in monotone.

    While talking, Percy hadn¡¯t stopped working. He had already washed Chen¡¯s hands and was now applying the PXT-67. The regenerative substance looked like some kind of slimy green goo. Despite its suspicious appearance, the old man immediately felt its effectiveness, as an intense relief coursed from his digits up his arm.

    ¡°Might itch later,¡± Percy warned, mumbling. ¡°A lot. Fast healing does that.¡±

    Chen¡¯s smile dropped a little. However, compared to necrosis, itchy fingers were something he could easily tolerate.

    Once the old man¡¯s hand was bandaged, Percy finally turned back to the operating table, where the spooky contraption was gradually slowing down. Several electrodes were now stuck to the skeletal man lying unconscious on the table, and a high pitched rhythmical beep was filling the room.

    ¡°His turn now.¡±

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Indian Ocean. Off the coast of Somalia.

    Rebecca took a whiff of the wineglass in her hand and closed her eyes in contemplative pleasure, savoring the fragrance. In her other hand, she held a cigarette away from her face. Above her head, a lone seagull cried out.

    She opened her eyes again. For an instant, she lost herself in the vast blue expanses of the Indian Ocean. She imagined she could see the coast of Somalia, just at the edge of the horizon, but that was only imagination. There was nothing but salty water and fishes for miles upon miles in every direction. The closest piece of dry land was an isolated private isle five miles to the North-West, and she knew its owners were currently attending a fundraiser in Los Angeles, guaranteeing Rebecca an almost certain privacy.

    She kept the ¡°almost¡± in mind. A scar running down her right temple, dangerously close to her eye and all the way down to her jaw, reminded her of the consequences of presumptuousness every time she looked in a mirror. After waking up in the hospital that day, she¡¯d also added another tattoo to the fresco now covering her entire left arm. Two reminders were always better than one.

    It was the middle of the afternoon, yet the sun still shone brightly. Despite the rather numerous clouds, the heat was close to unbearable. Rebecca¡¯s tank top was soaked with sweat and her denim shorts weren¡¯t far behind. She had tied her reddish brown hair in a loose ponytail to keep the messy locks off her sticky forehead.

    Distractedly she fingered a drop of perspiration with her hand holding the smoke. She followed the wet trail to the thin line a knife had left in her otherwise unblemished face. She frowned when she felt the faintest beginning of crow feet under her touch, at the corner of her eye. Age, sadly, was an opponent no amount of alertness could help against. Although, she really shouldn¡¯t complain. At the dawn of her fifties, she looked more than a decade younger and still felt like she was in her twenties. Her toned body also still caused heads to turn whenever she chose to display it.

    It was less the aesthetics of her slowly deepening wrinkles that bothered her, rather than the constant reminder of her own mortality. Nobody escaped death. At most, people ran away for as long as they could, until the Grimm Reaper inexorably caught up to them. Some got caught sooner than others. ¡°And some are damn good runners.¡±

    Shaking off those morbid thoughts, Rebecca downed the wine in one swing but still took the time to enjoy its earthy tang. In the sky, the lone seagull seemed to freeze mid-flap. A satisfied moan escaped her as she moved the glass away from her lips, licking them for any traces of alcohol. The seagull echoed her moan with another cry before vanishing into the distance.

    ¡°Fuck. That¡¯s the stuff.¡±

    Nonchalantly, she took a drag on her smoke and threw the empty glass into the ocean. She grabbed the bottle out of a bucket of ice, swallowed a couple mouthfuls directly from it, and started pacing calmly down the deck of the luxurious yacht, effortlessly keeping her balance despite the worsening swell.

    The soft thumping of waves against the hull, the occasional seagull, and the sound of her boots on the floorboard¡­except those, only silence reigned on the immense yacht. Walking by the pool, she didn¡¯t spare even a glance at the two dark-skinned men floating face down. Around them, the water had taken a telltale reddish tint. Cigarette hanging from her lips, Rebecca eyed the horizon. Dark clouds were slowly gathering. ¡°Right on time.¡±

    On her way to the helm, she sidestepped three topless girls lying unmoving on the deck. Their vacant eyes stared fixedly at the sky. Their impressive bare¡ªand fake¡ªchests showed no sign of breathing, likely because of the hole each girl sported in her left boob. This caused Rebecca to sigh. ¡°What a waste.¡± She never felt good about taking out the eye-candy. What could she say? She was a softy.

    However, her client had demanded the ¡°no witness¡± package. So Rebecca had delivered. As a self-employed woman, she needed to show professionalism to keep getting work. Those girls had simply succumbed to the ¡°wrong place, wrong time¡± syndrome, a tragic illness that each year killed thousands of collateral damages. She didn¡¯t feel exactly bad about it either. Just, she could think of countless better ways to interact with those inflated tits rather than shooting bullets through the silicone.

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll take a job bodyguarding some rich brat for a couple months. Babysitting is a pain, but those high tension hitman gigs get stressful after a while. A girl needs variety in her life.¡± She took one last swig of wine, then flung the bottle at the wall of the cabin. The half-filled container shattered, spraying the white exterior with purple, for an amount of several thousand USD. Truly a form of liquidity. Chuckling, Rebecca stepped inside the stained cabin and walked to the dashboard. Fiddling with the commands, she started whistling Once Upon A Dream from Disney¡¯s Sleeping Beauty. She chuckled again. Perhaps she was a bit tipsy.

    She redirected the yacht towards the budding storm, locked the direction, and powered the engine, propelling the boat into a lazy glide over the blue waters. She exited the cabin and walked to the back of the yacht, where another much smaller powerboat was attached.

    The waterline of the powerboat looked a bit low. Although, the numerous boxes of red wine piled up on board easily explained the overload. Rebecca simply couldn¡¯t let those treasures be lost at the bottom of the ocean. She didn¡¯t intend to drink all of it, of course. She would hand-pick a few bottles for personal consumption, then she¡¯d sell the rest to further fatten her already fat paycheck.

    Rebecca glanced again towards the front. The dark clouds were now approaching fast. ¡°Better get moving.¡± She was about to hop over the railing when all her muscles suddenly tensed. Instantly sobered, she was moving before her brain even consciously registered the gunshot.

    As she spun, she drew her own weapon from her shoulder holster. When she had completed her turn, she discovered, inches from her face, a nine-millimeter round that was moving at a snail¡¯s pace. It was already slightly off-course now that she had begun to dodge, but a second later and her brain matter would have redecorated her motorboat. She quickly spotted the shooter.

    On the doorstep of the stairs leading down to the crew¡¯s living quarters, a scowling black man laid prone on the floor. He had a gun raised in her direction and was frozen in the middle of screaming something. Without even a shred of hesitation, Rebecca aimed and pressed the trigger.

    The instant the bullet left the muzzle of her gun, time returned to normal. Another bullet whizzed harmless past her ear¡ªwhere her head had been half a second before¡ªand disappeared into the ocean. Hers found its way right between the man¡¯s two eyes and out back, creating a new tunnel through his skull. His scream, which sounded approximately like ¡°DIE BIT¡ª¡±, was cut short and he fell limp.

    Rebecca kept her fighting posture, all senses in alert. After a few seconds, she straightened and walked to the corpse, cursing through gritted teeth. ¡°Shit. Why the fuck was this bastard still alive.¡± She used her foot to flip the body on its back. Her gun stayed trailed on his face, just in case. ¡°The fuck...¡± She couldn¡¯t contain her surprise. Like she remembered, two bloody holes pierced the front of his shirt at chest level. She also recalled checking his pulse and finding none. So, either she was growing prematurely senile¡ªand should then seriously start considering retirement¡ªor that bastard had been dead last time she¡¯d seen him.

    She shivered, uncomfortable. She¡¯d never been a fan of Z-movies. Understandably so. When you made a living of putting people down, you liked them to stay that way. This guy, however, was likely not the precursor of a zombie apocalypse¡ªunless real undead were much more vocal about their derogatory opinions of women than movies would have you believe¡­and knew how to use guns. That last point especially would be pretty troublesome. But no. This had to be some freakish parahuman power.

    ¡°Never let your guard down, kid. That¡¯s the only way you can be ready for anything.¡± She could almost hear the voice of her old mentor chiding her.

    ¡°I¡¯m a grown girl, fuck!¡± She unloaded two more rounds in the corpse head, for both good measure and stress relief. Even with all the creepy powers around, this was only the second time someone she¡¯d shot in the chest¡ªand lethally wounded¡ªcame back to attack her. And a least the first one hadn¡¯t played dead for two hours just to scare the shit out of her. Seeing someone regrow a heart right before you was far less unnerving than knowing someone you thought dead could stand back up at any moment.

    Taking a deep, calming breath, she shot a glance at the approaching storm. It had now gotten a little too close for comfort. The winds had picked up, tugging strands of hair out of her ponytail and whipping them at her face. And she¡¯d dropped her smoke. ¡°Fuck.¡±

    She holstered her gun and quickly leaped back to the railing and over it. Landing on her boat, she drew a blade from a leg sheath and cut off the rope tying it to the yacht. She stepped up to the central console, fishing a key from her pocket. Soon the small motorboat was moving away from the much larger cruiser. Its engine, technopath designed, made no sound as it propelled the small hull and its load across the waves.

    Once she reached a sufficient distance, she killed the engine and dived under the console to retrieve a large satellite phone. Whistling again, she began to type a special number. But the device startled her by suddenly vibrating in her hand. ¡°Who the fuck¡­¡± Few knew her number, and even fewer would call without warning. Only one, in fact, she finally recalled.

    She gulped, mixed emotions warring inside her, but excitement predominating. Her current mission had long been relegated to a very backseat second place in her mind. Still, out of habit she kept an eye on the moving yacht as she answered the call.

    ¡°B.T. Is that you?¡± The voice, cold yet oddly soothing, poured out of the speaker, causing Rebecca¡¯s heart to leap into her throat. It was annoying how, even after all these years, that voice still caused her to revert to that angry teen secretly so eager to be praised. That little idiot whose heart got trampled in the end.

    Although, even without the voice, she¡¯d still have recognized the caller. Not many still called her by her old vigilante nickname, and none shorted it that way. She cringed a little hearing it again. Rebecca had come up with the nickname Bullet Time back when she¡¯d been sixteen and convinced of her own ¡°coolness¡±. Nowadays, she mostly used whatever name was on the fake passport she used at the time. Mercenaries didn¡¯t need more in the way of secret identity.

    Rebecca made sure she had her own voice under control before replying. ¡°Hey, Boss! How¡¯s retirement treating you? Still alive?¡± She chuckled at her own terrible inside joke. But when not even a pity laugh came from the other side, a frown replaced her smile. ¡°What is it, Boss?¡±

    On hindsight, she should have expected this. Her old mentor never called just to say ¡°Hi.¡± Rebecca tried to squash the jab of disappointment she felt at that.

    In truth, they hadn¡¯t spoken to each other in two years. Not because they had a bad relationship¡ªnot anymore. But because they hadn¡¯t much to talk about. A conversation could run only so long on past memories, especially ones as dark and painful as theirs, with Rebecca in the role of a young teen with newly awoken parahuman powers, a bad attitude, and a one-track mind focused on getting revenge for her family. It didn¡¯t make for a very pleasant discussion over the phone.

    It hadn¡¯t been all bad stuff, but the good was tainted by a bitter separation¡ªin more meaning than one, at least for Rebecca. After her boss had retired, they¡¯d both gone their separate ways. They¡¯d try to stay in touch, but it simply wasn¡¯t working. The Boss had a whole new life, and Rebecca had no part in it. Simple as that.

    It had taken a few years, but their relationship had finally found a new status quo, friendly, but strictly professional. Even in retirement, her boss sometimes required a certain individual ¡°removed¡±, or a piece of information that wasn¡¯t exactly legal to obtain. Little things better entrusted to someone trustworthy. And both knew that despite their past¡ªor maybe because of it¡ªRebecca would never betray that person.

    Though she would still send a bill, with a friendly discount of course.

    ¡°I need your help back here.¡±

    Despite herself, at those words, Rebecca¡¯s heart fluttered. Though it might have been just in anticipation of the job. Boss¡¯ requests are never dull.

    ¡°Here, as in the US?¡±

    ¡°Here, as in Justice City.¡±

    Rebecca froze. Ever since their separation, she¡¯d never gone back to that city. In fact, whenever she had to go to the US, Rebecca had always avoided even stepping into the state where her mentor lived. To give herself time to think, she cast a glance at the yacht and the storm, then swore silently.

    ¡°One second, Boss. I need to do something.¡±

    She put the call on hold, hoping the other wouldn¡¯t mind too much, but this really couldn¡¯t wait. As fast as she could, she dialed the number she¡¯d begun to type earlier. A second later, she was rewarded by a distant explosion and a bright flash of reddish light. Nodding to herself, she set her boat into motion again, steering it away from the storm and towards the distant shores of Africa.

    She clipped her phone to a strap of her holster and put on an earpiece and a small microphone. ¡°Sorry Boss. Disposing of some evidence.¡±

    ¡°Are you on a job? Is everything okay?¡±

    Rebecca raised an eyebrow. It was unlike her mentor to stray from the conversation. She answered nevertheless, happy to talk and aware of the long and boring trip she would have to endure to get back to land. ¡°Yes. Easy peasy~. Usual shtick. Someone got a little too squeezy with someone¡¯s daughter, so I got asked to deliver lemons because Life was too busy. Though honestly, I think the daughter thing is just an excuse to take down a rival. Must be hard to be a crime boss. Not only worrying about the law, but also everyone wanting to backstab you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the same everywhere, B.T. Criminals are just more honest about it,¡± replied the cynical voice.

    ¡°Yeah, well...Easy job. Nice reward. Four K, a killer boat, and rare wine as a bonus. Got to see the Indian Ocean from a stupidly luxurious yacht too. Some people are just so rich, it¡¯s filthy.¡± She wouldn¡¯t spit on the money if offered, though.

    ¡°Did you check that ¡®killer boat¡¯ of yours?¡± That could have been mistaken for concern, if not for the distinctly amused tone of the voice. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want that ¡®killer¡¯ boat to become too literal.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I checked. It¡¯s clean. Don¡¯t worry, I''m a big girl.¡± Rebecca cringed at her own words, both because her tone had been more caustic than she¡¯d intended, and because they echoed those she¡¯d said after nearly fucking up just moments before.

    There was a slight lull in the conversation before the voice came back, carrying the faintest hint of bitterness. ¡°I know you are.¡±

    The silence stretched out longer after that, only broken by the water hitting the hull until Rebecca spoke again. ¡°So...err¡­That job in J. City?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± And they were back to business again. ¡°I need you to find someone.¡±

    ¡°Find...as in?¡± There was a difference between to find someone, and to ¡°find¡± someone¡ªthe Taken way. Rebecca would never admit it out loud, but she was a bit of a Liam Neeson fangirl. Watching him on screen take out a gang of superpowered yakuza with only his gun was always as fun as it was ridiculous.

    ¡°Just get his location and contact me.¡±

    Rebecca raised a dubitative eyebrow, not that her interlocutor could see. ¡°...You want me to fly all the way from Africa just too dumbly locate someone?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It is important. I need the best. You.¡±

    Now the mercenary was rolling her eyes. That¡¯s just cheating. There should be a law against being so smooth. Then again, her mentor had never been one to care much about the law. Neither did Rebecca for that matter.

    Rebecca had to admit she was intrigued. Also a little confused. She could claim she was, without fake modesty, a top-class mercenary. But she certainly wasn¡¯t the best investigator around. Her power was more geared towards combat than information gathering. Although¡­if the state of J. City downtown was even a fourth as bad as what the paper and the internet made it out to be, she might end up doing more ass-kicking than info-gathering after all.

    However, these considerations were pointless, since she¡¯d already decided to accept. More than just another job, it was an opportunity to finally make her peace with a past which she¡¯d just realized still had more of a hold on her than she¡¯d thought.

    Now if her heart would kindly stop playing skip the rope with her vocal chords, she might be able to answer. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m in. I guess I was starting to miss the shitty weather and the greasy fast-food meals. So that guy, he got a name?¡±

    ¡°¡­Merlin Pendragon.¡±

    ¡°Well, fuck.¡±

    Her ex-boss¡¯ requests truly were never dull.

    * * * * *

 Chapter 07 â€“ Troubles, To Each Their Own

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old Industrial Park. Percy¡¯s clandestine clinic.

    With an unpleasant suction noise, and under Percy¡¯s watchful eye, the mechanical decapod finally extracted a fist-sized lump of metal from the skinny man¡¯s abdomen. Sitting at the nearby workstation, the technopath languidly controlled the surgical robot to drop the bloody thing into a watertight metal container. That done, he reclined in his swivel chair with a sigh.

    Done, finally¡­Percy was tired. Even for him, who was used to all-nighters, the past three hours had been trying. He¡¯d operated on parahumans before, but never on one with such a troublesome constitution. Never before had he seen a power like this, which appeared to both try to heal and kill its wielder at the same time, resulting in a fragile status quo that any of Percy¡¯s interventions would inevitably upset.

    When he¡¯d first noticed something strange, he¡¯d paused the operation to analyze a tissue sample. The odd spectacles of cells dying and being born constantly had greatly stunned him.

    Although, this baffling phenomenon only lasted for about ten minutes after the sample was severed from the main body. Afterward, the tissues became inert. This proved at least that the man¡¯s ability belonged to the active category, in opposition to passive powers, like a genetic condition. The best example of a passive power would be any of the parahumans who had been transformed into anthropomorphic beasts.

    Although this might change. With such strong effects down to a cellular level, this man would undoubtedly evolve to better handle his power¡­or he¡¯d die. One of the two, Percy distractedly thought while manipulating the console.

    I really want to study his body, another idle fancy crossed his jumbled mind. His left hand nervously rubbed the contour of a scarred hole where his left ear used to be. If it was possible to stimulate the healing portion of his power¡ªno. It¡¯s not the time to think about that. With a shake of his head, Percy filed the information away for later. It was irrelevant at the moment.

    What was relevant, however, was the impact this power had on the surgery. The man¡¯s wounds simply refused to heal properly. Either they healed too fast or too slowly. And contrary to popular belief, the former could be far worse than the latter¡ªespecially when flesh and bones mended incorrectly. Percy wondered briefly if that weird power was also to blame for the man¡¯s mummy-like appearance. It could be cannibalizing the resources of his body.

    Meanwhile, the tinkered surgical robot was already busy sewing the man close and injecting him with sleeping agents, painkillers, and a diluted form of the PXT-67. The technopath had tested before that none of the chemicals reacted adversely with the man¡¯s power.

    Percy¡¯s eyes, both the real and the artificial one, landed on his unconscious patient. Everywhere he focused, data was displayed, either in written form or as schematics¡ªcolors, moving shapes, and lines highlighting the world around him. This wasn¡¯t his power at work but the Augmented Reality he had programmed into his fake left eye. A contact lens over his right eye assured it too shared the information and allowed for stereoscopic tridimensional imagery.

    In Percy¡¯s vision, the man¡¯s heart rate, size, weight, blood type, and other details were depicted by floating texts. Red lines marked each of the annotated wounds, with different shades depending on their seriousness¡ªthough they¡¯d all been treated by now. A cartoon thumbs-up hovering above the man¡¯s skeletal head signaled the operation had been successful.

    Upon arriving, the stranger brought by Chen and Alex had been suffering from seven broken ribs, one punctured lung, a bullet wound in his leg, and contusions on about every inch of his face and torso. And those this was only the most obvious damage. If not for the bullet wound, Percy would have questioned whether that guy had been in a fist-fight with a truck. Not to mention that his internal organs were just about mashed. Lastly, there was this mean gash in his right cheek, going all the way from the corner of his mouth to his ear. In some places, teeth had been visible through the sliced flesh.

    This one injury had been especially troublesome for Percy to take care of. Apparently, its sides had been cauterized by whatever had caused it. Percy suspected a white-hot blade, although the burn marks on the man¡¯s face suggested something a little fierier. The PXT-67 would ensure the scarring was minimal, but there would be a scar. The young technopath-cum-surgeon wasn¡¯t too concerned, however. As long as the main threats to the patient¡¯s health were dealt with, further cosmetic surgery could be performed at a later date if necessary.

