《Wardens [Modern Fantasy ⦿ Progression ⦿ Original World]》


 Shattered Foundations

    <h2>Spearhead</h2>


    Smoke and burnt metal clawed at his senses, mingling with an acrid tang of asphalt that tore through his nostrils and throat. The noxious mixture pierced his lungs, suffocating him with a relentless, numbing pressure that made even drawing a single breath a struggle. Galahad''s eyes were shut tight, a gash over his left eye swelling to keep it that way. His ringing ears intensified the assault on his other senses. Amidst the disorienting chaos, fragmented memories played out ¨C the anguished cries of Sarah, the bone-chilling command from Narrus before the sickening snap of bones, and Atlas''s realization that there would be no coming back. Amidst it all, a trivial thought fought for his attention: ''I need to shave.'' As his knees buckled, his face met the cold embrace of snow. The battle was over. Galahad was victorious.


    ----


    In the heart of Velnias, Fern slouched at her desk, shock etched into every crevice and fold of her face. Clutching the report, the young Verdan¡¯s trembling hands betrayed her as she struggled to make sense of incomprehensible news. She combed through the text sentence by sentence, word by word, hoping to unearth an overlooked comma, word, or phrase that might alter the meaning of the telegram. She found none as she mouthed the words:


    ''Spearhead eradicated by a new Titan. Two survivors: Galahad, Latimer. The titan is characterized by its colossal size and many hands. It appears to have nullified the effects of our Life Contracts. All other souls lost. -Galahad''


    The report''s brevity, no more than half a sheet of paper, left Fern yearning for more details, for some shred of certainty. Her thoughts shifted to the calamitous nature of the events ¨C a bi-yearly retreat turned catastrophe, an unforeseen encounter with a titan. She could already imagine the panic. Unfortunately for the entire Peninsula, it played out exactly how she imagined it.


    Days later, Fern found herself walking along Velnias'' Mainstreet, the bustling thoroughfare now tingled with an air of palpable tension as people made their way through the snow. The streets remained congested with traffic and vibrant lights, but a cautious hush had fallen upon them as if the city held its breath, waiting for the next disaster. No one dared honk as paper boys peddled various printings of grim headlines with a subdued sense of urgency. Variations of ''The Peninsula of Knowledge in Fear: A New Titan Wipes Spearhead,'' ''1921 marks the end. The Strongest Not Enough!'' and ''Essence-Linked Crimes Surge After Spearhead Tragedy'' littered the hands of the paper boys as they exchanged fear-mongering for coins and cash. It made her sick. Even her attempts at a more diplomatic spin couldn''t quell the public''s perception of the event. She couldn''t even blame them. The whole Peninsula was feeling the effects of Spearhead''s destruction.


    Fern turned into another corner store, looking at empty shelf after empty shelf before sighing. There was no stock of anything anywhere. There hadn''t been for days as everyone hoarded canned goods and whatever else they could get their hands on. All the good that would do. If a titan came rampaging through the city, it would hardly matter if you had three more cans of tuna, beans, or whatever else people ate.


    "Excuse me," Fern inquired, her tone hopeful. "Do you know when your next shipment is coming in?" Fern turned to the store owner, her auburn hair brushing against pointed ears as she tried to meet his shaky gaze. The store owner, a man with dark bags under his eyes, flipped through his own newspaper. His portly, oversized stature dwarfed the chair he occupied. It should''ve given him an almost comical appearance, but instead, he seemed so small as he hunched over the counter.


    He twisted his head to glance at Fern before returning to the newspaper, "If it doesn''t get canceled, two days." It was curt but not impolite.


    "Ah. I see. Thank you." Fern turned to leave, but the man''s voice grumbled as she was about to pass the threshold back onto Main Street.


    "Need anything set aside?" The man produced a pen and stared at the newspaper, ready to write anything down.


    "Toothpaste or milk would be nice!" Fern beamed pleasantly. Food was a commodity for her. If she stayed in the sun long enough, she could survive the food drought, if not be miserable while she did. It was the one lucky part about being Verdan.


    While Velnias struggled under the weight of uncertainty, reports painted a grim portrait of other major cities. Fear and unrest festered, threatening to plunge the entire Peninsula into chaos. Both fervent and desperate protests erupted like wildfires, casting a long shadow over the precarious calm people clung to. Dej Khov had worse food shortages, and the Inquisition there worried about an influx of undead due to starvation. Cholt was no better as the city''s tinkers were getting antsy, and many started using their technology to turn to thievery. She had been working overtime routing Wardens teams to and fro, matching skill sets with the supernatural problems reported.


    The other branches of The Wardens hadn''t had to work this hard in years. Before, there was a pervasive mentality of "if it was important send Spearhead." and "Spearhead is the strongest. Might as well leave everything up to them."


    ''Yeah. This is what you get when you put all your eggs in one basket.'' She chided the Warden''s past over-reliance as she thought about its result: teams running around like headless chickens, the highest influx of contract usage in years, the highest number of civilian casualties, and the lowest number of resolved cases. It didn''t help that there were also just more essence-related events.


    There were the normal ones that happened naturally, like a random beam of essence from the cosmos reducing a village to a bunch of aberrations or the presence of elementals due to the improper disposal of the dead. If it was just those, everything would''ve been fine. The issue was that the cults were also becoming more active and daring. It all culminated in a chaotic maelstrom.


    Glancing at her watch, Fern quickened her pace, her boots clicking against the pavement with a steady rhythm of urgency. The chill wind bit her cheeks, and she pulled her coat tighter around her. Crunching snow muffled her footsteps as she entered HQ, rode the elevator, and walked to her desk ¨C all in silence.


    Fern sorted through the request with practiced efficiency, her mind a whirlwind of considerations. Each priority designation felt like an additional weight on her shoulders, a reminder of the grim reality she faced. In her hands, she held lives, each reduced to no more than a half sheet of paper and a short description of the event and why it was a Warden issue rather than a private defense issue. How many had she condemned to death today by sorting them in the lower priority pile? Eighty? Two-Hundred? It was utilitarian. Her job was to do the greatest good. She hated it.


    Amidst the organized chaos, a special request caught her attention ¨C an appeal from the new Velnias Warden''s Captain, Galahad himself. It was a two-parter; the first part, recruitment of new Wardens, was easy enough to approve. The second part was less excusable. The essence subsumption and communion request stared back at her from the half sheet of paper, its audacity nearly taking her breath away four times the amount of essence per week for the new team. She knew the desperation that drove it. She understood it. The Peninsula''s urgent need for a new Spearhead was something she was seeing firsthand. Yet, she couldn''t ignore the recklessness inherent in the proposal. While pumping them full of essence like this might get them a new spearhead for a few months, they''d all die within the next two years. She denied the request and sent it to the higher-ups.


    The higher-ups, ever enigmatic and instructable, sent it back to Galahad. In a swift reversal, the request was stamped with an unequivocal


    Request Status: ''Approved.''


    <h2>Thrown</h2>


    "Fight back" The words struck him, each one matching a blow more forceful than the last, but Bellamy only registered the pressure rather than any stinging sensation. He was a mountain of a man, 6''2", with the constitution of someone used to working in a steel mill, but tonight, he wasn''t here to fight ¨C he was here to play a part. The blows came hard and fast; steel-toed boots slammed into his ribs, and fists glanced off his jaw. To the untrained eye, it looked brutal, eight people standing in a circle, launching kicks meant to topple the man and smacks to the side when he stumbled. Blood dripped from a gash on his brow as he lost vision due to the sudden swelling. The blood seemed to freeze almost instantly, the biting cold and wind stealing the warmth from his body. Still, Bellamy felt nothing. His body was a tool, and he used it to sell the illusion of pain. He grimaced, snarled, and lowered his stance to protect his vital organs with the grace of a man getting jumped, all the while keeping his mind sharp and his movements deliberate.


    As the goons continued their assault, Bellamy''s eyes continued darting around, calculating. He spotted his opportunity when one of the attackers, a wiry thug with a sneer, leaned in too close. Bellamy took a half step back, letting the man''s force carry him forward, wavering as he slipped on the ice. Before gravity could take him, Bellamy surged forward, fist raised high as he caught the man in the chest, spiking him into frost-covered concrete. Bellamy leapt on the thug, no longer sneering, and began to tear at coat and limb.


    His goal wasn¡¯t to hurt the scrawny fellow, just as their goal wasn''t to hurt him, although this part had been off-script just a little bit. Bellamy enjoyed taking creative liberties where he could. Amid the tangle of limbs, he shoved his hand into the victim¡¯s coat pocket, slipping the wallet he found there neatly into his sleeve. He had planned to disengage from the pile afterwards, but his timing was off ¨C a punch smashed into his nose, knocking him off the man and leaving him flat on his back.


    After that, the others descended upon him, a flurry of blows and kicks that he knew would bruise or tear muscle. Even though he wouldn''t feel the pain, it still sucked for the next few days, his muscles would be tight, and his mobility would grow far worse. Many times before he found himself reaching up to a shelf only for his arm to resist him, much to his confusion.


    The blows continued, with greater viciousness than what was appreciated for a solid minute before a voice rang out. "That''s enough," the gang''s leader, Viracio, called out. He flicked a lit cigar to the ground nearby like a prick. He stepped forward, smiling as he looked at the gathered assembly of workers huddled behind the open chain link gate. He bent down next to Bellamy, speaking in a low tone that wouldn''t carry to the other factory workers, "They''re pissing their pants man, you were worth every cent."


    Bellamy grinned, blood pooling in his mouth and dripping from his nose. "Tell me that when the medical bill comes in."


    Viracio laughed, rising up before winding back a kick of his own, which he let loose into the tall man''s stomach. "Well then, I might as well get my hours worth. Regardless ¡­"


    The man trailed off as he straightened his suit and began speaking loud enough for the cowering workers to hear, "That''s enough I think. I get it. Trust me, I do. You gotta look out for you and your own. But when you cross that picket line, you''re hurtin'' everyone. None of my boys here enjoyed this little beatdown we had to put on you. Isn''t that right, boys?"


    From the surrounding thugs, there was a chorus of grunts of agreement, although the wiry, not so sneering anymore goon, shot vicious glances at some of the workers, a nice touch, in Bellamy''s opinion. Shame he brought his wallet to this little act.


    "They don''t like it one bit," Viracio continued with false sympathy. "And I don''t like watching to make sure they don''t skimp out on it either. Now you''re a big man. That makes you lucky. Means that you''ll still be up and about tomorrow or the next"


    He let the threat hang in the air, not sparing a glance at the targets it was actually meant for. "And you''re double lucky that I prefer to handle things with words. So that''s what we''re gonna do, and what you''re going to do is not go into that factory tomorrow or next week, not until they''ve signed the contract."


    Bellamy spat to the side, his voice raspy as he forced out, "You have a job for me then?" He didn''t have to fake the rasp. Just because he couldn¡¯t feel the beating didn¡¯t mean his body hadn¡¯t been put through the wringer.


    Viracio chuckled, stepping forward. "Man, I''ve got people begging for work. Goods, info, cleaners, anything. I can barely keep up, and ain''t none of them crossed that picket line, but you factory folk are hardy men. If you''re serious, come see me at the Last Dance, and I''ll see where we can set up a steel head like yourself."


    Job almost done. Now, he just needed to wait for the final threat and be seen limping his way to the bar later that night. A respected steel worker, swallowing his pride and working for Viracio, is later seen walking out with an envelope of money that no one working in the slums or the current economy should reasonably be able to see. The man would likely see an increase in recruits and runners in the next few days due to the display. Maybe it''d backfire, maybe it''d be temporary, hell, maybe it wouldn''t even work, but that wasn''t his business. His business right now was to be a punching bag.


    Viracio smiled a sickly sweet smile. "And remember,  if you even think about crossing that line tomorrow, next week, anytime¡­ You''d better get good at running. ¡®Cuz if I see you again, it''ll be the last time you use your legs."


    Bellamy gave a short nod, blood trickling from his mouth. It didn''t hurt ¨C his body was numb ¨C but he made sure to sell the act. Only after the nod did Viracio signal his men to disperse. One of the goons stepped back, patting his coat pockets. He frowned, realizing his wallet was missing. His eyes darted to the icy ground searching for his belonging as the rest of the goons walked off. The man opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp, dangerous glare from Viracio had him snap his mouth shut with such force Bellamy was convinced the man cracked a molar.


    Only after they were gone did Bellamy shift onto his side and push himself to his feet before limping back to the other workers. Some rushed forward, catching him before he could fall forward. A chorus of "are you okays" and "damn man''s" were thrown about. The foreman wore a heavy scowl on his face. Bellamy could hear him begin talking in low whispers to those around him, organizing ¡­ something. Bellamy shrugged. Whatever they did from here on out, it didn''t exactly concern him, so instead, he grinned and let out a laugh before sliding the stolen wallet out from his sleeve, "got ''em back for the blows, though." Silence rippled out through the crowd of workers before it broke out into pockets of laughter. Some people looked worried. Others just laughed and clapped him on the back. With an order from the foreman an overturned apple box was brought over for Bellamy to rest on, and soon the cold yard was alight with the workers¡¯ chatter.


    The foreman found him after some time, in one hand he held a travel first aid kit and the other stuck out to greet him. "Sorry that happened to you, son. Let''s get you patched up and taken home.¡±


    Bellamy took the hand, recalling the foreman''s name ¨C Gregor ¨C as the older man began patching him up. Despite his thinning hair and age, Gregor¡¯s senses hadn¡¯t dulled. His needlework was clean and quick, his wrinkled, veiny hands held  Bellamy¡¯s head with a strength that was almost shocking; Bellamy guessed that those old fists could dish a beating twice as bad as Viracio¡¯s thugs. More than a few burn marks across his wrinkled arms ¨C badges of honor from decades of molten steel and cut corners. With those marks, and the scent of grease masked by cheap tobacco, Gregor seemed almost a walking relic, plucked from the days where steel milling was honest work done by honest men who were rewarded with honest pay.


    "I appreciate it," he responded coolly. The man said something else, but it all faded as Bellamy thumbed through the wallet. It was all he could do to distract himself from the sticky sensation the bandages left him with. The constant light pressure was an annoyance only heightened by the tightening of his face brought about by the stitches. He knew it was the best, but consequences be damned he¡¯d rather just let it bleed. He turned his mind back to the wallet.


    One week and two days. That''s how much time he just bought himself with today''s stunt. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk as the words finally registered. "Thanks for the offer, and for patching me up ¡­ I have some errands I have to run first".