    The teen¡¯s fingers distractedly trailed over the half of his own face ravaged by fire. He could have removed these scars himself¡ªgrafting skin wasn¡¯t anything hard to him¡ªbut he didn¡¯t really care about his appearance or what others thought of him. He also didn¡¯t mind the reminder. Having seen death up close and felt it creeping onto him was a much-needed wake-up call whenever his power made him feel like an all-powerful god.

    And besides, he was only a teenager. A small part of him thought it looked a little cool, reason why he had made his eye prosthesis so obviously cybernetic instead of camouflaging it with synthetic skin and a painted lens. Even as a child, he¡¯d always been a fan of robots, especially cyborgs. He¡¯d lost count how many times he¡¯d rewatched both seasons of Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex.

    His train of thought then abruptly shifted to the large foreign body he¡¯d fished out from the man¡¯s abdominal cavity. Rolling his chair away from the workstation, Percy stood up and walked to the operating table, the exoskeleton encasing his legs propelling him forwards at an oddly even velocity.

    ¡°Clepia¡­you recorded that?¡± he asked slowly and softly. Ever since awakening to his power, he¡¯d found talking to be a hassle. His mouth couldn¡¯t keep up with his rapid thoughts and he had to focus on every single word to pronounce them at a manageable speed.

    ¡°Yes, master. I should be able to perform such an operation on my own with 89.67 percent of certitude should the need arise henceforth.¡±

    ¡°Uh-uh.¡± Percy nodded

    ¡°Percy,¡± Chen¡¯s voice echoed in the room for the first time since the three-hours long operation had begun, ¡°was Clepia always this¡­vocal?¡± His healing hand had been itching like crazy. He hid it well. But now that he could talk without the risk to distract the technopath surgeon, the old man jumped on the opportunity to divert his own thoughts from the maddening prickling

    ¡°Uhn¡­¡± Percy hummed. Briefly, he looked at the old man before looking away. ¡°Ah¡­err¡­yes. She¡¯s¡­I¡­I upgraded her¡­last month¡­¡±

    ¡°I see¡­¡± the boxing coach didn¡¯t pursue further. He went back to not scratching his hand, closing his eyes to focus and thus missing the slight twitch of guilt on the teen¡¯s usually slack expression.

    Percy didn¡¯t want to lie to the old man, who had been like a father to him ever since the fire that had killed his real parents. However, in truth, he himself was unsure how to answer. Saying he upgraded the AI wasn¡¯t wrong, technically speaking, but ¡°upgrade¡± didn¡¯t come even close to covering what he¡¯d done¡­whatever that might be. He had no memories of the three days following the Surge. He¡¯d woken up on the fourth day, dehydrated and his head thumping, with Clepia calling out to him in a strangely worried voice instead of her previous clipped monotone.

    Shaking his head, he pushed the guilt and confusion away¡ªor rather he let them fade into the maelstrom of ideas and thoughts playing dodgem in his brain¡ªand turned back to the metal box. Without concern, he reached inside with his left hand and picked up the bloody lump of metal. Blood quickly coated his fingers, but even as seconds passed, he remained unaffected by whatever had caused Chen¡¯s hand to necrose.

    Still, he made sure to hold the object so that none of the blood trickled down to his arm. Unlike his eye, his left hand¡ªalthough as fake¡ªlooked perfectly human. However, the prosthesis only went halfway up his forearm.

    His vision zoomed in on the bloody thing, scanning its surface. His fingers did the same thanks to captors located just underneath the layer of fake skin. Everything Percy saw or felt was simultaneously sent wirelessly to Clepia¡¯s mainframe, analyzed, and bounced back to his AR interface in real time, which accelerated his reflections even further.

    ¡°Any idea?¡± he asked his artificial assistant.

    ¡°I require a more in-depth analysis to be able to produce an accurate hypothesis.¡±

    ¡°Rough idea?¡±

    ¡°Yes, master. At the very least this is obviously a very high-tech construct. The probability of it being technopath-designed is currently at 72.29 percent. I cannot detect any electromagnetic emission or vibration of any sort, thus I would conjecture the device is at present non-functional. The charred flesh sticking to its frame corroborates this deduction by hinting at an overheating of its internal components. As does its moderately bent shape.¡±

    ¡°Cause?¡±

    ¡°Inconclusive.¡±

    ¡°Purpose?¡±

    ¡°With the information currently available, the highest probable answers are terrorism, smuggling, suicide device, and some form of prototypical protection and-or complex tracking device. The third possibility ties into the first.¡±

    ¡°Dangers?¡±

    ¡°If my assessment of its non-operability is correct¡ªwhich I am certain it is at 97.89 percent,¡± Percy couldn¡¯t help but think she sounded a bit smug when saying this, ¡°the device represents no immediate threat to your person aside from the noxious effects of the blood covering it. I still suggest to promptly conduct a more advanced scanner, Master.¡±

    ¡°Uh-uh¡­¡± Percy nodded distractedly. This wasn¡¯t much to go by, but he¡¯d open this thing up soon enough. As long as it was unlikely to blow him up within the hour, he wasn¡¯t too worried.

    He put the deformed lump back into the container and wiped his prosthetic hand on the unconscious man¡¯s trousers. A small pulse of electricity vaporized the last traces of the fluid.

    Percy turned back to the old man sitting in a corner of the room.

    As if feeling the gaze on him, Chen opened his eyes and met his. ¡°Yes?¡±

    The teen tilted his head, his left hand playing with a loose threat in his shirt. ¡°Was there¡­anything¡­with him?¡± He ordinarily didn¡¯t pry into his patients business, but this didn¡¯t fully count as ordinary circumstances.

    ¡°Ah. Yes. A bag.¡± Chen frowned, remembering the scene in the alley. ¡°It¡¯s in the trunk. Do you want to see it?¡± He¡¯d shoved it into a plastic bag, along with the cutlass the man had been carrying.

    ¡°Please.¡±

    The old man nodded, stood up, and walked out of the operating room, passing at the door a puzzled Alex who was coming back in with two coffees and a glass of cranberry juice. After a glance at the departing back of his coach, he turned towards the younger technopath. ¡°Where is he going?¡±

    ¡°Out. Back soon.¡± Without explaining further, Percy snatched the cranberry juice from Alex¡¯s hand, only giving him a side-glance. The right corner of his mouth lifted imperceptibly at the sight of Alex¡¯s head, where his AR was projecting doodles of a top hat, a manacle, and a twirling mustache. Percy didn¡¯t like Alex much and Clepia had visibly picked up on that.

    Then he turned a back to the unconscious man whom the machine was finishing patching up.

    Pensively, he took a sip of the juice.

    Bitter.

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Southern Precinct of the JCPD.

    Lieutenant Kevin Brown of the Justice City Police Department massaged the bridge of his nose as he reclined back in his seat. The old padded chair creaked loudly under his shifting weight, sounding almost as weary as the man felt. Almost. The lieutenant had been sitting in this chair, in his office, with his nose deep into paperwork, for the past four hours¡ªever since he¡¯d stepped into the precinct at seven o¡¯clock sharp, finding the place almost empty as usual.

    Also as usual, reports were flooding him. Armed robberies, illegal solicitation, drugs, assault, rape, or straight-out good old-fashioned murder, less old-fashioned murder¡­

    He thanked the Lord every day that his position spared him from the speeding and parking tickets. Granted, he was the one who insisted on personally taking care of those reports, but that didn¡¯t mean he forfeited his right to complain about his job. Being hypocritically grumpy and cynical was the privilege of any self-respecting, middle-aged, Catholic white American male. This was exactly the greatness of freedom of thoughts: nobody could tell him to be happy if he didn¡¯t want to. And God bless America, Brown thought with a joyless chuckle.

    He stopped trying to smoothen the wrinkles on his face to focus once more on the report before him.

    The past five weeks since the Surge had brought a fair share of more unusual events¡ªfrom a man farting mustard gas to reports of a car-sized Doberman haunting the streets around the old library. However, the flow of ridiculousness was finally dying down, as proved by this boring commonplace report Brown was currently reviewing.

    Not that the lieutenant cared much either way. People always freaked out when superpowers were involved. It only made him scoff. You¡¯d think after more than four decades, the public would be used to this mess. He snorted. The only ones who, in his opinion, had any right to complain were old timers such as himself, who still remembered how things used to be back when flying people wearing their underwear on the outside weren¡¯t considered normal.

    Sighing deeply, Brown reached out for his coffee mug while squinting at his old department-issued computer. Although people still talked about ¡°paper¡±-work, most of these documents were now digitalized¡ªfor better or worse, mainly worse in his opinion. All Brown retained from this so-called ¡°progress¡± were the headaches he got every evening for squinting at his computer all day long. At forty-eight, he prided himself on his eyesight and lack of need for glasses, but he could only wonder how long this would last.

    He brought the mug to his lips and tilted it. Nothing came out. His brows furrowed when he failed to feel the lukewarm liquid enter his mouth.

    With a critical eye, he peered down into the cup. Yet another sigh escaped him. The cup was empty¡ªlike it had been the four previous times he¡¯d tried to take a sip.He shook his head and he set the mug aside. He could have stepped out of his office to fetch a refill, of course, but he¡¯d gladly endure the caffeine withdrawal if it meant avoiding his so-called colleagues and subordinates. Of the lone wolf, Lieutenant Kevin Brown only lacked the fur.

    Without the reprieve of his bitter stimulant, Brown¡¯s tired gaze scanned through the typed lines of the report¡ªsomething about a shooting between three officers and a group of ¡°armed criminals¡±, resulting in the ¡°gang¡± getting away and one of the officers being ¡°gravely¡± wounded while ¡°performing his duty¡±.

    Brown snorted. ¡°Right¡­¡± Here was what he thought¡ªwhat he knew had happened. Those three officers had gone to visit their dealers. They¡¯d disagreed on the price of whatever dope they¡¯d been buying. The officers had tried to strong-arm the dealers and naturally a fight had broken out. ¡°Typical,¡± Brown sighed for the umpteenth time and reached for his coffee mug, before halting his gesture with a silent curse. Instead, he searched his breast pocket for a cigarette, until he remembered he had once again let his wife talk him into trying to quit smoking. ¡°Damn it.¡± Gritting his teeth, he refocused on his computer.

    The report was filled with vague descriptions, continuity errors in the events, no clear mention of who exactly had shot first¡ªjust that the officers had fired ¡°in response to violent actions.¡± This reeked so much of bad cover-up, he was almost surprised not to see a couple of vultures from Internal Affairs already perched on his windowsill, attracted by the smell of rotten cops. But then, he thought, this whole darn place probably stinks too much for even those carrion-eaters to come close.

    A knock on his door snapped Brown out of his dark musings. A stern expression fast set on his face, replacing the previous tired one as if it had never existed. He straightened his back and quickly cleaned his desk¡ªwhile at the same time idly wondering why he even bothered.

    ¡°Enter,¡± he barked.

    The door creaked open, and a young and pretty little blonde thing, wearing a tight, low-neck white blouse, leaned timorously into the opening. Only her bust crossed the door, like a doe peeking out of a bush, ready to flee at a moment¡¯s notice at any sight of a threat. And speaking of threat and flight, her massive round breasts were ostensibly menacing to escape from her top¡ªand her leaning forward made that event only more impending.

    The blonde¡¯s sky-blue eyes skittered around the office without meeting Brown¡¯s gaze. Her bright red lips were quivering as if she were on the verge of a breakdown, while she tried to gather enough courage to address him.

    Brown idly wondered if he could sprain a lung from too much sighing. He knew his broad physique alone was intimidating, and he also possessed a bit of a reputation in the precinct for his bad temper¡ªa reputation with enough truth that he¡¯d never really tried to dispel it. Sometimes it helped keep idiots off his back. However, at other times, it conversely caused more problems. Like now, with this girl turning into a frightful critter whenever the lieutenant as much as glanced in her general direction.

    But then, the chief hadn¡¯t hired his secretary for her mental fortitude¡­or anything else remotely related to her brain. Although to be fair to the girl, outside of Lieutenant Brown¡¯s intimidating presence, she usually performed much better¡ªmeaning she could align two coherent words in the right order, smile prettily, and find her way to and back from the coffee maker.

    After one last glance at the fidgeting creature¡¯s jiggling appendages, Brown took pity on the poor thing. ¡°Cindi, does the chief wants to see me?¡± he asked in his quietest voice, like talking to a frightened animal, yet watching her flinch as if he¡¯d shouted at her nonetheless.

    Barely looking his way, Cindi nodded nervously.

    ¡°Well, tell him I¡¯ll be there in a minute. Can you do that, Doll?¡±

    She nodded again, then stayed there, frozen in place.

    ¡°¡­go then.¡± He dismissed her with a wave.

    The secretary disappeared so fast he worried she¡¯d trip on her high heels.

    On second thought, however, the skirts she favored were typically too short to hinder her movement in any way. He¡¯d caught enough glimpses of her behind to be sure of that fact. So, maybe the heels and the skirt compensated each other by some unknown principle of physics. Of course, that was without putting in the equation her misplaced center of gravity due to her bust. But Brown preferred to reserve his own brain power for problems that actually were solvable.

    With a glance at his computer screen, he added his virtual stamp of approval and then sent the fraudulent report on its merry way, to the central archive, to be buried amongst countless others and never exhumed again. The lieutenant shut down his computer and put a few important documents away inside a safe. His confidence in the lock of his office approximated the void. The safe, however, he¡¯d bought himself¡ªengulfing several months of salary, but it was worth it if only to buy him some peace of mind.

    After one last check to verify he hadn¡¯t forgotten anything, Brown walked out. He still locked the door behind him¡ªno need to tempt fate. The chief¡¯s office was just down the hallway. Brown passed Cindi¡¯s empty desk and stopped in front of a door sporting a gold plate announcing ¡°Charles Woodson. Police Chief.¡± He knocked once, then entered without waiting for a reply.

    ¡°You wanted to see me?¡± he dropped flatly in place of a greeting.

    Sitting behind a polished wooden desk, a short pudgy man looked up at his entrance. The large piece of mahogany furniture was surely intended as a show of status and power, but it only served to emphasize how smaller its owner was in contrast. To his credit, however, the paunchy chief showed no surprise at Brown¡¯s brusque manners. He only silently handed the lieutenant a manila folder, which the latter took also without a word.

    Taking a seat to stop towering over his superior, Brown skimmed through the few documents the file contained. When he finished, he lowered it to his lap and shot a frown at the chief. ¡°Is that an alias, or are we working for the Round Table now?¡±

    Unjoining his hands from under his trembling double-chin, the other exhaled in exasperation. ¡°The name¡¯s real. This man was reported missing to the night shift today at five.¡±

    ¡°Uh-uh¡­¡± Brown made no further comment. He didn¡¯t ask why a report that had arrived at five in the morning was only being handled at near midday. The reason was simply that the chief usually didn¡¯t come in until eleven AM. Brown was more interested in whoever had ¡°reported¡± this ¡°disappearance¡±. Charles Woodson wouldn¡¯t bother his old lieutenant if not to deal with sensitive material.

    As the silence stretched, Brown observed the chief more closely. He took note of his clammy hands and the faint sheen of sweat pearling on his balding scalp. Neither were a good sign. Eventually, pursed his lips and asked. ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The Black Lotus.¡±

    The answer was as he¡¯d expected, but somehow he¡¯d still hoped he was mistaken. Hearing his fears confirmed, Brown had to refrain from grabbing the shorter man by the front of his pressed shirt and shake him to see if there was still a brain somewhere in that big empty skull. Maybe he¡¯d even shout Charles Woodson¡¯s head off while was at it.

    Instead, however, Brown closed his eyes and balled his fists, taking two deep and long breaths to calm himself down. ¡°What did you¡ªno, never mind,¡± he stopped himself.

    He didn¡¯t want to know what his superior had done to own a favor to those yakuza. Whether he¡¯d simply borrowed money or something more sinister, if Brown didn¡¯t know, he wouldn¡¯t have to lie when asked about it. He was done with trying to keep Woodson out of trouble. In the first place, he had only helped the chief clean to keep troubles off his own back.

    However, the drawbacks had finally transcended the benefits. If the corrupt officer wanted to forget what a small fish he truly was and try to swim with the sharks, Brown washed his hands of this mess. He wanted no part in it. Those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. He imperceptibly shook his head.

    His gaze dropped to the manila folder sitting in his lap. Standing up, he stuck the folder under his armpit and turn to leave the office. ¡°I¡¯ll put Chase and Mack on the case.¡±

    ¡°No. I want you to handle this, personally.¡±

    Brown paused and gritted his teeth. Of course, reality wasn¡¯t that easy. In fact, he¡¯d known the chief wouldn¡¯t have summoned him if not for this exact reason. He¡¯d had to try anyway. He hadn¡¯t survived this long in such a cutthroat environment by assuming he couldn¡¯t get out of bad situations. Unfortunately, it seemed this here shit was one he couldn¡¯t avoid stepping into. He only hoped he could distance himself enough before the remainder of that shit hit the proverbial fan.

    In one last attempt, Brown looked back and glared at his superior. ¡°You must be joking.¡±

    ¡°I am dead serious,¡± the chief practically hissed in response. Brown wondered whether stressing the word ¡®dead¡¯ had been intentional on the chief¡¯s part. ¡°And you will be reporting everything directly to me.¡±

    ¡°¡­yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m counting on you, Kevin. Find this guy.¡± Woodson said while wiping his damp forehead. He seemed to believe a decade of working together allowed him to address Brown familiarly. Brown himself disagreed but he remained silent¡ªwhatever kept the short fatty off his back.

    ¡°Just doing my job,¡± Brown replied with dripping sarcasm and took another step outwards.

    ¡°And you¡¯ll take the puppy out with you.¡±

    Brown whirled back toward the inside of the room, his wrinkled eyes narrowing. ¡°No. I don¡¯t need a partner. Much less some girl.¡±

    ¡°Those are the rules,¡± the chief stated flatly. ¡°A detective cannot go out alone on a case.¡±

    ¡°Since when does ¡®the rules¡¯ matter to anyone in this place? And I outrank any detective here,¡± Brown retorted in the same tone.

    ¡°This is an order, Kevin.¡± The chief made his best attempt at a menacing glare. Maybe it would have worked on a very impressionable toddler. ¡°I need this done, and her power will be useful.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to babysit some parahuman chick.¡±

    ¡°Dammit, Kevin!¡± Woodson slapped his desk. ¡°This isn¡¯t negotiable! You two will work together.¡± His voice dropped to something of a passable authoritative tone. ¡°I am still in charge here, Kevin.¡±

    Only when it suits you. The words were on the tip of the lieutenant¡¯s tongue, but he kept them in. With only a glare, he spun on his heels and marched out of the office, nearly scaring to death the poor Cindi who was coming back with two mugs of hot coffee.

    The secretary gasped, stumbled back and tripped¡ªthose high heels, of course. The scalding beverage spilled all over her white blouse, turning it even more see-through than it had been. Not that it mattered, because she was already hurriedly removing it, in the middle of the hallway, while yelping in pain.

    The commotion had alerted the chief, who poked his head out of his office. His beady eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he saw the half-naked young woman. With a sputter, he rushed to her aid. After a quick glance to ensure the girl hadn¡¯t been burned too badly, Brown continued his way, leaving the chief to deal with the sorry klutz. He was sure the greedy man would make a pleasure of ¡°helping¡± his now topless secretary.

    Brown made a short detour to his office to pick up his long coat before hunting down his imposed partner. He easily found the female detective in the common room. Not only were there only five women working at the Southern Precinct, Cindi included, but Raphaela ¨ª?iguez stood one head shorter than everybody else, making her easily identifiable. She was also one of their four parahumans. So, obviously, he knew who she was and what she looked like.

    It also helped that she was the sole person conscientiously working at her desk in an otherwise empty room.

    Right, he mentally chided himself, lunch. He¡¯d forgotten about the time. The rest of the staff was on break, either in the station¡¯s small kitchenette or outside by the hot-dog trailer. Brown didn¡¯t know if he found ¨ª?iguez¡¯s dedication impressive or if her lack of effort to fit in pissed him off. It might sound hypocritical coming from him, but he was old and a superior, he could afford to be distant.