    The foreman extended his hand once more in farewell, "Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked, brow raised.


    Bellamy hesitated, then clasped the offered hand. "We''ll see." he spoke without looking Gregor in the eyes, a small flush of shame burning across his face that he pushed back down.


    Gregor grunted, reaching into his coat. "Take this," he said, thrusting a dented flask into Bellamy''s grip. "For the road. It''s colder than a dragon''s heart out here. Helps with the pain too".


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Bellamy almost smiled. He would''ve taken it if he had truly been hurt by Viracio''s goons. If it hadn''t just been a job for him. So, in the end, he unscrewed the lid for the barest hint of a swig, "Just a little for the road, but save the rest for your old bones."


    Gregor''s gaze lingered on the blood freezing on Bellamy''s sleeve and shrugged, "Suit yourself, just be careful out there."


    With one last goodbye, Bellamy limped down the street. The meat market wasn''t far from here, and he was getting hungry. He breathed out, leaving no trace of mist in the biting cold ¨C a dead giveaway to his undead nature if anyone was around to notice.


    The meat markets weren''t so much a centralized spot, but rather a series of unassuming stores littered throughout the city.  Very few of the owners of the shops knew they were part of the market. It was mostly specific workers who came in during specific shifts that had what people like him needed.


    The bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open, the sound almost cheerful against the grim backdrop of the slums. The shop was simple, unremarkable ¨Cshelves lined with canned goods, a glass counter at the back displaying cuts of meat. Behind it stood Kye, a stocky woman with arms like steel cables and a gaze that could cut through bone. A butcher through and through.


    "Evenin'' Kye," Bellamy said, his voice low but carrying an undertone of respect. He nodded towards the counter. "Business booming?"


    Kye ignored his small talk, glancing him up and down, her expression unreadable, "Tough one ain''t ya?"


    Bellamy, for his part, didn''t respond, just made sure the door was closed behind him before stepping closer. He leaned against the counter, his bulk casting shadows over the display case. "Any exotic cuts?"


    The question was a formality but a necessary one. He''d never seen one firsthand, but everyone knew the stories of the Brinn ¨C creatures that slipped into the skin of the living, inheriting memories and replacing them. Old wives'' tales, maybe, but in the slums, even myths had teeth.


    Kye''s hands disappeared beneath the counter, no doubt resting on the shotgun she kept there. "Anything specific?"


    "Something fired," Bellamy replied, the second part of this week''s code.


    With a grunt, Kye returned her hands from underneath the counter and slid open a nearby meat fridge, rifling through the packages.


    "How much you got on you?"


    Bellamay flipped through the ill-gotten wallet, "Looks like twelve Ord, an IOU for a lap dance at Penny''s, and some business cards."


    Kye snorted but stared at Bellamy expectantly.


    "I''m good for eighty more Ord, though, I finished a job for Viracio, picking up the rest later tonight.


    Kye said nothing but crossed her arms and considered Bellamy for a few moments. "Guess you haven''t heard. Congregations in town. Prices are up, payment up front".


    "Well," Bellamy began, "shit." It wasn''t eloquent, but it was the only thought that cut through the haze of a growing frustration. Suddenly, his fortunate windfall had not just turned for the worse but dove straight for the sewers. He was broke, had less food than he thought, and now had to go into hiding unless he wanted the Congregation''s sniffers on his trail. They''d come to the slums ¨C they always did.


    With a nod, he slid the twelve Ord across the counter ¨C a ten and a two. It wouldn''t be the end of the world, but he felt the reaper breathing down his neck as Kye began wrapping less meat than he wanted. A whole half pound missing, 36 hours up in smoke.


    "Thanks for the heads-up Kye" he sighed, slumping against the counter. "Don''t know what I''d do without you."


    A snort was her only response as she finished packaging the meat and slid it across the counter. But before Bellamy could take it, her hand stayed firm on the package.


    "It''s not enough," she said, her voice low. "I''m off in less than an hour, I doubt you''ll get paid by then. If the Congregation wasn''t in town maybe you could make it. But your brother ¡­"


    Bellamy shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I''ll figure it out. I always do". He pulled at the package, but Kye''s grip didn''t bulge.


    "Aye, you do," she said, tone cutting. "But you''re reckless, and we can''t afford recklessness right now, Bell. The Congregation is here for their March of Purification. We''ll be lucky if they''re only rounding people up for a month. Face it. You''re out of good options.


    Her words punctured, not simply because they were cruel words, but because they were true. Not much in life cuts deeper than a cruel truth. He couldn''t get enough to buy meat from a distributor like Kye, not when they were all about to go into hiding, which left only rippers ¨C and that came with its own risks. Essence taint, getting murdered, it being a set-up, and then him being forced to march. Killing someone himself for meat wasn''t an option either; the Congregation would sick one of their sniffers on any missing person, and that trail would lead straight to him. Even killing one of the undocumented Verdan wouldn''t solve his problems. As much as he hated to admit it, The Congregation wasn''t stupid. They''d still pick up the trail.


    "Well, unless you have work for me," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "Reckless is how it''s going to have to be". It was a dangerous gamble. He knew what cult Kye was a part of, and they didn''t take disruptions well.


    Kye studied him momentarily, then reached under the counter again. Bellamy tensed, and his instincts screamed, but he kept himself in check. Kye pulled out eight more packages of meat and a small box, and suddenly Bellamy''s breath caught in his throat. The essence glowed faintly, a swirling vortex of colors ¨C deep blues and greens shifting like liquid smoke. It was pure, concentrated power, the kind that could sustain an undead like him for months. To those who hadn''t partaken in essence, it was invisible, but to him, it was ambrosia, a lifeline and a curse all at once. Each color hinted at its origin, tied to a Greater Power, though Bellamy couldn''t tell which color meant what. Few knew the secrets of essence, far fewer than those who communed or consumed.


    He swallowed hard, his mind racing. That was a month''s worth of food minimum if he ate like a glutton. And the essence, the essence alone, could keep him going for much longer.


    Kye smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. "Ah, I guessed you''d recognize this. Wasn''t sure if you''d taken essence, but that look... Never seen it on anyone else but a harbinger. You''ll know, then, essence doesn''t come cheap".


    It was a strange feeling, being seen through so completely. Terrifying, in a way that was hard to describe ¨C a mix of exposure and vulnerability. Bellamy didn''t enjoy it. He would''ve liked to say he was a wise, thoughtful man. That he weighed the consequences. That he considered his options, but the truth was simpler, cleaner. He was desperate. She knew it.


    "What''s the job?¡±


    She gestured to the box of essence, ¡°Find out where this came from.¡±


    <h2>Shifty</h2>


    Thrysa¡¯s smile widened as she ladled another helping of chicken soup into a roughly carved wooden bowl, handing it to the small child in front of her. ¡°Careful now, it¡¯s hot,¡± she said gently. The child stared up at her with wide, questioning eyes. Thrysa pointed across the gymnasium with a wrinkled finger. ¡°If you head that way, there are warm winter clothes for you. And that line over there? The nice man will give you some toys and snacks for later.¡±


    The Congregation had transformed the local gymnasium into a hub of activity. Before arriving in Velnias, they had collected donations from the people of Dej Khov and the towns they passed through on their journey by train. At each stop they had taken time to track down undead ¨Cor, more often, the undead had found them ¨C to join the March of Purification. Building trust was key to their mission, and they made a point of using some of the donations to support the communities they visited. It was a way to show their intent, to prove they were there to help, not just take and harm.


    The atmosphere on the peninsula was tense. Ever since Spearhead¡¯s death weeks ago it felt as though everyone was holding their breath, waiting for a disaster they couldn¡¯t possibly prepare for. People needed hope, something to believe in, and so the Cardinal ¨C the speaker for The Heart That Beats True¨C had declared the march. Velnias was their final stop, and likely the one that would take the longest, the capital was always teeming with the abominations. So far, they had found over one hundred and eighty undead. Of those, one hundred and sixty had chosen to join the march, while the remaining twenty had been executed. Once they rounded up the abominations in Velnias, they would return to Dej Khov to perform the ritual ¨C the ritual that could cleanse them of the original sin.


    The undead were a grim reminder of sentient¡¯s darkest impulses. They came into being when someone consumed the meager amount of essence directly from another person, a monstrous act that the world punished by twisting their soul ¨C their body and mind reflecting their sin. These creatures were cursed to prey on others, often the frail and helpless, driven by an insatiable need for sentient flesh. It was a cruel irony: the very act that granted them power also stripped them of their humanity.


    Some hadn¡¯t chosen this fate; they had been tricked or forced into it. A single act of malice ¨C a poisoned stew, for instance ¨C could doom an entire village. But once transformed, they lost themselves. They became monsters, and monsters had to be dealt with.


    Yet, there was hope. The purification ritual offered a chance at redemption. Not everyone survived the process and no one knew the criteria for those who lost their sin and returned to the living and those who burned.  For those who emerged, renewed, it was a second chance ¨C a return to the fold of the living, free from the original sin. Thrysa had seen it herself: the moment when the light returned to their eyes, when they remembered what it meant to be human.


    When Thrysa heard about the march, she jumped at the opportunity to join. It wasn¡¯t as glamorous as she had imagined, especially since the Cardinal had allowed the Puritan sect to tag along for muscle. She suspected the Puritans had found more than just the five undead they had reported, but she would never be able to prove it. The Puritans saw no distinction between those who had chosen this path and those who had not, or even those who had learned to regret their folly. To them, the undead were a blight, a corruption to be eradicated the moment it was found. The thought made her sick to her stomach. They¡¯d do the same to her if they ever discover that she was a Verdan, a natural Harbinger, a Brinn to be exact.


    As a Brinn, Thrysa didn¡¯t have a ¡°true¡± form. She was whoever she appeared to be, her body crafted and molded for purpose. Right now she wore the visage of an old woman with smile lines and wrinkled eyes, a face shaped by a lifetime of kindness. It was a part of her that allowed her to move among humans unnoticed.


    The rest of her shift passed uneventfully. She handed out bowls of hot soup to anyone who wanted one, grateful for the gymnasium¡¯s spacious interior. It was far better than forcing people to wait outside in the cold. The line of people had dwindled to a few stragglers, and the hum of conversation in the gymnasium had softened to a murmur. Thrysa wiped her hands on her apron, glancing around the room. Families huddled together under donated blankets, children played with simple wooden toys, and the scent of soup and bread lingered in the air. For a moment, it almost felt like peace.


    As she set the ladle down into the pot with a light clatter, a young man approached ¨C a puritan, his stern expression softened by a faint smile. He wore the distinctive black and gray robes of his sect, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked by faint battle scars. There was a quiet intensity to him, a sense of purpose that made Thrysa pause. She had grown used to the Puritan¡¯s presence, but she still felt a pang of unease whenever one got too close. Still, he had seen this one before, his tone was kind, and his eyes held no malice towards her. Why would they? To him, she was simply an old sister, harmless and devout.


    ¡°Sister,¡± he said, nodding respectfully. ¡°Let me take over for you. You¡¯ve been at this for hours.¡±


    She forced herself to relax and handed him the ladle. ¡°Thank you, brother. It¡¯s been a long day. But it''s still pleasant.¡±


    ¡°It has,¡± he agreed, stepping behind the table. The line was empty now, leaving the table quiet. ¡°It¡¯s lovely isn¡¯t it? Seeing the hope in their eyes?¡± He gestured to the hubbub of people, sitting in small groups, laughing and eating their meal, his voice tinged with something like reverence. ¡°This is how it should be, warm food, a safe life away from essence¡±.


    Thrysa studied him for a moment, unsurprised by his earnestness. She was still slightly uneasy by his presence, but she knew deep down this brother was not a bad man, misguided maybe, but his intent was obvious to her. ¡°It is. Though I imagine you see it differently than I do.¡±


    He chuckled a low, warm sound. ¡°Perhaps. But at the end of the day we all want the same thing.¡± He paused, his expression thoughtful. ¡°I know you will not give me your blessing for our methods sister, but we do what we must. But perhaps ¡­ perhaps a blessing still, for hard decisions. Difficult decisions made with kindness¡±


    Thrysa¡¯s chest tightened at his words, but she kept her expression neutral. ¡°What is your name brother¡±


    ¡°Faron¡±, he nodded at her.


    She didn¡¯t need to think to remember the words. They simply danced gracefully from her tongue, their rhythmic nature almost a chant.


    ¡°May the Heart That Beats True guide your steps,


    Through shadowed paths and trials untold.


    May its rhythm steady your soul


    And its light reveal truth within.


    When doubt clouds your way,


    May you hear its call,


    A whisper in the silence


    A beat in the dark.


    Follow not the lies of the world,


    But the truth that stirs within your chest.


    For the heart that beats true knows itself,


    And the path it reveals is yours alone to walk.


    Go forth with courage,


    And trust in the pulse of the divine.


    For The Heart That Beats True is within you Faron


    Now and always.¡±


    Faron bowed his head, his shoulders relaxing as though a weight had been lifted. ¡°Thank you sister,¡± he spoke quietly, eyes closed as he breathed in deeply from the world. ¡°I needed that.¡±


    Thrysa smiled, ¡°You¡¯re welcome, brother. May your path be clear.¡±


    As she turned to leave, Faron called after her, his voice gentle. ¡°Ah, before I forget, sister. The Bishop asked to see you. He¡¯s waiting in one of the offices down the hall¡±


    Thrysa gave a short bow of her head. ¡°Thank you brother, I¡¯ll head there now.


    A minute later Thrysa found herself outside the Bishop''s impromptu office, knocking lightly waiting for the Bishop''s confirmation before entering, ¡°You wished to see me Bishop?¡±


    The Bishop was a young woman, in her early thirties, with auburn hair cascading to the middle of her back. Her face was round, full and might have lent itself to a gentle expression if not for the forced coldness she wore instead. A shame, Thrysa thought.


    ¡°Yes, please take a seat¡±.


    Thrysa did as the Bishop asked, delicately placing her hands in her lap as she waited for the woman to continue. But the Bishop remained silent, her lips pursed, her gaze steady of Thrysa. Finally she spoke, ¡°I believe I asked you to return to your original form in private.¡±


    Thrysa hesitated for only a moment. Humans sometimes were preoccupied with their own perceptions. Thrysa was Brinn ¨C there was no ¡°original form¡± except the vine she had been born from. But she understood what the Bishop meant. The form they had first met in. The first form he took after becoming Verdan.