    She hadn¡¯t noticed him yet, so he paused an instant by the door to take a better look at the woman. He¡¯d seen her before, of course, and had carefully read her file which included pictures. However, he¡¯d never paid her much attention up to now, neither officially nor personally. In his opinion, women had no place on the force, and he wasn¡¯t attracted to girls so young he could have fathered them.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    The right corner of his mouth twitched in annoyance at the sight of her dark skin and black hair, clear telltales of her Hispanic roots. Nervously, he patted his empty breast pocket. God, I need a smoke. Quelling his instinctive aversion, he forced himself to assess the woman objectively.

    After her skin tone and height, the next thing people noticed about her were her lean and taut muscles. She was a small, athletic, and compact woman. Added to her temperament, this had quickly earned her the nickname ¡°bulldog.¡± The nickname had then turned into ¡°puppy¡± on account on her being the latest and youngest addition to their ragtag bunch.

    If that second nickname sounded demeaning, it was on purpose. Her inability to fit in, her attitude, and her cumulated membership to so many minorities¡ªparahuman, Latino, woman¡ªhad made her even less popular than he was. But then, again, he was a top dog here and she was just some wet-behind-the-ears cachorro. He could afford being disliked, she couldn¡¯t.

    A glance at a clock on the wall told him time was flying by. He wanted to be out before everybody else flocked back inside. Also, the faster they started, the sooner this farce would be over. Without stepping into the room, he raised his voice. ¡°Hoy, chica!¡±

    The girl straightened with a start and swiveled her chair in his direction. Their gaze met and her eyes widened slightly in recognition, before narrowing in anger. ¡°Are you talking to me?¡± she nearly growled.

    Tsk. I hope she isn¡¯t one of those blasted feminists. He couldn¡¯t stand those people he considered whiny brats with a persecution complex. In any case, he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with her small temper tantrum. ¡°No, the other female spic in the room¡ª of course, you!¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°Get your things, we¡¯re going out for a case.¡±

    Her face turned both livid and confused at the same time. With creased eyebrows and through tightly gritted teeth, she managed to ask: ¡°A case? But¡­¡±

    ¡°You got nothing better to do now, do you?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± She half-turned to the screen. ¡°I was¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± He cut her off. ¡°I want you in the parking lot in five minutes. Five. Not six. Otherwise, I¡¯m leaving without you. Capisce, chica?¡± He pointed a warning finger at her, then left without waiting for an answer.

    Four minutes later, the female detective arrived running into the parking lot behind the station. She stopped, a little breathless, next to Brown¡¯s Volkswagen Jetta, the 1998 model. Her earlier anger had subsided, but a dubious expression crossed her face as she looked at the old car. ¡°Err¡­¡±

    ¡°Hop in.¡± He was in no mood for chitchat.

    ¡°Sir¡­¡± She tried hesitantly, pointing at a much newer and slicker Mitsubishi Eclipse across the lot. ¡°We could use my¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hah! As if I¡¯d trust a woman¡¯s driving. I know I¡¯m old, but I ain¡¯t that hurried to die,¡± he jeered. And that little pricey toy of yours would get stolen the instant we lose sight of it. That was exactly why he hated to babysit. He didn¡¯t care how much experience she¡¯d gotten at Central before coming here. The Old City had its own rules and common sense. She lacked knowledge of them and he lacked the patience to teach her.

    Ignoring the sputters of indignation coming from the girl, he slid into the driver seat of his old car and started the engine. He immediately put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking spot. Once aligned with the aisle, he lowered the window passenger side. ¡°So, you¡¯re coming, chica? Or are you waiting for the rain to fall and hope it¡¯ll make you grow taller?¡±

    She shot him a silent seething glare. Inwardly, he chuckled without joy. If glares could kill¡­ In the end, though, she joined him inside nonetheless, slamming the door behind her to prove some kind of point. ¡°I have a name, you know?¡± she seethed. Seeing as he was not replying, she exhaled angrily. ¡°So, what are we going to do exactly?¡±

    He threw her the file. ¡°We¡¯re trying to find some guy named Merlin Pendragon. He was reported missing at five this morning.¡±

    The detective stared at her superior with a blank look on her face. ¡°You must be joking.¡±

    ¡°My words exactly, chica,¡± Brown mumbled.

    With jerky movement, he drove his old car out of the lot.

    My words exactly.

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. 17 Cherry Hill Street.

    Morgan slammed her palm on her blaring alarm clock. Groaning, she half-raised from the pillow to cast a murderous glare at the device. Twelve forty. Her appointment with Sonia Harris was at half past one.

    Even after all that had happened during the night, her slave-driver of a godmother had mercilessly set up a test of her physical abilities today. ¡°It¡¯s like a horse, the sooner you get back up, the better,¡± she¡¯d said. Harris had also argued Morgan needed to relieve stress, and that punching people would accomplish just that.

    The heroine didn¡¯t disagree. In fact, this resonated a little too much for comfort with her current mindset. These past few days, she¡¯d felt constantly on edge, irritable, and much more confrontational than she was used to¡ªas clearly proven by her earlier uncharacteristic altercation with the CEO. She normally didn¡¯t display her emotions so openly, even less in front of a hierarchical superior.

    ¡°Excalibur, get off me, girl.¡± Morgan pushed the large gray cat which had taken a liking to using its mistress as a pillow. With a meow of protest, the British Shorthair rolled aside, only to fall asleep elsewhere on the bed. Like its homonymous sword, this feline was hard to move without its consent. Morgan sent a jealous glance at the napping animal before getting off the bed herself.

    Without bothering to open the blinds, she crossed the dark bedroom and entered the en suite. ¡°Lights on,¡± she mumbled. The bathroom ceiling lamp flickered on and Morgan was suddenly faced with tired emerald-green eyes, ringed with black half-circles, staring back at her from the depths of the bathroom mirror. These eyes were framed with messy raven black hair and sunken pale cheeks. For a split second, the skeletal visage of her brother superimposed to her own image, causing her to gasp and take a step back.

    A hand on her heart to calm its beating, she raised her gaze once more at the mirror and saw only her own exhausted reflection. Shaking her head in annoyance, she proceeded to get out of her pajamas.

    Truth be told, despite her appearance, she actually felt better than she had in weeks. This morning, after Sonia had forced Morgan to get back home to rest¡ªthe middle-aged technopath even went as far as ordering one of her overworked assistants to drive Morgan back home¡ªthe heroine had just had enough clarity of mind to set her alarm before she collapsed on her bed and unconsciousness claimed her. Maybe because she basically fainting from too much physical and mental exhaustion, for the first time in weeks, her sleep had been mercifully dreamless. Therefore, although worries still spiraled inside her mind, at least she could think clearly.

    Soon she was dressed in casual clothes, beige shirt and blue jeans, and with her hair fashioned in a simple ponytail. Morgan only refreshed herself slightly at the sink before heading to her kitchen for a light midday breakfast. She would we sweating in less than an hour and, despite feeling relatively more rested, she was still too tired to rush through a shower. In fact, if not for this strange aggressiveness that had awoken inside her, she would have been far more reluctant to head to NovaTech for physical and combat tests.

    A cup of coffee and two-and-a-half toasts topped with marmalade¡ªeaten standing up by the kitchen counter¡ªwere all she could swallow. After wiping as much jam as she could and transferring it back to its jar, she threw the remaining half slice to Excalibur, which had finally waddled off the bed, attracted by the smell of toasting bread.

    With a glance at the clock and a resigned sigh, she walked to the entrance, donned a pair of sneakers, and exited her apartment. The door locked behind her with a satisfying beep. NovaTech owned the building, and every apartment was equipped with the latest technology¡ªlocks, air-conditioning, vocal command, et cetera.

    This also meant the vast majority of the other tenants were employees of the large company and thus currently at work. Morgan met no one on her way to the elevator, nor down twelve floors, nor across the underground parking lot to her black Land Rover.

    She drove out of the building basement and to the street. Her car infiltrated the traffic seamlessly, joining with others vehicles uselessly big for the city. At the back of her mind, she was enjoying the feeling of anonymity¡ªbeing just another person driving to work amongst countless ones. She pressed down the accelerator and sped up away from Cherry Hill Street¡ªwhere she had never seen a single cherry tree¡ªand toward the large NovaTech complex presiding over the new industrial park west of Justice City.

    * * *

    ¡°Good, Morgan, you¡¯re here.¡± Sonia Harris greeted her goddaughter tersely when she stepped into the small observation room.

    Behind the director, a long reinforced bay window occupied most of the wall, overlooking a vast underground arena. This was NovaTech¡¯s training center, designed to resist a thermonuclear explosion and so stuffed to the brim with state-of-the-art cameras, captors and sensors that Morgan was convinced they could pick up her mood from the twitch of her eyelashes.

    Klaus Hoffmann, all in belly and beard, stood next to the Research and Development Director. The rotund Santa-like Marketing Director came to Morgan with a much warmer smile than his female counterpart. ¡°So good to see you, even at a time like this.¡± He gave her upper arms a squeeze. ¡°It¡¯s a tragedy what happened yesterday¡ªor this morning, I suppose. But I¡¯m sure Merlin will be found. Please, don¡¯t worry too much and focus on getting back in shape yourself. Alright?¡±

    Morgan returned a nod and a slight smile. In truth, though, the paper clips sticking to the man¡¯s bald forehead were doing much more to uplift her mood than his interested speech. She liked and respected Director Hoffmann, but it was no secret the man first and second priorities were the stock value of the company, which were partly tied to how ¡°in shape¡± she was.

    ¡°Yes, yes. Now, if you¡¯ve finished spouting formulaic platitudes, go stand in a corner and shut up.¡± Director Harris¡¯ voice cut through them as she pulled Morgan away and directed a bored glance towards her colleague.

    It was another open secret that Harris and Hoffmann disliked each other. In fact, the issue was broader, with a constant conflict existing within NovaTech between the ¡°money making¡± faction, made up of the Marketing and Finance divisions, and the ¡°money spending¡± faction centered around the R&D Department¡ªor, like Hoffmann himself liked to call it, the ¡°money wasting¡± department.

    The corpulent man turned red from indignation. ¡°I am only trying to make sure you don¡¯t overwork my precious personnel!¡±

    Harris rolled her eyes. ¡°Morgan is not made of glass, Klaus. She¡¯s a tough girl. Stop worrying.¡± Standing between them, Morgan felt a little warmth at the indirect compliment. The older woman turned to her. ¡°Alright, you too. Stop standing there smiling like a simpleton and get in the training room. Klaus, go find a place out of the way and, please, don¡¯t get too close to anything magneto-sensitive.¡±

    Unwilling to get nagged by the older woman, Morgan hurried down the spiral ramp and through the airlock leading to the adjacent room. She had already changed out of her casual clothes and donned a comfortable training outfit, and she was actually eager to stretch her muscles. Any dark thought that still plagued her mind, she turned them into food for her focus. Meanwhile, Director Harris took place in front of a series of monitors.

    For this session, they didn¡¯t plan on using any of the more complex equipment of the arena. In one corner of the room, the floor was covered in dojo mats. Six people were already waiting there, all dressed in the same company-issued workout outfit as the heroine.

    Morgan recognized most of them. Her would-be opponents were all members of the security teams. NovaTech only selected the best. All guards had a military background and all were ¡°excellently proficient in the art of ass-kicking¡±, as Killian liked to put it. None were parahumans, but that did not matter here. In fact, they were actually Morgan¡¯s worst type of adversaries, considering she had it the easiest against parahumans who over-relied on their abilities but otherwise possessed no combat skills.

    Which didn¡¯t mean Morgan was defenseless against such skilled opponents. The heroine herself was well aware her lack of offensive superpowers was her Achilles¡¯ heel. Thus, she had trained with near obsessive single-mindedness in any streetwise martial art she could get an instructor for, from Krav Maga to Muay Thai via Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. She wasn¡¯t so arrogant she¡¯d call herself a master in any of those disciplines, but she was confident that by mixing a bit of each she became a force to be reckoned with. And that was without even taking her usual arsenal of high-tech weapons and equipment into consideration.

    After all, she wasn¡¯t one of the most famous superheroines of the time simply on account of her obscene bodysuit. Though she cynically acknowledged it had to contribute to at least half of her popularity.

    In fact, some amongst the men and women she was about to face had been her instructors at some point in time. Inwardly, she cringed. She was well aware of the capabilities of these people, and after her month-long forced break in training, she was less than confident in doing well against them. This seemed a bit harsh for a simple test of her physical state. However, surprising even herself, she felt none of her usual irritation. In fact, she could only feel her blood boil at the thought of going up against these hardened veterans.

    ¡°We will start with simple hand-to-hand combat,¡± Director Harris¡¯ voice echoed through the room from well-hidden speakers. ¡°Morgan, don¡¯t hurt yourself. This is only a test after all.¡±

    The heroine bit down a retort and only nodded. She stepped onto the mats, where one of the security guards was already waiting. She came to stand in front of him.

    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡±

    There was no salute, nor any politeness exchanged. This was not some martial arts competition. In real life combat, attackers very rarely announced themselves before attacking. Rarely. Some parahuman criminals tended to be a bit eccentric.

    Unable to stay in place, Morgan decided to move in first to quickly try and subdue her opponent. However, the latter got the jump on her by rushing at her before she could. As he ran, he pulled back his right elbow, pivoted his upper body, and then, stepping forward, released powerful punch aimed straightforwardly at her face. She prepared to evade to the side, waiting for the optimal moment to be able to right away launch a devastating counter strike.

    Then she took a fist right to the face.

    She saw stars and the room spun around her. She landed on her butt on the mat, where she remained groggily sitting for a while, trying to process what had just happened.

    She must have been out of it longer than she thought, because she suddenly felt a grip on her shoulder and when she looked up, Sonia Harris was crouching next to her, a worried look on her usually stern visage. ¡°Morgan, are you alright?¡±

    Morgan blinked. ¡°Yes¡­I, I think so.¡± She looked down at her hands and slowly clenched and unclenched the right, then the left. She returned her gaze to her godmother. ¡°I must have misjudged the distance.¡± She addressed a nod at her opponent, who looked a bit at loss, and stood up. ¡°I can keep going.¡±

    Sonia grabbed Morgan¡¯s chin and forced the heroine to face her. She observed the younger woman¡¯s face intently for a good minute before releasing her. ¡°There doesn¡¯t seem to be anything serious. Alright, you can continue. But be careful this time.¡± Turning around, she walked back out of the arena.

    Morgan waited to give her time to get back to the observation room, then turned to her opponent. Again, she only gave a short nod to signify she was ready. This time, however, she didn¡¯t try to attack first. She waited for the other to come at her, which he did. He came charging straight, seemingly going to reenact his previous actions. At the last second, however, he feinted to the right before launching a lighting kick to the left.

    Morgan stood unmoving as the kick whipped at her. Her eyebrows were scrunched up and she didn¡¯t even seem to pay attention to the incoming attack. All the onlooker cringed, thinking this was going to be a repeat of the previous exchange.

    However, suddenly, Morgan took a step back, evading the blow by a hair¡¯s breath. Her hand shot down, catching the man¡¯s ankle as it shot past her and whipper her own leg around. Before anyone could understand what had happened, Morgan¡¯s opponent laid passed out on the mat.

    A stunned silence fell on the arena.

    Even in the observation room, Harris and Hoffmann shared a bewildered glance. In a few keystrokes on the console, the middle-aged technopath brought up a slow-motion replay of the last seconds. Both directors clearly saw as the man kicked at Morgan and as she grabbed his leg. Then the heroine simply pulled him sideways, using his own inertia against him. In a swift movement, she pivoted, bend a knee and extended her other foot, sweeping her opponent¡¯s other leg from underneath him. Then, as he fell, his temple collided with Morgan¡¯s talon. After tripping him, she had spun, her foot making a full turn to come back as a backward kick. The man collapsed and did not get up.

    The two executives were speechless. While the moves were impressive by themselves¡ªwhat with how precisely they had been executed¡ªthe most bewildering thing was how Morgan made it look so easy, like she was just taking a walk in the park or as if performing high-level martial arts was as common as breathing for her. They knew she was good, but this was simply absurd.

    ¡°Did her power evolve somehow?¡± Hoffmann asked confusedly.

    ¡°Nothing showed up on the test results.¡± Director Harris was obviously displeased. She hated nothing more than when things spin out of her control or comprehension. ¡°But I¡¯m working on a new testing method. We got a lot of data from the Surge. I think we might have misunderstood a great deal about the very nature of parahuman powers.¡± He fingers tapped nervously on the side of the workstation. ¡°For now, let¡¯s continue this. Maybe this was a fluke.¡±

    The other director grunted in agreement. Although, neither truly believed this was only a coincidence.

    As everyone continued to stare at the young woman with baffled faces, the most confused of them all was Morgan herself. Once again looking down at her hands and slowly clenching and unclenching her fist, she couldn¡¯t understand what she had just done.

    For an instant, it had been as if her body was moving on its own¡ªor, rather, as if she¡¯d seen this kind of attack a hundred thousand times before and didn¡¯t even need to think for a counter. But more than anything, she was confused at how easily she had been able to read her opponent¡¯s movements. She had not even considered her foot would land anywhere but straight on his temple.

    Her gaze shifted to the man who was already waking up.

    She frowned remembering the short exchange.

    Were they always so¡­slow?

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old Industrial Park. Percy¡¯s clandestine clinic.

    Inside a well-lit bedroom-cum-workshop, Percy stared puzzled at the device he¡¯d found in his surprise patient¡¯s abdomen. The lump of metal had now been cleaned and freed from its molten shell. As he¡¯d expected, the insides were a mess of fried components even him couldn''t make heads nor tails of.

    Not to say, however, that he hadn¡¯t learned anything from it¡ªfor example, the name of the maker. Every technopath had their own touch, their own ¡°signature,¡± which they imprinted onto their work whether they noticed or not. It was for experienced eyes to spot it. And Percy had seen this person¡¯s work many times before, or at least reproductions.

    It wasn¡¯t much of an achievement, though. More than half of NovaTech¡¯s products were based on Sonia Harris¡¯ original designs, and she had a hand in the creation of most of the rest. The woman was also sort of a living legend amongst technopaths, having made a name for herself during the First Golden Age of Heroes, alongside famous and notorious figures like Justice Man or The Immortal. Her originals were sold for a fortune on the black market.

    ¡°Clepia? Archive on Harris¡¯ works?¡± Percy asked, directing his request at the sixteen inches tall silver-haired young woman dressed in British maid uniform, who was apparently sitting on the edge of his desk. Although, this again was just a projection of his AR, made after Percy had voiced his thoughts on talking to an empty room. As for Clepia¡¯s chosen avatar, he suspected she had made a thorough search through his browser history. He didn¡¯t mind, however, and the silver wolf ears and tail were indeed a nice plus.

    Barely showing any expression beyond a nod of acknowledgment, the virtual woman retrieved a translucent folder from seemingly nowhere and started perusing the file. As she read, she droned off a list of inventions attributed with various degrees of certitude to the famous technopath. Percy let her go on for a short while before interrupting.

    ¡°...vacuum generator for airpla¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop. Narrow to match the device.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master. May I suggest also restraining the search to previously existing instruments which would benefit from such miniaturization?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Sometimes, he wondered if she talked so verbosely just to get a rise out of him.

    ¡°This should take a minute.¡±

    ¡°Uh-uh¡­¡±

    For a couple seconds, Percy¡¯s eyes followed the rhythmic swaying of Clepia¡¯s silver fuzzy tail. Then his gaze moved to the papers fanned out on the other side of his desk. On each page was printed the unmistakable NT logo. This too had heavily weighted in his theory about the origin of the unidentified device.

    As for the three heavy occult books and the erotic magazine he¡¯d also found in the blood-stained bag which Chen had given him, Percy had set them aside for now, unsure what exactly to make of them. A dismissal document, magic grimoires, and porn¡­Oh, and some kind of bloody machete. He shot another quick glance at the name written on top of the first page of the document. Owned by a guy named Merlin Pendragon. Percy shook his head. What is this? Some kind of shitty light novel?

    Although superheroes were an irrefutable reality, magic was considered little more than fiction and a joke. But Percy found nothing funny about finding a man on the brink of death. If that man carried those three heavy books through a life-threatening situation, even though they were sure to slow him down, there had to be more to them.

    But what about the porn magazine then? Percy scratched his scalp. He couldn¡¯t make heads nor tail of this situation.

    The man at the center of this mess was currently recuperating inside one of the fortified rooms of Percy¡¯s clinic¡ªas the technopath liked to call the rearranged warehouse he lived in. Sometimes, if their injuries were too serious, his patients would remain here for a while. Rarely were there many of them at the same time, though. Currently, he only had two ¡°guests,¡± including the latest mysterious addition.

    Percy had convinced Chen, with Alex¡¯s insistent help, to leave the living mummy in his care. The old coach felt responsible, but Percy had argued his clinic was safer, while Alex had reminded that Chen had already enough troubles as it was without bringing home potentially murderous strangers. For once, Percy agreed with Alex. He¡¯d have even preferred for the old man too to spend the nights here.

    Snapping back to the present, Percy nervously rubbed his forearms together. His robotic eye shifted slightly to focus on the time displayed in a corner of his Augmented Reality interface. Five to six PM. Chen should be closing his gym about right now. A faint discontent twitch contracted the right corner of his mouth. I hope the old man is safe.

    The young technopath wasn¡¯t the violent type. He didn¡¯t shy away from it and often made business with people who used it profusely, but he personally preferred peace, quiet and the low purring and buzzing of machinery. However, he was also fiercely protective of the few friends and family he had. He didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d do if anything happened to the man whom he owed more than his life to.

    About half through her announced delay of one minute, Clepia¡¯s virtual image suddenly straightened, the two pointed ears atop her silver mane twitching attentively, like listening to a distant noise. Percy noted those details with attention. He couldn¡¯t remember ever programming her with such lifelike expressions. ¡°Master, the patient woke up in room two.¡±

    Percy started nodding but then stopped and frowned. ¡°Two? Not one?¡±

    ¡°Affirmative, Master. The one who woke up is the presumed Merlin Pendragon.¡±

    His frown deepened. Already? Those wounds would have put a grown man out of commission for months¡ªweeks with Percy¡¯s help¡ªand the man had been pumped full of drugs to keep him under and help him recover faster. Waking up after not even a full day was simply preposterous.

    What kind of vitality does he have? Is it another effect of his powers? He needed to go and check.

    As he stood up, however, the third surprise of the day occurred in the form of a loud banging at the front metal door. Pausing in his movement, Percy glanced quizzically at his vulpine virtual maid.

    ¡°Wang¡¯s men,¡± she answered to his unspoken question.

    ¡°...Wang?¡±

    He¡¯d almost swear he heard the AI sigh.

    ¡°Zi Wang, leader of the gang, the Risen Demons. They are a minor triad established near the eastern dock. Master, you replaced his crushed foot five days ago.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right¡­them. Aren¡¯t they too early?¡± His lack of interest wasn¡¯t what most would expect from someone when agents of a triad came banging at their door.

    He eyed a video feed that had appeared in the top left corner of his field of vision, displaying four Chinese men in identical black suits. One was holding a slick briefcase. One could imagine it was filled with wads of cash. However, this was too soon. Percy usually allowed a month for payment to be delivered for his services. To others than Chen, he did not come cheap, if only on account of the price of the materials needed to build a cybernetic prosthetics to his standards.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see¡­what they want.¡±

    Finishing to stand up, he walked to the door, then up a flight of stairs and through another armored door, before stepping into the hallway that led to the front door¡ªthrough which Alex had carried the man named Merlin earlier in the day. As he reached the thick metal gate, the large bolts moved as if on their own and unlocked the door, which switched open, again as if of its own volition.

    Percy came face to faces with the four deadpan Chinese men¡ªor rather face to scalps, considering he was such a lanky person and Asians weren¡¯t exactly famed for their height.

    ¡°You¡¯re early,¡± he simply stated.

    The man standing closest to him smiled without it reaching his eyes. ¡°Yes, there was slight change of plan.¡± He spoke with an accent.

    Percy only tilted his head in confusion.

    ¡°See, after deep thinking, Mr. Wang considers price you asked too high.¡±

    Percy awkwardly scratched his chin. ¡°Yeah¡­that¡­happens¡­but¡­¡± he looked at the man straight into the eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t really¡­lower the price¡­¡± He tilted his head to the other side. ¡°¡­sorry?¡±

    The man¡¯s smiling expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°Yes, Mr. Wang afraid of this.¡± Suddenly, he pulled a gun from underneath his jacket and pointed it at Percy¡¯s face. ¡°This only business.¡± He marked a pause, then added with sarcasm, ¡°Sorry?¡±

    Percy¡¯s sigh was covered by the sound of gunshots.

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Jackson Boxing Club.

    Chen¡¯s boxing club wasn¡¯t really a high-class place, to speak kindly. In fact, it was less akin to a professional gym and more like a place where young men, and surprisingly often young women, could learn a better way to channel the aggressiveness so many of them felt growing up in the gloomy environment of the Old City.

    Most of the equipment was old and worn out. The sandbags were held together with duct tape. Buckets scattered across the wooden floor collected the water that trickled through the roof on rainy days. Yellowed posters of ancient boxers covered the chipped off paint on the brick walls. Rusted lockers contained well-worn gloves, headgears, mitts, and ropes, all of which had been gifted by current and former members. It was a place that lacked class but exuded a feeling of use and history.

    After seeing off the last of the youth, Chen had retreated to the backroom to patch up some of the most damaged equipment. He was alone in the silent gym, Alex having gone back to his wife for the night after Chen threatened him with a mop.

    Suddenly, a loud screeching noise broke the silence, like metal being ripped apart.

    Chen¡¯s hands froze in the middle of sewing back together the seams of an old glove. Raising his head towards the door that led to the main room, he slowly set down his work and picked up a crowbar leaning against the wall beside him. His bandaged hand had stopped bothering him a couple hours ago and now it felt as if he had never been wounded in the first place. He stood up with more nimbleness than one would expect from a man his age, and quietly approached the door. On the other side, the noise had stopped, replaced by muffled voices.

    ¡°¡­look for him ¡­ can¡¯t be far ¡­ break anything¡­¡±

    Chen¡¯s traits darkened. His gaze shifted briefly to the back door at the other end of the room. He could escape through there, but then who knew what would happen to his gym? And more importantly, what about all the young people who treated this place as a sanctuary from their otherwise crappy lives? Chen had long since passed the age to worry about himself. All that truly mattered to him now was this gym and what little relief and guidance he could provide to those lost kids.

    Without even trying to conceal his presence, he pushed the door opened. The rusted hinges creaked loudly, announcing his entrance. Immediately, several large shadows around the training room stopped moving. Chen¡¯s eyes noted them, and first and furthermost took notice of the huge tear that had been wedged into the steel curtain normally blocking off the main entrance into the gym.

    Casually propping the crowbar against his shoulder, he flipped a switch to his left. Light flooded the room, revealing the intruders. ¡°Sorry, we¡¯re closed for the day,¡± he dropped, his nonchalant tone not betraying any of the shock he was, in fact, feeling. Goodness. They¡¯re huge!

    He could see six people in the room. Out of the six, five were mountains of bulging muscles that could barely be called human anymore. They looked like what one pictured when thinking of bodybuilding gone too far, but ten times worse. They stood hunched, unable to fully stand despite the good nine feet between the floor and the ceiling. In their eyes, Chen detected something animal, brutality bridled only by some basic intelligence.

    Upon his arrival, the five human monsters took one glance at him before shifting their attention to the sixth person in the room, like dogs awaiting further instructions from their masters. Chen waited to confirm they weren¡¯t about to rush at him before following their gazes.

    Sitting casually on a bench next to the ring, was a man wearing a simple white shirt and black jeans. He wasn¡¯t looking at Chen, nor at the five monstrosities, but instead seemed focused on something on his lap. It took a second for the old boxing coach to understand the man was actually folding a paper plane, as if oblivious to his surroundings. He took his time neatly overlapping both sides, making sure the plane was symmetrical. Only when he lifted it into the air to look at his work did Chen finally recognize one of the posters coming from the walls.

    After long minutes of silence, the man eventually set the paper plane next to him on the bench and looked up. ¡°Mr. Jackson!¡± he said as if greeting an old friend. Although, Chen was positive he had never seen this person in his life. That impression was confirmed with the other¡¯s next words. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve ever met in person. My name is Donald. You can call me Don if you want.¡± His display of polite friendliness was quite undermined by the fact he didn¡¯t even bother to stand up¡ªand that he¡¯d broken into Chen¡¯s home.

    Not losing his nonchalant demeanor, Chen shifted his weight from one foot to another and rubbed his shoulder with the hand that wasn¡¯t holding the crowbar. ¡°I¡¯d rather not. Look, son, it¡¯s late and I¡¯ve been getting slightly older. I need a good night sleep, so why don¡¯t you and your gorillas come back another day at a more civilized hour. You might not even need to break the door to get in then.¡±

    Donald only smiled at Chen¡¯s retort and even let out a small laugh as if he¡¯d heard a great joke. ¡°Hahaha. Mr. Jackson, I couldn¡¯t agree more. It is true seniors need a peaceful sleep. And it just so happens that this is exactly what I¡¯m proposing. Peace, security¡­protection.¡± He marked a small pause and shrugged helplessly. ¡°For a fee, of course.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need your protection, sonny. I¡¯ve been living in this place longer than you¡¯ve been alive and I¡¯m still here.¡± Chen scoffed in his heart. Protection? He knew well what kind of ¡°protection¡± was implied here. The only ones these ruffians would protect anyone against were themselves. It was extortion, pure and simple.

    Up until last month, Chan had had an agreement with the boss who had held this part of the city. He had been an old Italian mafioso, a crook, but with his own crooked code of honor, with whom Chen had made a pact. The mobster would not bother the people in an area of a few blocks around Chen¡¯s gym¡ªnot sell any drugs, not try to recruit for his gang, not extort ¡°protection money¡±¡ªand in exchange, Chen prevented any completion from setting up shop in the neighborhood.

    For years, that pact had held, until the Surge had caused a massive rise in new parahumans determined to take a piece of the pie that was the local underworld. Those ruthless social climbers had nearly toppled the old order on its head, with only the most powerful monolithic gangs, like the Black Lotus, remaining untouched. In fact, new parahuman criminals rather wanted to become part of the Black Lotus. Trying to beat them was suicidal, so people either avoided or joined them.

    As many of the less powerful boss, the old mafioso had been swept away by the tide of shameless newbies who didn¡¯t give a crap about the rules of the old order, and ever since Chen had dreaded something like this would happen.

    ¡°Now, now, Mr. Nelson. Don¡¯t be so categorical. I represent someone with great interests in the development of this neighborhood. Mr. Sexybeast only wants to help the people in his territory.¡±

    Chen would have snorted at the corny nickname if, for one, he hadn¡¯t heard worse before¡ªThe whole freaking agglomeration is named ¡°Justice City¡± for God¡¯s sake¡ªand, for two, if he didn¡¯t know exactly whom this Donald was talking about and what his plan to ¡°help¡± the neighborhood entailed.

    ¡°Turning the whole area in a red-light district with brothels at every corner, turning all the local girls into cheap prostitutes and the men into your goons? That¡¯s what you called helping!¡± He had to stop himself from shouting at the end. Thick veins were pulsating on his forehead and his knuckles were white around the crowbar.

    Donald did not look the least bit impressed by Chen¡¯s anger. This probably had to do with the five behemoths who, as soon as the old coach had raised his voice, had taken a step into his direction, only to be stopped by Donald¡¯s raised hand. Truly like trained attack dogs.

    Lowering his hand, he smiled brightly at Chen, displaying at least one golden tooth. ¡°Well, Mr. Jackson, a job is a job. You can¡¯t argue people around here are in dire need of employment. We only propose to offer them what they want. Money.¡±

    ¡°And then extort it right back in the name of ¡®protection¡¯?¡± Chen¡¯s voice had dropped to a low growl by this point.

    Instead of answering right away, the man calmly picked up his previously folded paper plane and made it twirl between his fingers. Then he revealed a sadistic smile. ¡°Well. It is only right for a king to raise some taxes upon his domain, is it not?¡±

    Chen spat on the floor. ¡°You¡¯re insane.¡± Then he changed the subject, seemingly at random. ¡°Do you know why the previous bosses of this city actually followed rules and honor?¡±

    ¡°¡­Enlighten me?¡±

    ¡°Because without rules, there is only chaos. And when it¡¯s back to the law of the jungle¡­¡± Chen shook his head, a disdainful sneer on his face. ¡°There will always be someone stronger. So play the big bad wolf and gloat in your little sandpit while you can, sonny, because soon, your little white ass will get spanked by someone even more ruthless than you are, and because it¡¯s every man for himself, nobody will come to save you when you squirm and scream like a little bi¡ª¡±

    Chen¡¯s tirade was brusquely interrupted by a hard sound just next to his ear, followed by a sharp pain in his cheek. He felt blood trickle down his chin. His gaze shifted slightly to the right, and his eyes widen upon seeing the neatly folded plane that an instant before had been in Donald¡¯s hand now stuck into the wall as if it had been made of steel instead of paper.

    He looked back at the man on the bench. Donald wasn¡¯t smiling anymore.

    ¡°I think you¡¯ve made your point. So, are you going to cooperate, old man? Or do you want to do it the hard way.¡±

    Chen lowered the crowbar and stared straight into the younger man¡¯s eyes, making sure he spoke slowly and the other could hear clearly each of his words.

    ¡°Over. My. Dead. Body. Brat.¡±

    Donald¡¯s traits hardened.

    ¡°That can be arranged.¡±

    He snapped his fingers and the five mastodons rushed at Chen.

    * * * * *

 Chapter 08 â€“ Belated Realizations

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Jackson Boxing Club.

    Alex parked his car in front of Chen¡¯s gym. His eyes immediately went wide at the sight of the steel curtains, which were ripped wide open with a hole large enough for two men to walk in side-by-side. He leaped out of his car and ran into the gym, not even bothering to stop the engine. When reaching home, he¡¯d had a foreboding something bad was about to happen. After a quick explanation to his wife, he¡¯d thus driven back despite the old man¡¯s threat of mop beating.

    The scene inside was even worse than he¡¯d feared. Alex froze, taking in the destruction in front of him. The gym¡¯s equipment laid broken on the floor, chairs and wooden benches were shattered, their pieces scattered, and the punching bags were all gutted. With his experience in fighting¡ªboth in and out of the ring¡ªAlex easily recognized this was no aftermath of a fight. This was systematic vandalism.

    A painful cough snapped him out of his horrified daze. ¡°Chen?¡± he whispered uncertainly. His eyes swept across the dark room. Eventually, they set on a twitching heap in a corner.

    The heap coughed.

    ¡°Chen!¡± Alex ran across the wrecked gym, inadvertently leaving sole-shaped indents on the concrete floor and flinging aside a metal locker as if removing a cardboard box. He stopped by the body of the old man lying down in a shallow pool of blood¡ªobviously his own. Alex sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes widened even further.

    Chen had been beaten black and blue, to the point of being nigh unrecognizable. In the yellowish light of the only lamp to have survived the wreckage, his dark face was purple and swollen, with dried blood trailing from his nose and from the corner of his mouth. Both his arms were bent at abnormal angles, one at the elbow and the other at the wrist. His left eyelid seemed to cave in unnaturally.

    The worst, however, was his left leg. It simply ended below his knee. A makeshift and loose tourniquet had been applied to the stump. It was as if whoever had done this didn¡¯t intent for Chen to die¡­but also did not care much if he did. A few feet away, propped up against the wall, under the lamp, as if a mockery, stood the severed leg. Words had been cut into the flesh in capital letters. It read: FIRST AND LAST WARNING!

    At least Chen¡¯s chest was still rising and falling¡ªalbeit faintly. This was all that stopped Alex from completely freaking out.

    A cough broke the dreadful silence. Chen¡¯s swollen right eyelid cracked open. ¡°Brat?¡± he croaked.

    ¡°Pops!¡± In his distress, Alex reverted back to the nickname he¡¯d given Chen as a nine years old fleeing from his abusive drunken father. In an instant, he was crouching by the old man¡¯s side, uncaring for the blood that soaked his pant legs. ¡°What happened?!¡±

    ¡°Stupid¡­¡± was the old coach could get out. His eye rolled back and his head tilted to the side flaccidly.

    ¡°CHEN!!¡± the young man thought the worst. Then he heard the faint sound of a wheezy breath.

    Alex heaved a shaky sigh of relief. The old man had only lost consciousness. ¡°Don¡¯t scare me like that! You old fart.¡± His quip lacked any strength. In fact, he had trouble keeping his own breath steady. However, he knew he needed to calm down. He needed to do something. His first instinct was to take Chen to Percy¡¯s, but he didn¡¯t want to risk causing irreversible damage by moving the injured man in this state. Alex had some basic first aid training, but he¡¯d never had to deal with such grave wounds.

    Paradoxically, he was still calm enough to understand he wasn¡¯t calm enough, and that he wouldn¡¯t be able to make rational decisions. Thus, he chose to call someone he knew would. Shoving a trembling hand in his pocket, he grabbed his phone and composed the number of his house. His wife, Sophia, was a nurse. She would know what to do.

    She answered on the second ring. ¡°Al? What going on, honey?¡± Her low voice in his ear already managed to somewhat appease his erratic heartbeat. In the background, he could hear the television. Imagining her sitting curled up on the couch, eating snacks in front of a sappy romantic comedy helped him too.

    Not by much though. When he started speaking, the words still rushed out of his mouth as if trying to all come out at the same time. ¡°Sophia! It¡¯s Chen! Something happened at the gym. Something¡ªand there is so much blood¡ªand Chen is¡ªhe is¡ªI don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Alex, Alex honey, calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me what¡¯s going on.¡± He recognized the voice she used with patients at the hospital. Alex complied and, finally, his trembling subsided. Sometimes, you only needed someone to tell you the obvious.

    He repeated, quieter, ¡°It¡¯s Chen. He¡¯s hurt. I need help.¡±

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old Industrial Park. Percy¡¯s clandestine clinic.

    For the second time in less than a day, Alex drove his car into the dead end where was located the main entrance to Percy¡¯s clinic¡ªa place he normally visited no more than twice a month¡ªless if he could help it.

    The setting was eerily similar to last time he¡¯d been here, except this time, his wife had taken Chen¡¯s place in the passenger seat, and the old man himself was the one lying unconscious and bloody at the back and not some creepy mummy-lookalike. Also, Chen was lying on an actual stretcher instead of wrapped in a tarp like a human burrito.

    Another difference, Alex immediately noted, was that the dead end was unusually not deserted. Surprisingly, Percy himself was standing in front of the opened metal door. Weirder even, he was talking to someone, a pizza delivery guy wearing a red helmet and holding underarm a cubic nylon insulated bag¡ªthough Alex had a sneaking suspicion there was no pizza in that bag, or ever had been.

    As the couple got out of the car, the suspicious man handed Percy a bundle of cash. He then walked to a motorbike parked a short distance away, strapped the bag on the luggage rack, hoped on, and sped away into the night after a quick salute to Percy.

    Only then did the ever-tired technopath seem to notice the approaching pair. Falling on the unconscious old man, Percy¡¯s eyes widened. His face paled even more. Yet, he waited for them to get to him instead of rushing to meet them. He wanted to immediately check Chen¡¯s condition, but the exoskeleton encasing his legs still could not handle fast movement¡ªhis bones took it badly¡ªand without it, he could barely wriggle his toes¡ªanother souvenir of the accident that had nearly killed him and burned off half of his face. So he waited.

    There was no need for him to move anyway, as the couple quickly reached him, then continued past him through the door. ¡°Sophia?¡± he asked, falling into step beside them.

    Used to his minimalist way of speech, the nurse knew what he as asking. She answered but she let her medical training to the talking. Although she might not be as demonstrative as her husband, only by treating Chen as any patient was she able retain her calm. Like Alex, the old man was the parent whom her actual mom and dad never were.

    ¡°He has multiple fractures all over his body. As far as I can tell, no rib has punctured his lungs or any internal organs. Which we can consider lucky. The most worrying would be his arms. His articulations are badly damaged. You-you can reattach his leg, right? We brought¡­ We brought it with us.¡± He voice faltered a little at the end.