    Without another word, Thrysa¡¯s features began to shift. Her legs extended, wrinkles thinned, her hair darkened and shortened. His green eyes flickered with intensity and the softer lines of his face hardened into the sharper angles of a man. In the span of a breath, the older woman had been replaced by Oaklen ¨C a young, green eyed man with tense muscles and a predator¡¯s poise. Blink too quickly, and it seemed as if someone else had taken its place entirely.


    ¡°Thank you Oaklen¡± the Bishop finally said, an edge of satisfaction in her voice.


    ¡°For you? Anything¡± Oaklen leaned back against the chair, confidence radiating from him, ¡°so ma¡¯am. What can I do for you?¡±


    The bishop smiled, pleased, before opening a drawer and sliding a file across the desk. Without waiting for permission, Oaklen began flipping through the pages, skimming the important points.


    ¡°We need a sniffer in the industrial slums, someone with their ear to the ground capable of acting as a rat catcher when needed. Our team has already crafted your persona. You¡¯ll be a respected reporter with gang ties from Coutama, Jim Harven, looking to buy goods and smuggle them into Coutama or the other way round. Late 40¡¯s, a veteran of the War of Bloody Veins. He was a former sheriff before The Great Order and Coutama¡¯s governor failed him with inane policies turning him to a life of crime.¡±


    Oaklen rolled the idea around his mind, his fingers drumming against the file. His thoughts shifted, and his dissatisfaction with the new persona took root, though he kept it subtle. ¡°Would one of my older identities not work?¡± Oaklen asked, ¡°It takes time to craft a new ego.¡±


    As he flipped through the pages, he could see the crafted history. He was certain the new identity would hold up ¨C solid, well constructed, the kind of persona the division excelled at creation. He¡¯d even seen articles from Harven ¨C headlines like ¡°The Great Order oversteps Coutama¡¯s sovereignty¡± and ¡°Essence: A Fool¡¯s Dream and the Power to match.¡± Yes, this was a persona that would pass scrutiny. But managing another ego, even an effective one, added weight. They got grumpy if they never got to come out.


    The Bishop shook her head. ¡°I would say yes, but the orders come from higher up. They have particular interest in your target ¨C a gang leader by the name of Viracio. Whatever he¡¯s involved with has them tied in knots, or maybe he¡¯s the key to untangling it all. Either way, none of your older egos would fit this job. No mistakes.¡±


    Oaklen sighed, as he closed the file with a lazy flick. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll read the packet over and get started. It¡¯ll take me a few days, and then I¡¯ll be off. What exactly am I fishing for?¡±


    The Bishop hesitated before speaking, her voice softer than usual. ¡°I¡¯m not sure myself. I have my theories, but whatever¡¯s spooked them, they¡¯re keeping it close to the chest. They don¡¯t want their assumption to cloud your investigation. But they did ask you to keep an eye out for anything related to essence, and anything experimental. How you go about things, I¡¯ll leave that up to you. You tend to work better when I don¡¯t micromanage.¡±


    Oaklen let out a strained laugh, a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t have said it better myself, ma¡¯am. I won¡¯t disappoint.¡± He stared down at the file again, giving it a look of pure disdain. ¡°I have some homework to do.¡±


    ---


    First chapter. The view point switches around quite a lot because I need to set up the world and introduce our two PoV characters Bellamy and the Brinn. Next chapters will focus on one of these individual characters PoV and will not jump around as much. Anyways, the hunt begins.

 The Underbellys Pulse [1] - Small Decisions

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    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    <h2></h2>

 TUP [2] - Heartbeat

    <h2>Dance</h2>


    Sarah thought about today''s events and the mission at hand. Jim had done his part ¨C snapped a picture of Viracio and The Brute for the rats to use in the war on the other Velnias families. Now, it was her turn.


    Penny''s seemed like a nice place to work ¨C half the men and women wanted more than drinks, and the rest pretended otherwise until they didn''t. She had slinked through the back, waiting for a moment when the bouncer had looked away, and ¨C quiet as night ¨C stepped through the threshold. From there, it was a quick change and a quick mingle with some of the girls and boys in the back. She had explained that she was in Velnias temporarily, on her way to the Atrean Islet to visit a lover, and needed some extra funds. Her cousin lived in the area and knew one of Penny''s friends, and from there, it was easy to set her up with temporary work. It wasn''t far off from her actual story as the "vixen" ego.


    With a change of clothes and a few tips for cleavage makeup up, she stepped onto the floor of Penny''s proper just in time to catch the eye of the boy who was walking with Viracio, not the brute, but the younger one.


    He was young but not a child. He dressed well and held dark features that paired well with his piercing brown eyes that held a genuine smile. Gullible perhaps, she certainly hoped so. It''d make her work a lot easier.


    Sarah, out of all the egos, had been chosen when they saw the trio walk into Penny''s for a reason. Slinking was second nature to her, the way an old habit became instinct. Not in the way Oaklen hid. He hid in the woods and city street, knife bared and ready, but she hid in plain sight. The lonely woman at the bar, the helpless vixen in need of saving, or, in this case, a stripper at a club.


    Oaklen has been worried about adding Jim into the mix of egos, frightened that another ego would weaken the whole, but what did he know? They were one. They could share. A new tool in the arsenal didn''t dilute the craft. It refined it.


    As she served a drink, she dipped lower, arching her back just as the boy looked. Rising slowly, she glanced back, meeting his eyes. He wanted something. She wanted something. Perhaps they could help each other.


    Finally, he found a natural moment to catch up with her. He passed her at first, or at least seemed to before turning to look at the wine platter she carried.


    "And how much for a drink for a parched throat?" he asked, more a statement than a question.


    "One Ord a glass sir," she smiled, leaning slightly forward, closing the gap between them.


    He counted the glasses as if he was part of a performance, overexaggerating his movements as he counted each and every glass, "and seven". Reaching into his pocket book he pulled out a bundle of cash, counting it much the same he did the wine. "7 Ord for the drinks," he thumbed through a few more bills, "and another 10 for your company."


    A big spender, then. Just hit a payday. She smiled, not needing to fake it as she slid her free arm into his outstretched arm, "and may I ask the name of the man so generous with his company?"


    "Callum, and you?" his voice was casual as he glanced at her, clearly appreciating what he saw, but he didn''t let his eyes linger as he guided them to some nearby seats.


    "Sarah, " she sat beside Callum, close enough that there was barely space between their legs. It was best to leave room to up the tension.


    He gestured for her to place the tray of alcohol on the table and then slid it further away from the two of them, "I don''t drink, at least not wine."


    Sarah raised a brow, curious. "I''m flattered," she began, meeting his eyes, "that you would spend so much to allow me some respite sir."


    He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hands, "It''s a difficult job. I''m aware of that much. But believe me it''s not charity."


    "Oh? Is it not?" she covered her mouth, purposely letting out a small giggle.


    "What can I say? You caught my eye and dragged my breath away from across a room. How could I not seek you out?"


    She took the opportunity to move closer still, brushing her bare legs up against him, "but you were playing so coy. You almost passed me by."


    He grinned a sheepish smile "I will admit, I almost lot the words in my mouth, but I also thought you would make for pleasant conversation."


    She leaned closer into him, "Not many find conversation the goal with little old me," she teased, blinking up at him.


    He laughed. It was smooth and came out naturally. "Please, I''ve never met an entertainer who wasn''t talented in storytelling, much less casual conversation."