    ¡°If the cut is clean¡­no problem.¡±

    ¡°It is, yes, clean I mean,¡± Sophia stammered in relief. ¡°I don¡¯t know what did it, but it was very sharp and thin.¡±

    Percy only nodded, while also tugging nervously at the hem of his tee-shirt. His mechanical hand even ripped a hole in the cloth but he didn''t seem to notice or care. Behind them, the door closed automatically.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Unexpectedly, that question came from Alex. He was trying to divert his thoughts from his worries and the man dressed as a pizza delivery guy was bothering him. He had a suspicion as to the identity of that man and he didn¡¯t like the implications. Chen had tried to shield Alex from the darker side of the Old City, but the young boxer had heard enough to know of those ¡°cleaners¡±, parahumans with powers well suited to making inconvenient things disappear¡ªdead bodies, for example, which would be sold organ by organ on the black market.

    Alex actually preferred not to know why Percy would need to get rid of a dead body. He was aware that the young men dealt with all sorts of unsavory people and would rather not be involved. However, he didn¡¯t want there to be trouble anywhere near the old man.

    Percy tore his gaze away from Chen''s battered body and his mismatched eyes met Alex¡¯s for a second, before returning to the old man. ¡°It¡¯s¡­not important...it¡¯s over. No problem.¡±

    Alex wasn¡¯t convinced. He noticed Percy¡¯s gaze flicker to a closed door as they passed it and heard the technopath mumble under his breath. He generally didn¡¯t trust Percy, whom he considered mentally unstable and on the wrong side of the thin line between clandestine doctor and mad scientist, but right now he was Chen¡¯s only hope. Besides, Chen himself trusted the crazy teen, so Alex would too¡­for now.

    Meanwhile, amidst his worries for old man Chen, Percy was recalling the events that had happened earlier.

    * * *

    About half-an-hour ago...

    ¡°This only business¡­sorry?¡± The Chinese mobster said these mocking words as he pressed the trigger. Squinting at the gun pointed at his forehead, Percy could only sigh tiredly.

    Clich¨¦. Too clich¨¦. Did you go to Bad Villain School? You¡¯ll get killed just to further the plot, you know that, right? Well, you probably don¡¯t. The thoughts flashed through Percy¡¯s powerful brain in a nanosecond. Ah, so bothersome. From behind him, five gunshots rang out. The sounds overlapped with the one aimed at carving a third eye in his forehead.

    Before the Chinese¡¯s bullet even exited the barrel of his gun, a larger and faster bullet hit the weapon at an angle, projecting it sideways. By pushing the capabilities of his cybernetic eye to the limit, Percy was able to see everything as if in slow motion. The small piece of deadly metal that should have killed him missed his face by five good inches. Four other bullets darted past him in the other direction, towards the gangsters, hitting each one in their own foreheads and sending them the ground.

    Percy glanced at the articulated arm protruding from a recess in the wall. ¡°Thanks, Clepia.¡± Biting his nails, he shook his head in disbelief. He couldn¡¯t understand why people always assumed he was defenseless simply because his ability wasn¡¯t geared towards weaponry. Maybe it was because technopath rarely stretched the limits of their personal niche. A technopath was usually supernaturally gifted in a single very specific area of technology. Well, Percy hadn¡¯t met many of his peers, so he couldn¡¯t be sure.

    ¡°No problem, master. Although I would appreciate if you could avoid exposing yourself so recklessl¡ªMaster!!¡±

    ¡°Uh?¡± Breathing out in surprise, Percy turned back to the supposedly dead men.

    While Percy wasn¡¯t looking, one of them had actually jumped back on his feet, cursing in Chinese and not looking even a little injured. A yellow sheen of light was covering his body. Parahuman. Some kind of shield, I guess. How troublesome. The impact of the high caliber bullet had indeed thrown him down but hadn¡¯t truly caused any grave injury¡ªbeyond maybe a concussion.

    However, the teen¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change despite the situation. For one, he was naturally not very expressive. For two, he wasn¡¯t worried. Shielding abilities were far from omnipotent. A barrier could only endure so much before breaking. As soon as the man had gotten up, Clepia must have already readied a quick burst of bullets. He can¡¯t be too strong. Percy reasoned that any parahuman capable of sustaining a substantial amount of damage wouldn¡¯t be stuck as some nameless henchman of a second-rate gang.

    Before the AI was able to fire, however, several things happened almost simultaneously. The thug threw himself at Percy with a roar faster than he¡¯d expected. In response, the technopath started raising his left hand, electrical arcs coursing over the fake limb. Then, a faint gust of wind brushed past his right ear.

    Percy¡¯s cybernetic left eye perfectly caught the moment when the spinning screwdriver reached the parahuman shield. He expected the tool to bounce off harmlessly, but to his surprise, it instead phased through the shimmering layer as if it didn¡¯t exist. With amazing marksmanship, the screwdriver buried itself into the man¡¯s eye, all the way to the hand.

    What the¡­ Percy frowned.

    Blood gushed out of the orifice in slow motion. The teen cut off the accelerate time perception generated by his Augmented Reality Software. Time taking speeding back around him, he Chinese thug slumped down noisily. He didn¡¯t get up this time. Not one to leave things to luck, Percy still asked Clepia to check his vitals. They all came out flat. ¡­Plot armor? Am I the main character in some cheesy novel, or what? He shook his head, recalling Clepia was about to take out the man anyway.

    Looking up from the corpse, he turned around. A few yards into the corridor, the skeletal silhouette of the man he¡¯d just operated stood shakily. Sweat was pearling on his forehead and he was using the wall to support himself. Briefly bewildered, Percy quickly remembered how, before he was distracted by the sudden arrival of the four men of the Risen Demon gang, Clepia had given him the disturbing news that the thin stranger was already awake¡ªagainst all odds considering the extent of his wounds.

    Their gaze met, gray and red LED looking into two sunken beads of emerald green. The silence stretched for a while. Eventually, Percy nodded slightly, in thanks. The other returned the nod, barely, then sat down to the ground, still leaning against the wall and now more obviously panting.

    Well, yeah, he shouldn¡¯t even be awake. He looked back at the dead parahuman. Slain by a screwdriver. How had the man done that? Nothing Percy had observed so far hinted at a shield-piercing power. It was supposed to be a mixed between healing and organic tissue degeneration¡­which was already a contradiction in itself. So weird.

    In fact, there was another question that bothered him. But this one, he could get the answer easily. ¡°Clepia. Where did...get¡­screwdriver?¡±

    ¡°Apparently, Master, ¡®someone¡¯ left an old toolbox in one of the resting rooms. Despite his assistant¡¯s repeat warnings not to misplace their possessions, I might add.¡±

    ¡°¡­eh...¡± Percy pulled on his long hair awkwardly. It wasn¡¯t his fault. He had so many thoughts, keeping track of everything was hard. He sighed. He knew his power was strong and he was technically lucky for having it, but¡­he would gladly exchange it for a slightly weaker one if that could rid him of his criminally short attention span in any matter not directly related to using his machines.

    After dancing around the dark street, his gaze fell back on the sitting man in his corridor. He addressed his AI again. ¡°¡­get ¡®him¡¯ in a room¡­try to¡­well¡­figure him out¡­¡± He thought briefly to prepare a meal for the man, but the medicines he¡¯d given him should provide for his body¡¯s needs for a while longer. At least until the morning. Percy turned back to the dead bodies. ¡°Ah¡­and¡­call the Butchers¡­¡±

    Maybe I should get a loyalty card or something?

    * * *

    Back to the present.

    In the room behind the door Percy had glanced at, Merlin sat fighting against unconsciousness.

    He couldn¡¯t tell how long he¡¯d been there, in this small room with its drab pastel walls, two old sofas, and low table, sitting under the light of a single ceiling lamp, battling against the creeping darkness encircling his mind.

    He was distantly aware of four auras moving nearby¡ªtwo barely noticeable non-mages, one stronger and the last outshining the three others by far. However, his own condition monopolized most of his attention. His body felt not only weak, but tortured, as if fire ants were eating him from within. He could tell he shouldn¡¯t be awake at the moment. In fact, probably shouldn¡¯t be alive.

    His abdomen and face hurt the most. When he¡¯d last checked, a small eternity ago it seemed, he¡¯d sensed tight bandages under his fingers. At least someone had taken care of his wounds. Wounds? How did I get injured? His memories of how he¡¯d escaped his pursuers were hazy and fragmented. That was assuming he¡¯d escaped of course, and wasn¡¯t in some secluded prison¡ªbut his instincts told him he had, in fact, escaped, and they had never led him astray so far.

    Closing his eyes and reclining in his seat, he tried to remember what had happened after he¡¯d fled his apartment. He recalled the old woman and her cat, and killing that fast-moving mage, the chase to the alleys and killing one, or two other men before he¡¯d been hit by one of those people¡¯s strange L-shaped crossbows. His leg throbbed at the remembrance. Right. That happened. His memories started to loose coherence somewhere in the middle of the brawl that had followed. Must have taken to many blows to the head. It was so strange, so foreign, so irritating to consider that a few punches from a human could cause him to lose his wits.

    Images and sounds were floating in his mind, flashes and snippets of events. Of other thugs approaching. Of a fire mage. Of pain. He remembered using his death magic, even though he¡¯d decided to seal off his death powers because his body couldn¡¯t endure the strain.

    Yet, somehow, he¡¯d used them and survived. But how? He could still feel the aftermath, although far from as extreme as it should have. Frankly, he knew he should be dead. He still felt like he might die any second.

    Right. Let¡¯s focus on that. Pushing his thought away from the physical agony he was in, he cast his mind inwards, looking for answers. There! Almost immediately, something caught his attention. There were like immaterial specks of dust swimming inside his magic, lumps dancing in the swirls of power coursing through his body. In thought, he approached one fo these specks. From up close, rather than a dust, what he discovered looked more like¡­a bubble? It was made of a thin layer of his own condensed black-green power, which enclosed a dim dot of light.

    As he observed, the dark shell seemed to slowly consume the already small bead of light. It was becoming dimmer with each passing instant. The bead was resisting, but it looked incomplete, and its battle was a losing one. Merlin couldn¡¯t figure out what was missing.

    With a push of his mind, he wished the bubble to contract. It did, and the light was crushed, swallowed by the darkness without room to struggle. Merlin was till puzzled¡ªand, frankly, annoyed at his lack of comprehension of something happening within his own body. He moved to another bubble. This one, he willed to burst. Freed from its confine, the light erupted in miniature fireworks. However, it was almost instantly snuffed by the ambient dark power in his body.

    Unconsciously, a frown formed on Merlin¡¯s face. He cursed silently. Bloody goblin-head, he berated himself, no wonder you feel like dying! Fast, he metaphorically shut the valve of his soul, cutting the outward flow of power. Then, he took control of the magic inside his body and forced as much as he could to dissipate. A wave of dizziness hit him, but he soldiered on until almost none of it was left. The relief was instantaneous. Ptaeesh. Should have done this right away. He knew this human body couldn¡¯t endure being filled with death magic. However, it felt so unnatural to restrain his power so much¡ªfor hundreds of years, he¡¯d been used to basking in his own power¡ªthat the issue hadn¡¯t been as obvious as it should have. He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

    Some magic still flowed out of his soul¡ªit was neither possible nor desirable to completely cut off the flow¡ªbut it remained confined to the power channels running parallel to his circulatory system instead of running amok inside his human envelope. He sighed and returned his attention to the anomalies still present in his body.

    Casually, he burst another ¡°bubble¡±. This time, the firework of light wasn¡¯t swallowed by his death magic. Instead, he was astounded by the sudden feeling of freshness and energy. The sensation was localized, barely reaching a few dozens of cells, but he could sense these cells abruptly fill with new life.

    Life? Merlin recalled Shadow¡¯s words from a distant past. This is Life Force? It certainly fit the description the dragon had conjectured. But¡­how? Digging through his confused memories of the fight, Merlin concluded he had somehow ripped that life force from someone, or likely several people. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn¡¯t remember how. He gnashed his teeth in frustration but then forced himself to calm down. One step at a time. This had become his mantra since coming to this world.

    Yet, another stray thought floated through his mind. He remembered how, as Meriataneesh, he used to feel bored at how easy everything was¡ªexcept for a few seemingly unattainable things. Now, even the simplest things demanded effort, and instead of feeling content, he was getting angry instead. Are sentient beings cursed to never be satisfied with their situation? Or is it because I¡¯ve only ever known the two extremes of having everything or nothing? He sighed. A consideration for another day. He also noticed he was becoming much more philosophical since coming to this world. Losing the ability to simply blast his problems away and tear through them with brute force probably played a large part in that.

    Merlin shook those irrelevant considerations away. He had more pressing matters to examine. As he focused once again on the bubbles of power, he was taken aback noticing that about a tenth had vanished. How long had he let his mind wander? Time could become a fluid notion while meditating. In any case, if he wanted to try something, he shouldn¡¯t delay.

    He tried to move one of the bubbles. It obeyed without issue. At least, the layer made of his own power moved and the light¡ªthe speck of life force¡ªwas dragged along. He couldn¡¯t exert any direct control on that speck, but the death magic acted as a repulsive force which kept the light in the center of the bubble. Interesting. Despite his interest, though, Merlin was starting to feel a headache. This kind of obscure magical applications was more of Shadow¡¯s domain.

    With a frown, he kept his thoughts from wandering in memories of the black dragon and tried to remain in the present. Still, that gave him an idea. What would Shadow have done? ¡­aside from wanting to magically dissect me? He pondered for an indeterminate amount of time, bubbles slowly disappearing around him. However, his thinking was impeded by the burning pain tormenting his body.

    Annoying! If only I could¡ª Wait. What if¡­ Struck by a sudden inspiration, Merlin mentally grabbed several of the bubbles¡ªabout a third of the remaining total¡ªand dragged them across his body, towards his face. He winced as the death magic left a throbbing trail across his flesh, but after he redirected the bubbles to travel through his channels, the strain lessened. He vaguely recalled Elise telling him that blood vessels had always been a preferred alley to conduct magic for human mages. As beings of magic, demons didn¡¯t have this issue, so Merlin had forgotten.

    Another frown formed on his face. Clearly, if he wanted to ever use magic again at a decent level, he¡¯d need to relearn everything. Actually, no, re-learn was false. He¡¯d never learned to use magic. As Meriataneesh, everything had come instinctively, with as much ease as breathing. Not using magic had in fact always been the problem.

    Essentially, Merlin was now trying to teach himself how to consciously breathe. He wasn¡¯t quite sure how he was supposed to do that. One thing at a time. You remember what Elise told you, and you raised that magic-fanatic of a reptile. You¡¯ll figure it out.

    While he pondered on these issues, the bubbles had reached his face. In the process, some got crushed and others burst, but the majority arrived at the destination. He spread them out, then paused. Here goes nothing. With a mental flick, he exploded all the bubbles he¡¯d gathered.

    He wasn¡¯t prepared for the rush. ¡°Sly Hielva!¡± His eyes snapped open, his meditative state broken by the intense surge of energy. It wasn¡¯t magic¡ªoddly enough. It was more akin to purely physical energy¡ªas if he¡¯d rested for hours and got all the profit of that rest in one single shot but only concentrated in his face. It was incomparably strange. He worked his jaw and twisted his tongue as if to get rid of the taste of uttering the name of the goddess of life. Even as a curse, it left a bad taste.

    Soon, the diffuse corruption of death magic started spreading again. However, he could tell the parts of his face which had been affected by the life force were slower to become infected. He could feel the remnant of the explosion of energy permeating his flesh. Its power was fainter, but the impression of incompleteness in the life force wasn¡¯t present anymore. A body? Did it need a living body to connect to? It would make sense that the life force needed a physical body to maintain itself¡ªlike fire needed fuel. Before, it had only held itself together instead of dissipating because the death magic had trapped it so completely.

    Or at least, that¡¯s what he thought was happening. Damned, I miss that stupid dragon. He¡¯d have known what this was.

    He blinked, suddenly realizing something.

    ¡°¡­I miss him,¡± he repeated in a daze.

    The thought had hit him like a physical blow. Shadow¡­that dumb lizard¡­ He missed him. He really did. He missed Shadow so much. Like a hole had been ripped inside his guts. And Sheila, that sultry, mischievous and twisted succubus. Even Zephyr, the nagging, stuck-up, know-it-all brat of a vampire. And Elise. Elise. Sweet, sweet Elise. So delusional and persistent in seeing the good in everything, even where there was none.

    A single tear trailed down his cheek.

    He missed them so much.

    It shouldn¡¯t have come as such a surprise, but it did. He¡¯d known, at the back of his mind. He¡¯d just never truly stopped to think about it. When they¡¯d been there, there was simply no reason to. After his death, he¡¯d first floated in the void as a nigh emotionless entity for gods knew how long, then other preoccupations had occupied his thoughts.

    Now, however, he could only think about those four.

    Four people, each very different than the other, whom a bored Meriataneesh had picked up along the way, trying to find brief distractions in her seemingly pointless existence.

    Shadow. A dragon egg the Demon Queen had discovered under the corpse of its mother¡­whom she¡¯d just beheaded. She¡¯d kept the egg on a whim.

    Sheila. The fallen queen of a tribe Meria had brutally subdued. Why had Meria spared the succubus life? Merlin still wasn¡¯t sure, but he blamed libido.

    Zephyr. A youngling of the vampire clan, so eager to become someone important, he hadn¡¯t hesitated to sell his soul to the Scourge who was at the time ravaging the demon lands.

    Elise. The princess of a decadent empire, willing to use the darkest fire to fight the flames of corruption burning through the country she loved more than life itself. A little girl, then a young woman, longing to save the world, even if she had to become consumed by that dark fire in the process.

    Four small flames, which should have been mere flickers of candles in the endless existence of the Daughter of Death, but who had grown into strong blazes lighting up the boundless darkness that had ensnared her¡ªthat still ensnared him.

    Four of the five beings to ever amount to anything in Meriataneesh¡¯s eyes.

    Now nowhere in sight.

    Merlin didn¡¯t know when he¡¯d started openly crying. The tears were pouring down on his face. He bent down and hid in his hands.

    At this moment, someone might have come into the room and kill him, he probably wouldn¡¯t have resisted. Just what was the point? Dying today, tomorrow, in ten years, in a hundred, in ten times that? What difference did it make? He¡¯d lived a millennium, and for what? He was alone, stranded in a foreign land, a foreign world, without any means to return to the few people who mattered to him, without knowing even if those people hadn¡¯t, in fact, be part of a conspiracy to lead Meriataneesh to her demise.

    He was alone, and so, so cold.

    Merlin didn¡¯t know how much time he spent wallowing in self-misery. Ironically, it was pain that snapped him out of it. A stab of pain in his guts brought him back. Almost wrathfully, he threw most of the remaining bubbles of contained life force at the pain. It vanished in an explosion of energy, stunning him for an instant and finishing to drag him back from his momentary depression. He still was feeling down, but his hunger for life was rekindling.

    Reclining in his seat, he wiped the tears off his face and used what little bubbled life force he had left to sooth various aches. Over the course of the next minute, he manipulated it to heal all of the less critical but still serious sources of pain around his body. After the last of the life force was spent, he felt like a new man¡ªnot a man he felt fully comfortable being yet, but one he could endure being for a while longer.

    He wondered briefly if he should have kept some life force around to experiment, but then he remembered how the lights had all been slowly extinguished by the bubbles containing them. Likely, they wouldn¡¯t have lasted the day. Besides, the relief he was experiencing didn¡¯t leave much space for regret at this very moment. He was still exhausted, sad, and weaker than he wanted to be reminded, but at least he didn¡¯t feel like a walking corpse living on borrowed time anymore.

    ¡°Sir, are you feeling better?¡±

    Merlin¡¯s eyes snapped open when a voice echoed in the room. Then his eyes narrowed. He looked around, but could only see the two sofas facing each other, one low table between them and a flat screen hung on the wall to the side. He could feel no close presence either, which he found slightly unsettling. He could sense no spell either. Is this one of this world weird non-magical devices again? Ptaeesh. This is going to be troublesome in the future.

    ¡°Who is there?¡± he called out. He recalled that flat and feminine voice from somewhere, but couldn¡¯t seem to place where.

    ¡°Greetings, Sir. My name is Asclepia. I was tasked by Master to ask you a few questions¡ªif it does not inconvenience you?¡±

    Merlin was on guard, muscles tensed. ¡°Should thou not reveal thyself first?¡± It suddenly dawned on him that the mysterious woman had addressed him in that same language used by the people who had tried to capture him. Merlin¡¯s suspicion abruptly peaked. He didn¡¯t stand up from his seat, but he prepared to jump at any threat. The four presence he¡¯d sensed earlier had yet to move any closer. ¡°And how do thou know of this tongue?¡±

    ¡°My apologies. I have acted impolitely.¡± The screen on the wall suddenly lit up and a figure appeared on it, bowing in apology.

    Silverwolf? Merlin raised an eyebrow in surprise. This was the first beastkin he met in this world, even if only through a communication device. He¡¯d been starting to believe there were only humans here. The silverwolf woman¡ªrecognizable from the shiny gray triangular ears atop her head¡ªwas wearing an apron over a blue dress and a lace hairband. Digging through his memories, Merlin recalled this outfit for being a popular servants¡¯ garb in some places of the Empire. I guess the rumors about it being first introduced by a hero were true.

    The woman straightened and looked expressionlessly in Merlin¡¯s eyes. ¡°Once again, allow me to introduce myself. I am called Asclepia. My master took care of your wounds¡­¡± She marked a small pause at that, and Merlin didn¡¯t miss the underlying message. He relaxed, but only slightly. The woman appeared to notice and continued. ¡°My master tasked me with asking you a few questions. I waited for you to be in a state that allowed conversation before manifesting myself.

    ¡°As for the language I am speaking, Japanese, it is a language with more than 125 million speakers worldwide, primarily in the State of Japan, a sovereign island nation in Eastern Asia where it is the national language. I am currently using Japanese because it is the language most closely matching the one you yourself are speaking, barred some archaism, and the only one you showed any comprehension towards during out prior interaction. Does this answer your question satisfactorily?¡±

    ¡°We talked before?¡± Merlin eyed the beastkin woman suspiciously. She was using many words he did not know. In fact, he¡¯d missed about two of every ten words. It was to be expected, however. Although she had been one of the greatest polyglots of Zarath, the Demon Queen couldn¡¯t have mastered all the subtleties of a dialect spoken only on some small and remote island. Moreover, this world¡¯s version, even though it bore the same name, didn¡¯t quite match the one Merlin remembered.

    ¡°Yes. We talked in the hallway twenty-three minutes ago. I directed you to this room. You seemed pretty out of it at the time, so it is understandable your memory of the event might be incomplete. On that matter, I would like to thank you officially on behalf of my master for the assistance you provided in disposing of those pests and covering for my shortcomings.¡± She bowed again. Merlin wasn¡¯t too sure what to make of the situation, but it was a fact this woman was a very well-trained servant.

    As for ¡°providing assistance¡±, he had merely been awoken by a relatively strong killing intent, grabbed the first weapon he¡¯d gotten his hands on and then disposed of the threat. It had all been reflexes rather than a conscious attempt at helping.

    On a side note, there was actually no such thing as ¡°killing intent¡±. It was more of an abstract notion, a mix of magical power fluctuations, small sounds and variations in the environment that notified one¡¯s subconscious of a nearby danger. In Merlin¡¯s current weakened state, and back then being barely conscious, he had reacted strongly to remove any menacing presence in his, whether directed at him or not.

    He waved the thanks away. ¡°It was nothing,¡± he answered honestly. ¡°Thine master, is he that young mag¡­man?¡± Merlin coughed. He¡¯d almost said ¡°mage¡± but caught himself at the last second. This world¡¯s people didn¡¯t seem to understand magic. With a little logic leap, he deducted they might even see magic as a superstition, even though they were clearly mages amongst them. Some isolated tribes in Zarath had behaved that way, burning mages at the stake as ¡°evil spirits¡± but worshipping their ¡°shamans¡± using the ¡°power of nature¡±. Merlin had no doubt stupidity knew no boundary, even across dimensions.

    ¡°Yes. Master is the young man you defended.¡±

    Merlin judged useless to rectify he was only protecting himself. He wasn¡¯t normally the manipulative type, but a little gratitude went a long way and he was in no position to dismiss any advantage he might gain¡ªas long as it didn¡¯t go against his few core beliefs. Surviving at all cost but losing himself in the process wasn¡¯t something he fancied.

    ¡°So, thou art here to interrogate me,¡± Merlin stated, his tone guarded.

    ¡°Not in the sense I believe you are interpreting it. You are free to refuse to answer any question. My orders are to get a better understanding of your personality. A non-answer also brings its share of information depending on the question avoided.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­¡± Merlin raised an eyebrow. Sounds like something Zephyr would say. ¡°And can I ask questions as well? There are several matters I desire to inquire about.¡±

    The faintest hint of a smirk rose the side of the silverwolf maid. ¡°I believe you have already started asking questions.¡±

    Merlin scoffed. Snarky. I like it.

    ¡°But, yes, feel free to ask anything. Again, any form of interaction¡ª¡±

    ¡°Also brings its share of information. I get it.¡± Merlin was starting to really appreciate this woman¡¯s straightforwardness. Although maybe this was only an act to get him to lower his guard¡ªhard to tell with the beastkin¡¯s blank expression¡ªbut somehow, Merlin doubted this was the case.

    ¡°Firstly, I would like to confirm one thing. Is your name Merlin Pendragon?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He had already decided to assume the identity of his body. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Simple confirmation. We found papers with this name in the backpack you had with you.¡±

    The grimoires! Merlin straightened in his seat. ¡°What about the books which were in the bag? Also, where did you find me exactly? What happened?¡± This question had been bothering him for a while.

    ¡°The books are in Master¡¯s room. Feel free to ask for them whenever you want them back. Although, I am sure Master would like to discuss their content with you if you¡¯d agree.¡±

    Merlin nodded, not to acquiesce, but to acknowledge the demand.

    ¡°Concerning your second and third questions, you were found by friends of Master¡¯s, unconscious and suffering from severe wounds, mostly broken bones, and burns, with also a large gash to your face. They brought you here. Master did his best, but there should be scarring. Any other question?¡±

    Merlin closed his eyes and once again assessed the state of his body. There were definitely cracks in many of his bones. Considering the regenerative effects of life force, he could easily believe there used to be severe fractures.

    ¡°Your master. Is he a healer?¡±

    ¡°I believe ¡®surgeon¡¯ would be more appropriate.¡±

    Merlin frowned. Those butchers? ¡°How could a surgeon mend broken bones so fast? Is that his power?¡± He thought this much should be safe. Even without formal knowledge of magic, the young human had so much magical power, there was no way he wasn¡¯t aware of it.

    ¡°Not exactly. He has come into possession of a healing salve with advanced regenerative properties.¡±

    ¡°A potion, uh? Makes sense,¡± Merlin muttered, mostly to himself. I wonder how advanced is alchemy in this world. The more answers he got, the more new questions were piling up. One step at a time. He wanted to ask about this world and the city he was in, but he didn¡¯t want to reveal too much about himself. He guessed he could feign amnesia, but that idea made him uncomfortable. Deceit and lies went against his nature. Death was straightforward, honest, and in its own way, pure. Life was the treacherous one. At least, this was his opinion.

    Anyway, if this beastkin¡¯s words were true, he owed these people a great deal. Dying from such a little fight in some back alley would have put him in a black mood.

    ¡°You saved my life. You have my gratitude,¡± Merlin eventually said with the slightest of bows¡ªthe most he would ever lower his head to anyone. At the same time, he repressed a grimace at how odd the words felt to him. Acting polite and humble wasn¡¯t something he was used to, no matter how much Elise and that smug bastard Zephyr had tried to teach her.

    ¡°You¡¯re a queen, Meria, so at least try to act like the part!¡±

    ¡°Those niceties are a waste of time.¡±

    ¡°Well, if we¡¯re going to meet with the Elven Council, why not show them you aren¡¯t the mindless monster they see you as?¡±

    ¡°Someone remind me again why I can¡¯t just tell those stuck-up pointy ears to join our army¡ª¡±

    ¡°Alliance.¡±

    ¡°...why I can''t tell them to join our ''Alliance'' or I''ll kill them? They know I can destroy that sacred tree-city of theirs whenever I feel like it.¡±

    ¡°Because, Meria, we¡¯re trying to gain allies, not reluctant slaves.¡±

    ¡°O, for the love of¡ª¡±

    ¡°I must agree with Lady Elise, Your Majesty. Diplomacy is probably the best way to deal with the elves.¡±

    ¡°You too, Zephyr?! Ah, whatever...Just get this over with!¡±

    ¡°Meria¡­¡±

    ¡°...Merlin?¡±

    Merlin''s head jerked up. He blinked in confusion before he finally recognized his surroundings¡ªnot the royal study in the Demon Castle, but a drab room with old couches and a beastkin on a communication device. He must have dozed off. Maybe he wasn¡¯t as well recovered as he thought. ¡°Could thou repeat the question?¡±

    ¡°I was asking whether you were willing to discuss the reasons of your layoff from NovaTech Industries.¡±

    ¡°¡­I would rather not.¡± As much as he was interested in the content of these documents he¡¯d been handed by the NovaTech elders, there was too much of a risk to expose his lack of knowledge about¡­well¡­Merlin Pendragon. He tried to change the subject without being too conspicuous about it. ¡°Asclepia¡¯, does this name have a meaning?¡±

    The beastkin titled her head, likely in puzzlement. She answered nonetheless. ¡°It is a feminized version of Asclepius, a hero and god of healing in Ancient Greek Mythology.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°A god of healing, uh...¡± Merlin muttered, inadvertently slipping back to the demon tongue. His hand unconsciously moved to caress the gauze covering his face. ¡°It is a rather interesting name, for a beastkin,¡± he couldn¡¯t resist to point out.

    Curious wasn¡¯t exactlya word Merlin would use to describe himself, but one couldn¡¯t live for centuries in the company of a dragon obsessed with research without picking up a few quirks along the way. Oddly enough, Meria¡¯s interest had always been with languages. It had been sort of a hobby for the Demon Queen. It also tied in with one of her oldest memories, one of the few Merlin still had of the only person Meria had ever considered a sort of parental figure.

    Amongst the many languages she¡¯d learned over the years, the beastkin tribes¡¯ naming sense had always aroused her interest for how convoluted it was. On Zarath, the tribal beastkins had names like Roaring Wind of the White Plains, Soft Feather Floats Downstream or Stable Rock atop the Cliff in the Sunlight of Late Spring.Really, Merlin still found it quite intriguing.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know whether it is strange. Master named me this way.¡±

    ¡°Did you not have a name before meeting him?¡±

    ¡°I have been with Master as long as I can remember.¡±

    Merlin frowned a little at that. The silverwolf woman looked older than the human youth he¡¯d caught glimpse of in the corridor. Granted, his vision wasn¡¯t what it used to be, but not to the point of being misled that much. Amnesia? Or an appearance-alteration spell? An accelerate aging condition maybe, but that seems far-fetched. There was something that did not fit there, but he wasn¡¯t sure how to ask about it.

    Before he could make up his mind, however, something else stole his attention. Of the four auras that had been relatively stationary since a while ago, one was now walking in their direction. And it was that powerful young mage¡¯s.

    * * *

    Percy staggered out of the operating room, feeling exhausted but relieved.

    Chen would live. He would remain in a drug-induced coma for a least twenty-four hours and need several weeks to recover properly¡ªespecially that leg Percy had needed to reattach. Thank God, that cut was so clean. The cut had been so neat, in fact, that you¡¯d swear the old man had been dismembered with a sheet of paper. At the very least, the injury screamed parahuman involvement.

    That eye, though. Percy shook his head. There was nothing he could have done to save Chen¡¯s left eye. In the first place, there¡¯d been nothing left to save, only squashed eye juice. Now he would have to wait for Chen to wake up before asking if he wanted a prosthesis. Though, knowing the old man, Percy could already guess the answer.

    Anyway, the old man would be fine¡ªeventually. He was tougher than a rock. Alex and Sophia, on the other hand, might be the ones who¡¯d need more time to recover, mentally. Especially Alex. The young boxer had been visibly upset by finding his mentor¡ªand surrogate parent¡ªin such a state. Percy had had to threaten to throw Alex out of the operating room to get him to calm down. Right now, the pair of husband and wife had fallen asleep in their chairs. Percy had decided to let them sleep.

    As for Percy himself, he was upset too, but he¡¯d seen many injuries in his short life, from mangled limbs to gruesome dead bodies, including the charred corpses of his own parents. He¡¯d be okay¡ªor at least back to usual. Although, that was only if he didn¡¯t die from exhaustion. Even for him, used to sleep far less than it was probably reasonable, the past twenty-four hours had been a bit too much.

    However, before he got his well-deserved long nap, Percy still had one guest to attend¡ªa living mummy with the tenacity of a cockroach and the ability to kill a parahuman behind his barrier in one hit with a screwdriver despite being himself at death¡¯s door. He¡¯d let Clepia handle the man while he was busy with Chen, but he wanted to at least have a face-to-face conversation before he went to sleep. The man was interesting, and if possible, Percy wanted to forge a good relationship with him.

    The teen also had a hidden, darker motive in befriending the stranger, an idea born from witnessing the ease with which the skeletal man had ended a life and then seeing Chen in such a battered state. If I can strike a deal with him¡­ He left that thought unfinished. First, he needed to assess what type of man he had saved. No use wasting brain power on infeasible plans, more so when he was this tired.

    At least, one positive aspect of his exhaustion was that his mind was working at a much slower speed than usual. Not the best condition to formulate tortuous Machiavellian plans, but perfect to hold a normal conversation. Trying to get words out could be such a pain when his initial thought would have changed three times by the time he¡¯d translated it into speech.

    Stumbling, Percy pushed open the door of the waiting room where he met his clients and have them wait while he worked. Percy normally didn¡¯t allow people in his operating room, other than the patient. Chen, Sophia, and Alex were exceptions. As he entered, he was met with the gazes of both the skeletal man¡ªwho had striking emerald green eyes, he now noticed¡ªand his AI assistant¡¯s CGI avatar displayed on a screen.

    ¡°Master,¡± Clepia greeted him. The greeting was a bit redundant because she had been helping him silently during the operation and was always with him through his AR interface. But, if she liked to act this way, he wasn¡¯t about to restrict her. He was actually rather fascinated by her increasingly defined personality.

    ¡°Hi, Clepia. And¡­err¡­¡± He looked at the man. ¡°Merlin¡­that¡¯s right?¡±

    Instead of answering, the man turned to Clepia¡¯s image and spoke a long sentence in a foreign language that caught Percy off guard. Japanese? He doesn¡¯t look Asian, though. Percy could easily recognize the language¡ªhe¡¯d watch enough Japanese animated TV series¡ªbut he didn¡¯t speak a word. One would think that with a mind like his, he¡¯d have picked it up by now, but a technopath brain worked in a very peculiar way. Percy¡¯s ADD, which manifested whenever he tried to focus on something non-technological, made it a nightmare to learn something as complex as a foreign tongue.

    He waited for Clepia to answer the man before asking, ¡°What did he say?¡±

    ¡°He wanted me to extend his thanks for saving him.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­sure¡­it¡¯s no big deal,¡± he replied awkwardly, unknowingly mirroring Merlin¡¯s earlier words. He scratched the back of his head. ¡°Does he not speak English?¡±

    ¡°Apparently not. Also, his Japanese appears to be a very archaic dialect. Surprisingly, he¡¯s been picking up modern Japanese at an astonishing rate. I could hear him improve throughout our conversation. I don¡¯t believe he was doing it consciously. If I had to make a hypothesis, I would say he is familiar with languages.¡±

    ¡°A polyglot¡­who doesn¡¯t know English?¡± Percy raised a skeptical right eyebrow. He didn¡¯t have a left eyebrow.

    Clepia frowned in response. ¡°I admit this is¡­contradictory. I need to reevaluate my probability computation.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­Well¡­He is a weird puzzle,¡± Percy said before he could stop himself. He sent a worried glance at the man. ¡°Are you sure he can¡¯t understand us?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master, I am sure,¡± the AI answered with what he thought was an indulgent smile. She then turned to their guest and rattled off a long sentence in Japanese. The man nodded and reclined in his seat, making himself comfortable. Clepia ¡°looked back¡± at Percy¡ªshe really was seeing everything through cameras. ¡°Master, I informed Merlin that I needed to talk to you. So don¡¯t feel uncomfortable with excluding him for now.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­I see¡­¡± So his name really is Merlin Pendragon. Kind of cool. Despite how he lived and who he worked with, Percy was undeniably a teenager, one with a great interest in fiction, and not only sci-fi. He loved to read fantasy stories as well, including the Arthurian mythos. Although, he would read them in short sessions, only managing a couple chapters before his thoughts wandered off. That was how he¡¯d come to enjoy online novels. The typically short chapters format suited him best.

    ¡°I see¡­¡± he repeated, blinking to get his focus back. With a twitchy smile, he walked further into the room and sat down in the free sofa. He could see Merlin eyeing curiously the exoskeleton encasing his legs, but the strange man made no comment. Percy returned his attention to the AI. ¡°What have you got so far?¡±

    ¡°We actually didn¡¯t talk much. He looked unwell, so I estimated best to allow him a period of rest before initiating the dialogue. Therefore I waited until he seemed ready, which was sixteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds ago.¡±

    Percy nodded his understanding. ¡°So? Anything pertinent so far?¡±

    ¡°From my impression so far¡ªand I want to remind you this is based on a very short interaction¡ªthis man either suffers from delusions or has been a victim of mental manipulation. He doesn¡¯t seem to represent an immediate threat, but future behavior is hard to determine with precision.¡±

    ¡°¡­eh?¡± This was all Percy could manage. He still hadn¡¯t gotten used to how Clepia could throw around such statements with as much emotion as if talking about the weather. He cast a quick glance at Merlin, who looked quite calm and composed from someone supposedly mentally unstable. But then, the teen supposed strong delusions didn¡¯t always automatically mean insanity. It depended on the delusions. Someone persuaded against all proof that the sky was sparkly pink wouldn¡¯t be much of a danger for society. ¡°That¡¯s¡­err¡­quite an allegation, Clepia. Why do you think that?¡±

    The AI rectified her impeccable dress and pulled out a clipboard¡ªas if she¡¯d been taking notes. ¡°The first indicator of abnormality was, of course, the archaic Japanese. I made a fast research on the man named Merlin Pendragon. His online presence¡ªincluding social media and others¡ªis minimal, and I could find very little without breaking through securities and firewall beyond my capacity.¡±

    ¡°Clepia¡­¡± Percy warned warily. He might not consider himself a lawful citizen, but that didn¡¯t mean he wanted his AI to start hacking into places like NovaTech, or worse. If possible, he¡¯d like that she did nothing that could cause him trouble.

    ¡°Do not worry, Master. I did nothing against the law. I simply compiled information anyone could have access to¡­with a lot of time and a thorough mastery of the internet.¡± Percy was sure he hadn¡¯t imagined the smug note in her tone. He certainly didn¡¯t imagine the way she flicked a strand of her silver hair over her shoulder. ¡°Anyway, nothing suggests Merlin Pendragon had any reason to learn a dead dialect. Moreover, he should have lived his whole life in the US and was born to a US family, which makes his lack of understanding of English illogical. This is what made me hypothesize his memories had been altered, willingly or through trauma.¡±

    Percy frowned, trying his hardest not to look at their guest. ¡°Could he be faking? Or could he be an imposter?¡± Mind-reading and mind-altering powers were globally repressed and rare, but shape-shifting wasn¡¯t as strictly controlled.

    ¡°I ran every check at my disposal during our conversation. Nothing in his heart rate, nervous impulses or body language suggests any intent of deception. Also, all the images I found online match his features, barring his severe loss of weight. I cannot guaranty 100% he isn¡¯t a fake, but I am 94% sure he truthfully believes everything he said. Hence why I lean towards memory tempering or issues rather than imposture.¡±

    ¡°Seems legit¡­¡± Percy scratched his destroyed earhole. ¡°But a bit thin. Continue.¡±

    She nodded and flipped a page on her virtual paperclip. ¡°Second element. Earlier, when we mentioned his treatment, the words he used to inquire about you could literally translate to ¡®magical physician¡¯. Then, he used the word ¡®potion¡¯ to refer to the PXT-67. Finally, there are the books he was carrying, which pertain to the occult. This makes me deduce he believes firmly in the existence of magic. This deduction is further reinforced by how casually he mentioned these terms. It is as if he used them every day.¡±

    ¡°Believing in magic doesn¡¯t make one a lunatic, Clepia.¡±

    ¡°Maybe so, but that is not the point. Also, he referred to me as a ¡®beast-folk¡¯, or ¡®beast-kin¡¯¡ªI am not 100% sure of the translation¡ªin a way that hinted his perception of such a beast-folk included a baggage of social norms, like he was referring to an existing species he was well-acquainted with. Lastly, he showed no surprise at my <u>appearance </u>or even any strong emotion. Again, like this was something totally normal and commonplace to him.¡±

    The young technopath didn¡¯t comment, only frowning, lost in thoughts.