    Oh. Oh. She liked this one. Respectful and a flatterer. There was nothing wrong with that, not to mention he wasn''t looking at her ravenously. Wanting, yes, but that was part of the work, but there was a difference between a natural wanting and the look of a slobbering dog holding wanting to pounce.


    "It''s rare," she mused "to find a man who looks but doesn''t drool in a place like this. I''m honestly a little insulted"


    "Some of us still believe in restraint, "Callum replied lightly, reaching for a glass in turn. Neither of them drank.


    "Restraint or control?" she tilted her head, boring into his soul, attempting to find a small piece of him, "one comes from within. The other." She let the words hang, giving Callum an opportunity to interject. Only when he was sure she wasn''t going to continue did he respond.


    "Is something to be fought for, to keep the world from swallowing us whole," he finished.


    She wasn''t sure what she was looking for in that. She knew why she asked; Sarah had to talk to the customers, learn more about them, and build reports, but beyond that ¡­ it just wasn''t the response she expected. It was surprisingly intense for someone so young. A bit pompous, but then again, he looked Coutaman. Likely dealt with the after effects of The War of Blood Veins.


    "A fresh insight, surely." She brought the glass to her lips but didn''t drink; it was unlikely the girls could drink while on duty. She had worked at other places that used a similar trick to her. You could sit, talk, and pretend to sip on wine, but you were never supposed to drink.


    Callum, for his part, rolled his eyes and set his drink down, clearly aware of the trick. "I used to date an entertainer. She moved away so it didn''t work out, but I had a question I never got to ask and I was hoping you might grant me some insight," he started, waiting for Sarah to nod an affirmative before continuing, "You know how to make people comfortable, I''d say I''m very comfortable right now. You know what people want to hear. But what do you listen for or hear?"


    "Well. In what way."


    "Do you listen to the words I''m speaking now, or are you trying to uncover some deeper meaning?"


    "Both," she spoke as she used a finger to trace the rim of her glass. "I am listening, but I''m also thinking ahead to what you''re trying to get at. It''s a hard job. Phrasing is important. I have to consider it all else you might grow bored with me." she slid closer, pressing herself against Callum. He was surprisingly cold to the touch.


    "Are you bored with me. Callum?"


    He couldn''t help a stupid smile plastering his face as he shook his head.


    "Never".


    "Tell me Callum. You seem like a man who keeps his hands clean. Well dressed. Well educated. Was that man from earlier giving you trouble, the tall one?"


    Callum frowned, puzzled for a moment before realization struck. "My brother? No," he let out a small laugh, "in truth he was telling me to stop staring at you, but I just couldn''t help it."


    Sarah allowed the slight blush to hit her cheeks. It helped sell the act.


    "Ah I see. Brothers. I suppose I see the resemblance now. You dress much nicer than he does."


    Callum nodded, but it was slight, "He has no mind for it. He cares about different things. He''s a good brother. He takes care of people." There was a hint of a warning in his words, and Sarah moved to change the tone.


    "You must love each other very much then. Was the other man also related?"


    Callum''s frown deepened, and she could feel him retract from the conversation, "No. I''ve only just met the man, we met briefly outside and walked in together."


    Ah, well, this was a dead end. It was a straight lie, and Callum said it with such ease. He was wary now, either of her or the information itself. She had been too impatient.


    Before she could continue the conversation, a man in a well-dressed suit approached Callum. "Sir. Your presence has been requested downstairs. I''ve been told to deliver a message from one Bellamy Hallow. He held out a folded piece of paper.


    Callum took it with one hand and looked over its contents, which read, ''It''s time. Place the bet''.


    Callum stood, offering Sarah a hand. "If you''d like to accompany me downstairs, I have something to attend. It shouldn''t only take a moment, but I find our conversation so riveting I''d hate to lose you in the crowd again."


    Sarah took the hand with a smile, and together, they made their way down to the pit.


    ¡ª


    The pit was gross. Sweaty people. Loud. Obnoxious. It was full of the rapid dogs she tried her best to avoid. Callum lead them over to the betting table before taking out an envelope and emptying its contents. "240 Ord on Bellamy Hallow." The odds were not in his favor, 8:1, and the woman manning the betting table raised her brow but accepted the bet anyway. She wrote Callum''s bet on a slip of paper outlining the amount bet and the odds at the time of the bet. She then took an envelope and put the piece of paper in, before sealing it with wax and an imprint of a coin. She also jotted the bet down in a binder for her own records.


    "That''s," Sarah began, biting the inside of her cheek as she debated continuing the sentence, but curiosity ran out, "a lot of money to bet on your brother."


    Callum nodded, almost solemn, "I normally wouldn''t. I''d actually split the odds. He pointed at the current odds, held over the table by one of the workers. "Most of the time, the bookies make mistakes at some point. They change the odds based on what people are betting. Sometimes they mess up the math or leave an opening for a friend and call it a mistake, but there''s usually a spot where I can bet on both fighters and, no matter the outcome, win some money."


    It was all her effort not to side-eye Callum, "Isn''t that risky? What if you get caught? And ¡­ why not this time?" Some of her wondered if it was because of her presence as one of the club''s girls, although she was just pretending.


    He snorted a laugh. "They won''t care. They take a cut of the pot, and make money either way. As for why not this time," he stared out onto the ring, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. It looked like dread. "Because my brother does not lose. Now, let''s get out of here before the fight starts."


    Sarah looked around, seeing Viracio in a private box with the club''s owner. Crap. She needed to stall Callum to get him to stay down here. Viracio was her target at the end of the day, but it would raise suspicion if she stayed for no reason. She didn''t want to lose herself as a tool in this operation because of some stupid mistake."


    "I mean. I''d be interested in watching. It''d be a shame to not know if you won or lost until word got to you."


    Callum hesitated, looking towards the ring before shaking his head. "I." it was a hesitant word, "I don''t like watching him fight. Not when I can''t do anything about it. He gets ¡­ weird about it."


    "Weird?" Sarah probed.


    "Yeah, weird." Giving nothing else, he lingered still, but only for a moment. "You''re more than welcome to watch yourself, but I could use a drink if you want to accompany me."


    Sarah sighed internally. She didn''t know his relationship with Viracio. Still, if he mentioned a suspiciously interested stripper and described her, it''d be a wash for her ego until the operation was done, and she liked the fresh air. There was always another opportunity, best to cut her losses.


    Instead she grabbed his arm and began walking with him, "finally got you to loosen up?"


    He didn''t get a chance to respond. As they moved towards the exit, one of the bouncers held up his hand, "No leaving once you place a bet. Security reasons. I''m sure you understand."


    Callum pursed his lips and scowled but nodded. He hated it, but it looked like he would watch his brother fight.


    <h2>Reputation</h2>


    The preparation room was quiet. Not that there wasn''t noise ¨C he could feel the vibrations in the air, the hum of voices bleeding through the walls, the groan of old pipes settling under pressure, the metallic clatter of fighters preparing for their own matches. In the corner, a younger man glared at him. But to Bellamy, it made no difference. He felt none of the room''s heat, smelled none of the sweat and blood thick in the air. Those sensations belonged to other people.


    He sat on the narrow bench, leaned forward, and rolled his shoulders, neck, and wrists. He sent essence through the scaffolding of his body as he moved, letting that unnatural force settle over and into him, kneading the fatigue and stress out of his muscles.