    ¡°This is why I conclude Merlin Pendragon suffers from delusions associated with a partial memory loss. His sense of reality is flawed and he appears to mix reality with elements of fantasy.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡­¡±

    ¡°Master?¡±

    ¡°He called you a ¡®beastkin¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Or some similar denomination, yes.¡±

    ¡°And you are certain he believes in magic and only speaks an old form of Japanese?¡±

    ¡°It is my deduction. Although¡­¡±

    ¡°Although?¡±

    ¡°He also said something that wasn¡¯t Japanese, but it didn¡¯t match any language in my database, even loosely, so I dismissed it as nonsensical gibberish.¡± Her face showed some contrition. ¡°Did I commit a blunder, Master?¡±

    ¡°No, no¡­ You did well, Clepia.¡± Percy reassured her, motioning as if to pat her head, then he nodded to himself and scratched his head. His mind seemed more alert all of a sudden and he was busy comparing hypotheses which were straining his own concept of reality. ¡°There¡¯s just no way¡­is there? No, but then¡­¡± he was muttering to himself.

    ¡°Master?¡± the AI inquired with a hint of worry.

    ¡°¡­the Surge? No, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Master?¡±

    ¡°¡­can¡¯t be this clich¨¦¡­¡±

    ¡°Master!¡±

    His head jerked up. His one human eye blinked in confusion. ¡°Eh? What?¡± Percy noticed Merlin was looking at him with a mix of amusement and circumspection. He coughed, embarrassed.

    ¡°You were mumbling. Please don¡¯t show that kind of unstable behavior in front of strangers.¡±

    I¡¯m also unstable, uh? The teen guessed any human would appear at least a little mentally deranged to a computer. He smiled awkwardly with half of his mouth and pulled at his long black hair. ¡°Clepia¡­this is going to sound silly, but please do what I say anyway.¡±

    ¡°Anything, Master,¡± she replied seriously. It actually eased some of Percy¡¯s worries that she seemed perfectly fine with obeying him. He¡¯d read too many stories about scientists creating true artificial intelligence not to be a little concerned this new, improved¡ªand improving¡ªClepia might turn on him.

    ¡°Could you ask¡­Merlin¡­if the words ¡®elf¡¯, ¡®dwarf¡¯, ¡®summoned hero¡¯ or ¡®demon lord¡¯ mean anything to him?¡±

    ¡°Certainly, Master.¡± He could hear she didn¡¯t understand why he was doing this, but she complied nonetheless.

    As she did, Percy was fidgeting uncomfortably, his hands moving around scratching and tugging various parts of his body and clothes. There is just no way, is there? I¡¯ll just make a fool of myself. Right, and then we¡¯ll go back to figure out Clepia¡¯s hypothesis. Summoned heroes and demon lords¡­Seriously. I am the one who¡¯s getting delusional. I really need sleep. And maybe I should cut down on reading those online novels. I¡¯ve already enough trouble staying rational as it is. Right. There¡¯s just no way.

    But, apparently, way there was.

    Percy didn¡¯t even need to wait for Merlin¡¯s reply. Midway through Clepia¡¯s question, he saw the man¡¯s jaw tighten, his brows furrow and his muscles tense as the AR displayed his heart rate was picking up. He cast quick glances between Percy and Clepia¡¯s image. He said something, his voice a low menacing growl. Clepia¡¯s answer didn¡¯t seem to appease him because his frown turned into a full-blown scowl and he started to rise from his seat.

    Percy stared at this in bewildered confusion. Are his eyes turning black?

    Clepia stopped talking in Japanese. ¡°Level of aggressiveness rising. Master, please stand back. Initiating defense protocol one-five-six¡ª¡±

    Percy abruptly stood up and held his two palms up, one pointed at the screen and the other at Merlin. ¡°Wow-wow-who! Clepia, hold on. No shooting people hastily. And, Merlin, I know you can¡¯t understand me, put please calm down.¡± He tried his best not to sound authoritative. ¡°I don¡¯t know what upset you, but I¡¯m sure we can talk about it like civilized people. Okay?¡± It was probably the most Percy had spoken in a long time, even though his speech was a bit too fast. Thankfully, Clepia took the initiative to translate his words.

    Merlin continued to glare at them distrustfully for several, long seconds, before eventually sitting back down, but clearly ready to jump up any moment. He spoke one word that even without Clepia¡¯s translation, Percy had no trouble inferring the meaning of.

    ¡°Explain.¡±

    * * *

    Merlin eyed the fidgety young mage suspiciously. The human looked tired, exhausted even, yet his magical power was still running rampant all around them. It was so unrestrained, it was almost indecent. But Merlin forgave him on account of not knowing any better. Barbarians. All of them.

    At first, Merlin had thought to erect a thin barrier around himself, but he¡¯d quickly noticed the magic wasn¡¯t doing anything to him, so he decided to avoid using up his shallow reserve of power. The youth¡¯s magic looked to be prodding the world around him with long, thick tentacles of power. The feeling wasn¡¯t unlike that elderly human, Director Harris¡¯ power, but this one felt more organic, less organized. It definitely appeared more chaotic.

    For a while now, that young man¡ªPercy was his name, Merlin had learned¡ªhad been talking about some kind of novels, fictions, stories.

    Apparently, written tales describing different realities close to that of Zarath were a popular form of entertainment in this world. Although, it seemed to be considered entirely fictitious. Some of these stories came troublingly close to the truth¡ªat least Merlin¡¯s perception of truth¡ª but others were wildly ridiculous. Stats? Levels? Experience? Systems describing your strengths and weaknesses in floating blue tables? Status windows? Were the story-tellers of this world in the habit of licking dream toads?

    At first, Merlin hadn¡¯t believed Percy. It seemed too much of a coincidence. Someone had arranged for his soul to be called here, to this world. That much Merlin was certain of. However, he didn¡¯t know whom, or why. He¡¯d assumed anybody knowing the truth about him would obviously be part of this plot. However, it seemed he¡¯d been wrong. What this meant for him, he couldn¡¯t tell. It might complicate his search¡ªor help it. Maybe people would be more likely to believe and assist him if they had pre-existing knowledge of similar predicaments.

    Although, from Percy¡¯s explanations, the typical scenario of this stories most often involved a human from this world sent to another similar to Zarath instead of the other way around. The young man had summarized a few, as examples, and Merlin had to admit he found some funny¡ªespecially the ones where the summoned hero would tell the human king to go fuck themselves. He certainly wouldn¡¯t have minded meeting any of those protagonists instead of that brainwashed puppet Saitou.

    By now, Percy had mostly convinced Merlin of his sincerity. The former demon might never have been a great strategist himself, but he¡¯d met with plenty of great manipulators in his time on the throne, and Percy was definitely not one of them. Therefore, either the human kid was telling the truth, or he was being manipulated by someone else. Merlin knew that if he started to second-guess everyone he met, he would soon turn into an insane paranoiac. Some people, like Zephyr, could live perfectly fine being constantly paranoid, but Merlin simply wasn¡¯t made of that stuff.

    For the moment, he¡¯d decided to assume the kid was being truthful. Which raised the question: how had these stories come to this world in the first place. Certainly, it wasn¡¯t impossible that people from Zarath had traveled here in the past. Merlin himself was a living proof this was at least feasible. He also couldn¡¯t reject the possibility of creature crossing over from other but similar universes. If they were at least two worlds, there had to be more out there. If others beings of magic were in this world, he might eventually come in contact with them.

    But this was a consideration for a later date. Merlin sighed, feeling tired. He rubbed his forehead. Again, the more he learned, the more confused he became. This was becoming really old, really fast. At least I¡¯m learning something. That¡¯s progress, I suppose. He tried to console himself with that thought, with mitigated success.

    During the whole time Percy had been speaking and Asclepia translating, Merlin had barely said a word himself, only nodding and acquiescing to mark his understanding. He didn¡¯t want to risk giving them any information they might use later to trick him. At his probing, they¡¯d told him how they¡¯d come to asking him about heroes and demon lords. Merlin had been ashamed at how much he¡¯d revealed unintentionally while trying to be subtle. Sheila would so be laughing her ass off right now. He could also imagine Zephyr shaking his pale head in disappointment.

    ¡°¡­then there is also a trope-¡ª¡±

    ¡°I get it,¡± Merlin raised a hand to stop the beastkin¡¯s translation. Probably understanding the gesture, the young man stopped too. ¡°So, in the end, why were you asking me this?¡± In passing, he noted he¡¯d unconsciously adapted his language to match Asclepia¡¯s.

    The pair of master and servant exchanged a glance

    ¡°Well¡­Clepia was of a mind that you were either delusional or under the influence of mental manipulation¡­¡± Percy said, tugging on his sleeve, as Asclepia was repeating his words in Japanese.

    It was a little strange how perfectly the beastkin would translate her master¡¯s words, even keeping the pauses and inflections, like some sort of automated spell construct. And maybe she was. They¡¯d tried to explain to Merlin that she wasn¡¯t actually a beastkin¡ªapparently humans were the only sentient race in this world¡ªbut many of the words involved Merlin couldn¡¯t understand, so he just decided to think of her as a beastkin for now¡ªand for the sake of his sanity.

    And it was also almost funny how apologetic and awkward the young mage sounded. It was as if he feared Merlin might be offended. He wasn¡¯t. If anything, the former demon found the reasoning very rational. Sure, it didn¡¯t please him to be taken for a madman. However, if he¡¯d met someone whose view of reality clashed with his own, Merlin¡¯s first reaction too would have been to doubt that person¡¯s sanity.

    ¡°She might be true, though,¡± Merlin replied charitably. After all, who could tell if all his memories from Zarath weren¡¯t, in fact, fake implanted in his mind during whatever failed experience he¡¯d tried at NovaTech. Maybe he really was Merlin Pendragon, the original, and he¡¯d simply gone insane. Of course, down that road laid madness. And if he already was mad, he thought better not torture himself with trying to go against his delusion. Although, so far, there had been more practical evidence everything was real than otherwise.

    Shaking his head to get rid of those pointless thoughts, Merlin refocused on what the human was saying. I should stop referring to them as human as if I wasn¡¯t one of them. He made a complex expression, midway between cringe and smirk. Meriataneesh, Daughter of Death, Blightborn, Walking Decay and Harbinger of Pestilence, a human. Who¡¯d have believed that?

    ¡°Yeah¡­well¡­maybe, yes. But Clepia thinks mostly in rational probabilities. She is a bit lacking in open-mindedness. Sorry, Clepia. And¡­the most probable answer is not always the right one¡­err¡­¡±

    ¡°So, what are you thinking?¡±

    ¡°I was thinking¡­that¡­maybe¡­err¡­you were from another world? Like¡­¡±

    ¡°Like in your novels.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­kinda¡­¡±

    This was a critical juncture. Merlin could either deny the claim and leave¡ªhe didn¡¯t think Percy would stop him¡ªor he could admit the truth and see if he could make an ally out of the young mage.

    Young but powerful mage, he added to himself, at least by this world¡¯s apparent standards. As much as Merlin didn¡¯t like to depend on others, he was aware that if he wanted to survive in this world, he would need allies. Well, I¡¯m sure I could get by on my own, his pride couldn¡¯t refrain from arguing, but it¡¯d be a lot easier with some local trustworthy subordinates. And who better to serve as his first ally, than one of the five most powerful people he¡¯d met in this world, and one unaffiliated with NovaTech.

    Merlin rubbed his temples. All this talking and thinking was getting on his nerves. After finally escaping from the prison he¡¯d been in, he dearly wished for some fresh air and exercise. Yet, he forced himself to refocus on the conversation.

    ¡°If¡­if I said you were right, how would you know I¡¯m not just delusional like your¡­maid thinks?¡±

    Percy scratched his cheek, the one that hadn¡¯t been ravaged by fire. ¡°Err¡­we could run some test, I guess?¡±

    ¡°Such as?¡±

    ¡°You could show us¡­some magic?¡±

    Aren¡¯t you a mage yourself? Merlin almost blurted out. But this was another world. He needed to burn this notion in his mind and start accommodating this world¡¯s common sense.

    Here, they believed magic to be a myth, even though they were using it so obviously. Also, he couldn¡¯t really use magic without killing himself right now, so there went his proof. My proof went poof¡­hehehe¡­sigh. Well, I suppose¡­Could I show them some runes? The ambient magical power in this place wouldn¡¯t be enough to activate even the simplest rune. However, if he poured in his pure soul power, it just might work. It was a little risky to play with the energy of his soul, but with his newfound control¡ªborn from the abyssal drop in the energy he had to manage¡ªit shouldn¡¯t be too much of an issue.

    Ah. Or there¡¯s that method too¡­I wonder if it would work here?

    ¡°I guess I could,¡± said Merlin, eventually, almost without meaning to. He¡¯d been mostly thinking out loud.

    Percy¡¯s right eye widened, shining eagerly. ¡°So you are from another world?!¡±

    Merlin sighed. In for a copper¡­ ¡°Yes,¡± he sighed.

    He wasn¡¯t totally prepared for the enthusiasm with which Percy reacted to his admission.

    The young mage nearly sprang up from his seat with a resounding ¡°AWESOME!!¡± which was, very oddly, faithfully translated by the silverwolf woman.

    ¡°How did you come to our world? Did you step through a dimensional crack, a portal? Or did you reincarnated as a newborn? And in that case, where you human before? Or something else? Who were you? With this template, it would be someone important and strong who gets transported, right? Does that mean you were strong? You certainly have some skills, with how you killed that guy. Where you some kind of soldier? Or an adventurer? Wait, was there an adventurer guild where you come from? And¡­¡±

    By the rotten teeth of the goblin king! Did I flip a switch in that guy? One instant the young human had been lethargic and awkward, the next, he seemed like Shadow interrogating a mage of an unknown school of magic or an indigenous from some remote tribe. That¡­is quite similar to this situation, now that I think about it.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Merlin tried to get a word in.

    ¡°Please wait, sir,¡± Asclepia interrupted him before he could finish a sentence. She then addressed her master. She said something Merlin couldn¡¯t understand, which caused the enthusiastic Percy to suddenly quieten and turn pensive. Bloody damned rotten language. This language barrier was irritating Merlin more every time he hit it.

    The beastkin turned back to him. ¡°Sir, there is one thing my master and I wish to ascertain before furthering this discussion.¡±

    Do you really need to use so many words? I swear, you and Zephyr must be twin souls separated in the cycle of reincarnation. Merlin stifled his inner frustration and answered as calmly as he could. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°On the basis that you actually came from a reality beyond our own, there is one issue that appears illogical to me and that I which you to clarify. The man known as Merlin Pendragon was clearly born in this world and country twenty-nine years ago, on the twenty-sixth of January 1998, to a couple of America citizens. Your lack of mastery of the English language suggests that you are not that person, yet you clearly are posing as him. So, my question is the following: where is or what happened to the ¡®real¡¯ Merlin Pendragon?¡±

    ¡°Could you not just ask that last sentence first without all this useless preamble?¡± he sighed. There, he¡¯d said it. This conversation was starting to weight on his nerves, so he decided to tell the short version. ¡°The original owner of this body tried to summon my soul into this world. He failed. His soul was shattered in the process and I was stuck in his empty shell of a body. There is no ¡®real¡¯ Merlin Pendragon beside me in this world.¡± He was a little curious if they would believe him.

    He waited for Asclepia to relay his words. Several expressions succeeded one another on Percy¡¯s face. It eventually settled on understanding. This confirmed Merlin¡¯s impression that this young human wasn¡¯t a bleeding heart. He seemed quite indifferent that Merlin just confessed to basically killing and stealing someone¡¯s body. Although that wasn¡¯t exactly what had happened, it was an interpretation many would jump to, and humans tended to be touchy about killing their own, even though they did it all the time. Weird creatures, those humans.

    Percy was twirling a lock of hair around his index finger. ¡°So that¡¯s how¡­Well, pity for the guy¡­though I am intrigued how he could summon anything in the first place¡­did he know magic?¡± His eyes shone at that. Asclepia had returned to translating anything her master said. Apparently, that included when he was talking to himself. The human suddenly looked up. ¡°Wait. When did this happen exactly?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much time exactly passed since my arrival, but I¡¯d say at least more than twenty of your days?¡± It was an estimation based on his routine at NovaTech and how long he guessed he¡¯d been unconscious. Anticipating the next question, he added, ¡°I was detained for a while. When I got the opportunity to escape, I managed to get away but I got wounded in the process. I believe that¡¯s when your friends found me.¡± He glossed over who had detained and tried to capture him.

    Percy made another pensive moue. ¡°More than twenty days¡­let¡¯s say about a month¡­the Power Surge?¡± His eyebrow raised and he sent a meaningful glance in Asclepia¡¯s direction before returning to Merlin. ¡°Did that failed summoning cause the Power Surge?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are referring to.¡±

    ¡°A huge shockwave that caused a heck of a mess and made parahumans pop up left and right?¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­Yes, that¡­seems possible.¡± Merlin recalled how he¡¯d had to empty his soul energy to avoid destroying his new body. That would have caused a peak in the ambient magical power and, given the low levels of magic in this world, this might have resulted in the emergence of new mages¡ªor ¡°parahumans¡± apparently.

    ¡°Hmmm¡­Right, that¡¯s not the most important right now. First¡ªHum?¡± Percy suddenly stopped talking, still looking towards Merlin but with his gaze focused on a point in the air between them. On his side, Merlin had noticed the second most powerful aura in the vicinity¡ªalthough much weaker than Percy¡¯s¡ªhad started moving in their direction.

    A few heartbeats later, the door to the waiting room slammed open and a dark-skinned man barged in. His complexion reminded Merlin of the nomads of the Mabravzr Desert. However, those were also half the size of regular humans. This man was tall, about as tall as Merlin, and many times more buff. The enraged expression he wore didn¡¯t presage anything good, in Merlin¡¯s opinion. He was quickly proven right when the newcomer directed his glare at him and started shouting in that incomprehensible language most human seemed to use around these parts. English, was it?

    The black man strode purposefully in Merlin¡¯s direction, fist clenched and magic rolling about in his body, albeit without much¡ªif any¡ªcontrol. His intentions were plain to see, although the reincarnated demon failed to understand the reason for this man¡¯s ire. Not that he questioned it too much. During his past life, being hated had become a default sentiment Merlin had yet to stop expecting.

    Percy stood up, moving to interpose himself. The other paused and shouted some more invectives, looking at the younger mage but pointing angrily at Merlin. Percy put a hand on the bulkier man¡¯s chest to try and make him back off. It was almost comical seeing as Percy was almost as scrawny as Merlin and had narrower shoulders. If Merlin was a living skeleton, the young mage was a human twig. The man he was trying to stop looked like an athlete of some sort and didn¡¯t seem willing to calm down, thus Merlin stood up as not to be caught sitting.

    The movement caught Percy¡¯s attention. He looked back briefly, and that minute distraction was enough for the athletic mage to push him aside. Percy stumbled and his waist bent down at an awkward angle. It appeared his strange leg-exoskeleton lacked the full range of movement of a human body. He lost his balance and collapsed against the wall. Asclepia screamed something, but Merlin wasn¡¯t paying attention because his focus was held solely by the fist humming with magical power and rushing at his face.

    The former demon grimaced. In his current state, even this little power, if turned into pure physical strength, posed a significant threat. Thankfully, the embarrassingly incompetent way in which the brown-skinned mage was waving his power around was like a child with a broadsword: dangerous if it hit, but unlikely to do so.

    As far as martial arts were concerned, though, the man¡¯s form wasn¡¯t horrible. The gap in experience was, however, just too big and the angry man was unable to properly use his magic to bridge that gap.

    Merlin effortlessly sidestepped out of the way of the punch, grabbed the attacking arm and, with the faintest added pressure, used his attacker¡¯s own force to twist the limb. There was light *pop* followed by a loud groan of pain and the man staggered backward. His arm was hanging uselessly at his side, dislocated.

    Of course, this did not help calm him down. A second later, he came at Merlin again with his other arm. This punch had relatively more thoughts put into it but was still child¡¯s play to the millennium-old fighter. This was especially true since the other party¡¯s judgment was clouded by anger and¡ªfor what Merlin could tell¡ªexhaustion.

    Not in the mood for a meaningless brawl, Merlin decided to end it quickly. He evaded the punch and delivered a precise knife hand chop to the man¡¯s neck. The brawny man fell limp to the floor.

    At that moment, yet another shout came from the door¡ªa shrill one this time.

    Oh, by the gods! Stop screaming! What is it with you damned humans and noise?!

    Merlin didn¡¯t need to look to be aware of the new presence in the room. He looked anyway. It was another brown-skinned human, a female, slender, and with well-toned muscles¡ªalthough more fit than athletic. One ¡°notable¡± detail was that she was holding a metal club. She took one glance at the scene, Merlin standing up and the two mages on the floor, and raised her weapon. And not in a haphazard way. It was clear she knew how to use it.

    In other circumstances, the ex-demon monarch might have smirked¡ªhe liked women on the fiercer side¡ªbut at this very moment, he felt far too tired for this shit.

    Luckily, Percy hadn¡¯t fainted during his fall. He called out to the woman and quickly started explaining things to her. Or at least Merlin assumed he did because the beastkin wasn¡¯t translating anymore. All he had to go by was the woman¡¯s expression, which had gone from resolute anger to confusion, back to anger again, to unreadable and finally settled on annoyance. Her glare was now directed on the unconscious man at Merlin¡¯s feet.

    A groan made him look in that direction. The other mage was coming to already. Too little force? Merlin had tried to avoid causing any lasting damage, out of consideration for Percy, but he still couldn¡¯t completely measure the strength of his new body. He¡¯d used to be mindful of not breaking stone by gripping too hard. This time, he seemed to have used too little force. He¡¯d intended to knock him out for longer.

    The man¡¯s eyes fluttered open and Merlin stepped aside, unwilling to be close to him when he fully woke up. He didn¡¯t know if he could properly restrain himself if the guy tried to attack him again for no apparent reason. His magnanimity only went so far.

    Unsurprisingly, being knocked out had done nothing to put the athletic mage in a better mood. He jumped on his feet and immediately snarled something at Merlin while holding his dislocated shoulder. He would have gone for another punch if a shout from the woman hadn¡¯t stopped him dead in his track. He pivoted to face her and shouted back. They started arguing loudly, with Percy occasionally getting a word in. Their voice reverberated against the walls of the small room, in a noisy cacophony of what was essentially gibberish to Merlin.

    His head hurt.

    He looked up at the ceiling and let out a sigh. A sudden wave of weariness hit him. Some of that depression from earlier was coming back for round two. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He needed to get away from these noisy humans, away from the confusion, away from beastkins who weren¡¯t beastkins and mages who didn¡¯t believe in magic. He needed to sort his own mind out. He needed to get out of here.

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll go take a walk,¡± he said out loud, almost as if to confirm his own thoughts to himself.

    Without waiting for anyone to reply¡ªnot that he¡¯d have listened if anyone tried to object¡ªhe strode nervously out of the room. He was vaguely aware of Percy and Asclepia exchanging glances, but his focus was elsewhere. The windowless clinic, with its gray featureless walls, felt more and more like an oppressive grave.

    He stepped into the corridor and noticed a door opening at one end, leading outside. The fresh air on his tender human skin was like the call of a siren. He let himself be carried by that call, and soon, he was standing in an alley, breathing in the cold evening. Looking up, he saw the sky for the first time. Yesterday, the dark clouds had been obscuring the stars. He choked down a sob. The sky had always comforted him in the past, but today, the single white moon and foreign constellations only served as a reminder of how lost and alone he truly was.

    Letting out a shaky sigh, he lowered his gaze and took off into the dark streets, keeping his eyes on the pavement, not knowing where he was going.

    But then, he couldn¡¯t get any more lost, could he?

    * * *

    It took some time for the bickering couple to become aware that the object of their dispute had already disappeared.

    ¡°Uh? Where did he go?¡± Alex was the first one to notice. He looked around as if the skinny man had made so prestidigitation disappearance when really he¡¯d just walked out the door.

    ¡°He left¡­about twenty minutes ago,¡± Percy supplied. He was sitting on a couch and looked to be contemplating with a distant gaze in his eye. Though, his occasional nodding betrayed he was actually dozing off.

    ¡°You let him leave?!¡± Alex bellowed.

    ¡°Yes? ¡­Why not?¡± the teen replied with a nonchalant shrug.

    ¡°WHY?! Because of that bastard, Chen¡ª¡±

    Alex¡¯s wife interrupted him with impatience, fists on her hips. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been telling you! Why would you think that man and Chen¡¯s injuries are related? You know the old man got plenty of enemies.¡±

    Alex whirled around and shouted, ¡°It¡¯s too coincidental! We pick up some strange man covered in blood, and that very day, that old geezer is nearly killed! I told him! I told him he¡¯d get into trouble playing good Samaritan for everyone and anyone! But does he listen to me? No! Of course not! He¡¯s just so¡ª¡±

    This time, the young boxer was interrupted by a resounding slap. Stunned, he raised his valid hand to his cheek and looked bewildered at his wife. Sophia, on the other hand, was glowering. ¡°Do you mean Chen should have left us to fend for ourselves? When your father was beating the shit out of you and mine¡­¡± She shuddered and didn¡¯t finish her sentence.

    ¡°No, no¡­of course not. But¡ª¡±

    She raised a hand to silence him. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her tone had softened. ¡°Chen is a good man, Alex. Helping others is what he does. I know you worry¡ªwe all do¡ªbut you can¡¯t shelter him from being himself. You might as well lock him up inside a cell and throw away the key.¡±

    Her husband had a conflicted look. He didn¡¯t look as angry anymore, but he still wasn¡¯t admitting he was wrong.

    ¡°Alex, I know you¡¯re upset. You¡¯ve been with Chen longer than any of us. But you can¡¯t let your emotions get the best of you like that. The man I married isn¡¯t a brute.¡±

    At last, the young boxer seemed to deflate. He sighed, ¡°sorry.¡±

    ¡°As long as you understand.¡± She addressed him a gentle smile and stepped forwards for a hug. However, at the last moment, her smile turned into a malicious smirk. She grabbed Alex¡¯s shoulder and yanked it back into place.

    ¡°OW!! You¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Better do it sooner than later.¡±

    ¡°¡­I married a demon,¡± he mumbled while rubbing his numb shoulder.

    ¡°You said something?¡±

    ¡°What? No! No¡­ahem,¡± he cleared his throat and turned to Percy. ¡°That still didn¡¯t mean you should have let him leave like this, without questioning him. We did save his life.¡±

    The teen lethargically looked at the standing boxer. He seemed ready to collapse from exhaustion. His black hair was covering the burned half of his face and his pale gray eye was unfocused. ¡°I was doing that¡­but someone barged in and scared him away.¡±

    ¡°I said I was sorry,¡± Alex mumbled grumpily.

    Percy looked away. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anyway. He¡¯ll be back. And I¡¯ll be going to bed.¡± He stood up unsteadily and stumbled in direction of the door. With his waxy complexion and ravaged face, he wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place in a Z-movie¡ªas a member of the undead horde, of course.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Alex called out. ¡°Are you so sure he¡¯ll come back? Is it safe for Chen here?¡±

    Percy stopped at the door and leaned against the frame but didn¡¯t look back. ¡°Chen is safe.¡± He didn¡¯t mind the question. Alex wasn¡¯t privy to all the security measures in this place. Sophia knew a little more, not everything, but enough that she never doubted this was the safest place in all of the Old City for the old man. ¡°And he¡¯ll be back. He forgot his books.¡±

    On that cryptic note, the young inventor was gone.

    * * *

    Voices and cries broke the relative silence of the city night. Merlin¡¯s erring feet stopped and he raised his head, blinking confusedly like someone just waking up. He looked around. On both sides of the streets, brick houses clustered together, taller than they were large, many with broken windows. The entire area permeated an impression of decrepitude. Trash littered the pavement.

    A joyless smirk lifted Merlin¡¯s lips at how his surroundings perfectly reflected his mental state.

    He didn¡¯t know where he was, although that was nothing new about that. He didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been walking aimlessly either. It could be long, it could be small. He¡¯d lost all notion of time as he dwelled on darker thoughts. It was still night, or maybe late evening, at least sunrise seemed nowhere in sight. He had yet to fully grasp this world¡¯s day and night cycle.

    ¡°¡­o.¡±

    ¡°¡­ut..up.¡±

    ¡°¡­itch.¡±

    Again, there were the noises that had caught his ears in the quiet night, accompanied by the sound of ripping clothes. His dispassionate gaze moved to a narrow alley, barely a crack between two houses. Not really thinking, or caring, he approached the alley and looked inside. His human eyes had terrible night vision, but in the orangish light of the lampposts, he could distinguish the shadows of three people: two men, and one woman.

    The situation was as expected at this time and place. The woman had been forced against a wall. Her clothes were hanging from her in ripped shreds. The men wore hoods. One was holding her arms up above her head, while the other had taken position behind her and was fumbling with his belt while also tugging clumsily at her skirt. From the sounds the woman was making, Merlin guessed she was gagged with cloth stuffed in her mouth, and likely not enjoying this event. He could even clearly imagine how deep in her throat the gag had been shoved.

    Centuries of acquaintanceship with a succubus brought all sorts of miscellaneous knowledge and generally useless skills. Of course, Sheila would disagree on that last point.

    Merlin watched the scene unfold, not particularly caring about remaining hidden. The first to spot him was the woman. As soon as her eyes fell on him, they widened¡­in fright. Merlin was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt adorned with skull and dark blue pants, which he assumed belonged to Percy. This garb was less baggy than his ¡°own¡± old clothes had been, but it still hung loosely and askew on his bony frame. Appearing in the night, with his bandages and skeletal feature, he could guess how nightmarish he must have looked to the poor girl.

    But soon fear was replaced by hope. In her situation, even a nightmarish scarecrow must have appeared like a knight in shining armor. ¡°MMMMH-MMMH!!¡± She tried to scream, probably for help. Of course, her actions were noticed by the duo of wannabe rapists. They turned, following her gaze, and were startled by the strange man standing at the entrance of the alleyway. They exchanged a glance, then appeared to come to an understanding.

    By then, Merlin had already started walking away. This had nothing to do with him and he felt no desire to watch. After knowing Sheila for so long, any rape with less than the succubus¡¯ personal flair was a bland spectacle to the former demon.

    A wry smile graced his lips. Not for the first time, Merlin thought that Sheila and Elise, in their own very different ways, had spoiled him for the pleasures of the world. No matter what he did, how many women he met, if he kept comparing them to the perfections of lust and beauty, he was doomed to dullness.

    ¡°Hey, you! Come back here!¡±

    A shout rose from behind him. He didn¡¯t need to understand to recognize the inflection of an order and guess the meaning. Yet, he didn¡¯t stop, nor did he increased his pace. Fast steps caught up to him. One of the two thugs passed Merlin and stopped before him, ¡°blocking¡± his way. By the predatory smirk and the dark glint beneath his hood, the stupid man was thinking something very unlikely to end up as he¡¯d expected.

    Merlin thus wasn¡¯t surprised when the blade of a knife appeared in the man¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Your wallet, mate. Now.¡±

    Merlin sighed. He could deduct two meaning for the thug¡¯s words, and only a single likely one. He somehow doubted his current appearance held any sexual appeal to human males. If the booklet he¡¯d recovered in ¡°his¡± old residence was anything to go by, standards of eroticism in this world shouldn¡¯t be too different than on Zarath. So money it is? He sighed again. Stupid humans not knowing their place. I guess some things never change, no matter where. That thought didn¡¯t bring any levity to his mood, however.

    The former demon couldn¡¯t be bothered to deal with the useless waste of breathable air in front of him. He was about to knock him out and continue¡­when the idiot actually rushed him. Probably Merlin had waited too long without reacting. Dumb AND impatient. It¡¯s a wonder how these kinds of leech even survive long enough to become troublesome.

    Turning his hand into a talon, Merlin reached for the hand wielding the knife. The blade passed harmlessly between his fingers and he tightened his grip on the fist, then twisted. A loud crack marked the wrist snapping. The knife clattered on the pavement and the thug collapsed, whining and holding his wrist in pain. Merlin graced him with a disdainful glance.

    Weakling.

    ¡°Bastard!¡± There was a loud thud when other thug dropped his victim to come avenge his comrade. Not even bothering to sigh this time, Merlin bent down to pick up the knife. As soon as the young man arrived in range, he was surprised to feel cold steel enter his throat sideway. He dropped to the pavement, twitching and choking in his own blood.

    Merlin turned to finish off the first thug. His screams were starting to become annoying. He kicked his forehead, then stepped hard on his throat, crushing his windpipe. Another kick knocked him out. He wouldn¡¯t wake up, ever.

    A cold wind blew on the street. Merlin shivered. His eyes fell on the two men¡¯s hooded sweaters. One was soaked in blood, but the other was only dirty. In any case, they looked warmer than his shirt, so he had no qualms with disrobing the unbloodied thug and taking the piece of clothing for his own.

    A noise from the alley caught his attention. He peeked back in. The woman was trying to stand up. He hadn¡¯t noticed before, but her hands were bound behind her back by some kind of scarf. With a sigh, he walked up to her, grabbed her shoulder, and spun her to get her back against the wall. He wasn¡¯t gentle, so she let out a muffled moan of pain. Roughly, he ripped out the gag.

    She coughed and tried to catch her breath. He crouched down to be at eye-level. She looked up at him and their eyes met. Hers were mud brown, and shining with an abject gratitude. She was mumbling in a loop something that had to be thanks. Expressionlessly, Merlin took her head in his hands.

    And twisted.

    The limp body of the woman collapsed on the dirty pavement. Still crouched, Merlin considered her an instant. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± he said pointlessly to the corpse using the demon tongue. Then he stood up, his eyes as dead as the woman.

    See, Elise. No matter where, no matter when, people always abuse the weak and grovel in front of the strong. Even in another completely different world. That¡¯s simply the natural order of things. He looked up, staring into the single white moon and feeling some likeness to the lonely celestial body. If you were here, love, would you try to change this world too? Why even concern yourself with the well-being of insects? Why try to save everyone just because you can? He took a shaky breath. ...I can¡¯t.

    Shaking his head, the lonely man left behind the three corpses and continued his aimless wandering.

    * * *

    9 October 2017. Justice City. Old City. Clear Joy Park.

    Elsewhere in the city, in a small park spanning less than seven acres, a man in a purple suit stepped out of the shadow of a tree. His narrowed eyes surveyed his surroundings. The ground was mud and weeds littered with trash rather than grass, the trees were sickly and wild, and the playground had long since turned into a hazardous mass of twisted and rusted metal¡ªa tetanus paradise.

    Seeing as no one had witnessed his arrival, he took out his phone and gazed at the screen.

    On a map of the area, the park was represented by a vaguely trapezoidal green shape. In a corner of that shape, there was a red dot blinking. The man raised his head to stare at the real area corresponding to the dotted spot, where stood a small man-made hill. He put the smartphone back in his pocket and walked towards the earthy elevation, taking care not to step in anything that might soil his leather shoes.

    He circled around clod and came to a stop. ¡°Ehhh¡­That¡¯s a five-star suite you¡¯ve got there, mate.¡± The inside of the small hill was hollow and occupied a sort of decorative chapel. The statue of the Virgin Mary, though headless and cracked, still stood near the top of the three-foot-high grotto. On the stone floor, on a bed of newspapers and amongst empty beer cans and food wrappers, a body was laying down, unmoving, not even breathing.

    Uncaring for the corpse before him, Carrier fished out his phone again. With a swipe across the screen, he zoomed in on the park until the map only showed his exact location. The red dot still indicated the chapel. ¡°Is that thing even working? I know Merlin looks like a walking corpse right now, but that¡¯s a bit too much, isn¡¯t it? This guy isn¡¯t even walking.¡± He groaned and stepped closer to the dead body. It was curled in a fetal position.It was obvious he hadn¡¯t passed away peacefully.

    With a grimace of disgust, Carrier rolled it with his foot to get a better look at its face.When he did, he sucked in an admirative breath. ¡°Well, suck my daddy. What got you, buddy? Looks like Death itself caught you.¡± The face of the corpse looked like that of a blackened mummy. The skin was dried and necrosed, clinging to the skull beneath like coarse paint and peeling back to uncover rotten teeth. By moving the body, Carrier had caused patches of hair to fall off. It was hard to determine the sex of the thing, but judging by the tattered clothes and the life-expectancy of females on the streets, Carrier guessed the disgusting mummy had to be male.

    ¡°Seriously, what happened to you?¡± he mumbled more seriously. The Black Lotus prided itself in its information network, but Carrier had never heard of any parahuman in town who killed this way. This was an unknown, and he didn¡¯t like unknowns. Unknowns got people killed. Others people, he didn¡¯t give a fuck. But he personally wished to remain very much un-killed as long as possible.

    Noticing a light through the dead man¡¯s clothes, Carrier took out a latex glove from his pocket and put it over his right, leather-gloved hand. ¡°I¡¯m not letting this gross thing anywhere near my Dents.¡± He crouched and reached inside man¡¯s pocket. ¡°Ew. Fucking hell. This will be easy, they say. A cushy job, they said. Deliver the goods and observe the situation, they said. I¡¯mso going to punch these old¡ªHeya! Hello, you~?¡±

    Pulling back his double-gloved hand, he was holding a doubly red phone. Why doubly? Because its backside was red and it was also covered in red dried blood. Carrier stood up and checked the screen of his own phone, then he popped the back of the bloodied device, revealing a small tracking chip fuses with the circuits. ¡°Yep. This is Merlin¡¯s.¡± He made a show of staring at the corpse, then of looking around. ¡°But, this, is, not, Merlin! Where is that wizard? I see no Emerald City around. Ah. No. Wrong reference. Hihihihi." Carrier¡¯s giggle held a thinly veiled chime of insanity.

    Voices and footsteps caused his mouth to snap shut. From behind the hill, he could hear a noisy group approaching. Judging by the shouts and laughter, they had to be either drunk or high. Probably both. And probably young.

    ¡°Tsk. Interlopers.¡± They were coming in his direction. ¡°What, do, I do?¡± He could easily deal with them, for example by dropping the whole group over the river, but he suddenly had an idea.

    He gazed down at the horrifying corpse. Somehow, Merlin¡¯s phone had ended up in this dead bloke¡¯s possession, either stolen or given away to avoid tracking. But visibly, something had gotten to him before Carrier. It really pained him that the tracking device only worked when the phone was on because it used the phone¡¯s own network connection.

    Ideally, Carrier should bring the body back to the Black Lotus to try and figure out who and what had killed it. If someone else was after Nemesis¡¯ brother, they needed to get as much information on that person as possible.

    But, Carrier knew well that he¡¯d be the one the old Jap would send to track that mystery schmock down. That¡¯d be dangerous, obviously. And Carrier disliked danger. Dying was a very unpleasant affair. He fancied himself as a refined manipulator, so, of course, getting his hands dirty was beneath him. Unless he just teleported people to their doom, which didn''t count as ¡°getting his hands dirty¡± because he didn¡¯t need to actually touch anyone.

    His mind made, he raised his voice in his best panic impression. ¡°Help! Someone! Murder!¡± The drunken group¡¯s voices abruptly stopped. Carrier repressed a chuckle. When the voices rose once more, they were louder than before and getting closer faster.

    By the time the nine intoxicated young men and women discovered the corpse, the teleporter was nowhere in sight. They were shocked by what they found and started to panic¡ªthem for real. Amidst their confused shouts and exclamations, a voice loudly suggested they should call the police. After some more confusion, they eventually did.

    Later, when the officers would interrogate them, none would be able to recall who had made that suggestion.

    * * * * *