    He studied his hands. Calloused. Weathered. Marked by old skirmishes and burns from the steel factory. Scars he could have erased. Smoothed over with essence until they were as smooth as scholars. But they mattered. The marks meant something.


    Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the coarse hand wraps, the rough fabric comfortable in his hands.


    He began at the wrist, anchoring the wrap snugly to follow the natural curve of his skin. His fingers moved with precision, guiding the wrap upward, passing once around his palm before threading between his fingers ¨C splitting the knuckles, keeping them protected without sacrificing mobility. Every turn was deliberate. Every motion carried weight. A quiet affirmation that even the smallest actions had meaning. His eyes tracked each movement, refusing to let muscle memory take over. At every cross-point, he paused, lightly flexing his palm to check the tension, ensuring the pattern remained unbroken. The wrap spiraled back down, binding the wrist once more, locking everything into place.


    When the last length was secured he clenched his fists, testing for slack. No discomfort to gauge. Only the tension of the fabric. Only the certainty that it was correct.


    The first thing he noticed was the change in air pressure, then the murmuring pause in the background chatter, and finally, a young woman''s voice.


    "Bellamy," she called out.


    He ignored it for a second longer, turning over his hand as a last inspection before striding outwards.


    The walk to the ring was short, but the sound grew louder with each footfall. The crowd wasn''t just loud ¨C it was a living thing, a beast of shifting bodies and frenzied voices, surging with the highs and lows of the bets they placed. They were part of the structure of Penny''s. He was simply the instrument through which they enacted their desires. Their presence in the ecosystem sought to elevate the only thing that mattered ¨C the fight itself.


    His opponent was already waiting, a thick-chested man, arms lined with muscle. He rolled his shoulders, shifting from foot to foot. Pavel Cross, the undefeated reigning champion. From a glance, it became clear he was a brawler who learned to survive fights, not just win them. Bellamy studied him, not for openings. Just watching, taking it in.


    "Aannnnnd tonight!" the announcer roared, a tinny sound coating his voice through the microphone. He whipped the already frenzied crowd into delirium, "we have a special match! A blood match between the reigning champion, undefeated, unstoppable, Pavel Cross! And what many of you thought was a newcomer, a fresh pup thrown to the wolves!"


    He paused for dramatic effect. Bellamy appreciated the flare.


    "But," the announcer continued, the word dripping with anticipation, "it turns out you were wrong. Dead wrong."


    Another pause. A breathless, silent moment.


    "Because standing in that ring right now, facing our champion is no rookie. No minnow in shark infested waters. Ladies and gentlemen we bring you a legend raised from the dead. A ghost made flesh once more. I give you ¡­ the undefeated former champion Bellamy Halloowwwww!"


    The eruption of noise burst eardrums. Cheers, curses, the sound of bets shifting, of drinks being slammed, and shouts of foul play. Bellamy closed his eyes and let the waves crash into him. Each one a pulse in his still heart. He breathed it in, relished it. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed this.


    "Velnias!" The announcer spread his arms, closing his eyes and staring at the ceiling, calling out to the bloodthirsty spectators and quite possibly a bloodthirsty god. "ARE. YOU. READY?!!!"


    The air hit a fever pitch.


    Bellamy opened his eyes.


    "BEGIN!"


    The fighters circled, bare feet scraping against the uneven dirt floor. The first exchange started with a jab from Pavel ¨C quick, probing. Bellamy let it slide off his guard. Another flicker of movement and a viper-quick calf kick cracked against Bellay''s lead leg, threatening to knock him off balance. Before he could fully reset, Pavel shot low, arms reaching out towards Bellamy''s legs to drag them both into the dirt.


    Fast. Ruthless. The impact of the charge sent dust billowing behind the champion.


    But Bellamy was faster.


    He snapped his knee up into Pavel''s face. The champion barely faltered, driven forward by sheer momentum or will ¨C it was hard to tell. Bellamy didn''t have time to think. He stepped back, twisting his torso mid-motion, and drove a brutal sidekick into Pavel''s chest. He aimed for the head. He hit the ribs instead.


    It was enough.


    Pavel grunted, blood trickling from his nose, but even as his charge stopped, his arms kept moving. His hands clamped onto Bellamy''s foot before he could retract it. A flash of tension ran through Pavel''s body as he stood and yanked, trying to trap the leg under his armpit and wrench Bellamy off balance.


    It would''ve worked, except for a heavy fist impacting Pavel''s throat. A sharp coughing choke. A stagger. Pavel''s grip slackened just enough for Bellamy to tear his leg free and plant it firmly on the ground.


    They separated, eyes locked. Pavel''s breath came hard and heavy. In turn, Bellamy didn''t breathe at all. Too focused on the fight to pretend to need to.


    Each fighter adjusted their stance. Pavel opted for a high guard with a wide base, favoring his left foot. A flexible, adaptable position. Bellamy''s stance, in turn, was anything but orthodox ¨C built for aggression and little else. His hands hung low, extended forward at chest level, an opening most fighters would never allow. His left foot led, angled slightly inward to mirror the champion''s stance, while his rear foot was rooted sideways, coiled like a spring, ready to drive him forward the moment an opening appeared, but this time he didn''t wait.


    He moved forward, lacking grace. His feet drummed in rhythm ¨C back foot, front foot, back foot. His leg shot out, an inside kick to Pavel''s lead leg, which was raised in defense. Pavel, leg already raised, kicked forward, hitting Bellamy in the chest. Bellamy took the hit, swinging his right arm to impact the champion''s inner thigh. He continued to step in, lead foot stomping on Pavel''s back leg as he hooked an arm into his ribs. The impact was met with an elbow to the chin, which Bellamy slid through to headbut Pavel''s nose.


    The champion''s eyes were wide, not understanding the predatory stance Bellamy carried. The relentless forward motion, despite impacts and pain that would send other men to the ground. Trying to regain some semblance of control, he threw a hook that cracked into Bellamy''s ribs. A move that turned out to be a fatal mistake.


    As the impact took him in the side, Bellamy raised both hands up, crossing them to either side of the champion''s neck as he scooped up the dense fabric. It formed an X across the champion''s throat before Bellamy squeezed inwards, initiating a choke, slowly stopping oxygen from flowing into Pavel''s brain.


    Panic took over as Pavel rained blow after blow into Bellamy''s unflinching side. The pressure only increased with time as Bellamy squeezed tighter and tighter. Pavel looked up and met Bellamy''s eyes. A chill ran through him. The man was smiling, eyes foggy as he grinned so wide it almost broke his face. Pavel was going to die. Bellamy was going to kill him. He threw punch after punch in a frenzy, as heavy as he could manage.


    Bellamy didn''t care for the damage to his ribs. It didn''t matter if the ribs cracked or broke, one, two, three. It didn''t matter. He could heal it afterward; all that mattered to him was winning the fight fair and square.


    With complete control of Pavel''s head, Bellamy stepped back and yanked the fighter down, blood and oxygen completely cut off. He had won! Now he just need to wai-


    A sudden impact against Bellamy''s chin. Heavy. His vision blurred. A white speck flashed across his eyes. But there had been no fist. Just a stomp on his foot.


    What?


    He tried to hold the choke, but another stomp sent another phantom uppercut into his skull. Bellamy stumbled, barely keeping his balance. Pavel pressed forward, landing hit after hit in a flurry of ill-placed flailing attacks ¨C strikes that should have hit his ribs or chest instead hammered into his head or the back of his knee or his shin.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The crowd roar turned sharp. Few understood what was happening as the tide shifted.


    The champion moved ¨Cstepped forward and twisted his hips to throw a punch as hard as he could. Bellamy threw himself aside, tumbling into a roll that brought him a breath of space. He stood in time to see a fist flying at his face. He sidestepped, almost tripping over his feet, barely glancing the blow off his forearm.


    But even that slight impact struck his head.


    Bellamy began to weave, dodging, his guard that should''ve absorbed some hits was useless as each blow landed elsewhere. The champion''s fist never touched his head, yet somehow they did.


    He risked a glance at the box where Penny and Viracio sat. Viracio scowled, disgust written across his face. Penny''s jaw was clenched tight. She hadn''t called out, but her silence felt heavy as her eyes bore into both her champion and Bellamy.


    A kick to his leg. The pressure of impact exploded from his ribs instead.


    Bellamy staggered, a sharp hiss breaking through his teeth. That wasn''t right. None of this was right. The punches weren''t landing where they should. It was disorienting.


    Bellamy swung out, a fast kick to create distance as his mind raced. The strikes weren''t heavier, just displaced. The impacts had jumped elsewhere.


    An essence power.


    Pavel wasn''t just a fighter. He was a Harbinger ¨C like him.


    By all rights, Bellamy had the right to use his own power. To end the fight in a split second. He reached for his essence, feeling the scaffolding.


    And stopped.


    It felt wrong. It felt like cheating. Pavel''s ability only displaced impacts. Minor. A subtle shift. Their abilities weren''t comparable. It would be fair, but it wouldn''t be right.


    Fine. The hard way it was.


    Bellamy clenched his teeth, studying the champion as he thought through the exchanges. He didn''t know the trigger. He knew the ability but not its internal workings, and when fighting a Harbinger, that was what mattered.


    The next punch came. Bellamy made a choice ¨C stepped into it deliberately, absorbing the blow as it struck against his cheekbone. He braced.


    The impact landed exactly where it should. Still made his vision swim and was entirely unpleasant, but it was where it was supposed to be.


    The ability wasn''t automatic. It had to be consciously activated. By stepping in, Bellamy had broken it for the moment.


    Another strike. A heavy hook to the ribs. He raised his guard, moving at the last second to glance the blow off his forearms.


    He confirmed his earlier suspicions as the impact hit him in the ribs, but with much less power than a straight blow.


    Pavel''s ability formed in his mind. The ability to consciously shift impacts from one location to another.


    Useful. But ultimately, only that. It wasn''t something that broke the world, much less another person.


    In short. Beatable.


    Bellamy opened himself to attack, shifting his guard at the last second so the first would connect to his sternum instead of being parried. He studied Pavel''s face. His eyes widened slightly as he furrowed his brow and focused more.


    Good. Bellamy could work with this.


    He barely registered the impact as he kicked his thoughts into high gear.


    He missed this. The puzzle. The fight. The scrap. The blow for blow and the clawing to take the pot. God he loved it.


    He stepped back and checked Pavel''s stance and guard. It was off. Not as sharp as before. He was focusing on his ability instead of the fundamentals. Good.


    Bellamy regained his earlier aggressive stance and flowed forward. He didn''t dodge. Not exactly. When a blow came, he stepped into it. Once, twice. And then he stepped away, letting the attack hit him a few seconds later than the champion intended. He alternated, switching the pattern. Forward, back, back, back, back, forward, dodge, attack, forward, forward, dodge, forward, dodge, dodge, back, attack, attack, attack.


    He walked forward, a predator approaching a wounded animal caught in a trap. He grinned, breathing it all in. He saw Pavel''s arm twitch and saw the attack coming. This time, he caught it, locking the arm underneath his armpit and straining the elbow before bringing it down onto his knee with a sickening snap.


    The man let out a cry of pain that was almost instantly cut out as Bellamy loaded an uppercut and let it loose against Pavel''s chin.


    The champion made no noise. Just crumpled backwards.


    There was silence as Pavel hit the ground.


    Then, the crowd roared. Screaming their lungs out with breath they hadn''t been aware they were holding.


    Bellamy raised up his arms and screamed in turn.


    He won. He would always win. Again and again and again until there was no one left to win against.


    ---


    <h2>Price</h2>


    Pavel was knocked out, defeated. Unconscious.


    The essence beat within him.


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    ---

 TUP [3] - The Jackal

    <h2>The Jackal</h2>


    Pavel was born in the slums of Velnias, where survival was its own currency. His mother was a sex worker, and while their life was harsh, it was better than most. Food was poor, but available and nutritious enough. They shared a cramped apartment with the others, working girls and their bastard children, all clinging to the scraps of a city that despised them. It grated him that those who partook in his mother''s services, who paid for her time and body, respected her so little.


    He learned the trade of survival early. It all came down to selling parts of yourself. At ten, he was already running drugs for the Deverauxs, slipping through the streets unnoticed because no one suspected a child of being a criminal, at least not outside of the slums. He mostly ran drugs in Velnias proper -- to college students or wealthier patrons, and he grew envious of the life they had.


    His first broken bone came at the age of eleven when a small-time gang caught wind of his routes and stole his shipment. They left him in an alley with a shattered arm. Hours later, Daniel Deveraux broke his pinky for losing product.


    His first concussion came in a boxing gym, where he had gone to learn self-defense. He had traded another broken finger for a membership. An older boy enjoyed tormenting the new blood and laid into him during what was supposed to be a friendly spar. He lost consciousness before he could land a punch.


    At fifteen, his mother disappeared. No warning. No note. No debt. Just gone. Pavel searched, asked around, and called in the small amount of favors he had, but deep down, he knew the truth. In Velnias, people didn''t leave. They were taken, sold, or buried.


    By twenty, he had broken more bones than he could count. Only now, they weren''t his. He had become an enforcer for the Volkov family, collecting debts from people who never had a chance of paying them. If they couldn''t, he took collateral. Sometimes, it was their valuables, their house or their car, sometimes their bodies, even their lives on occasion.


    The first few nights after selling someone into servitude, he lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling of a shitty studio apartment. He thought of his mother, of how disappointed she would be.


    Because the truth that kept him up was that everyone sold something to stay alive, and he was selling everything that made him the boy who would curl up into his mother''s lap and laugh as she read him stories.


    Then the next job came, and the next, and eventually, it was just another transaction.


    Everyone in Velnias sold something, the better off sold their time, their labor, and parts of their futures. The people of the slums just had to sell more. Their dignity. Their bodies. Their souls.


    So when a Volkovs higher up in a suit offered him essence and told him to be quiet about it, he didn''t hesitate. He wasn''t worried about legality. He had committed enough sins to be thrown off the side of the Peninsula thrice over. But everyone knew the real price of essence wasn''t gold or favors.


    It was you.


    He had heard a story once. A Warden, a powerful one who retired after having a child. Essence made her into something different, something alien, though no one saw it at the time. When she was a Warden, she had an outlet for the raw, unfiltered wrongness inside her. But once she left that behind, it festered. It grew and twisted further and further. She stopped seeing people as people. They were just amorphous shapes, faceless and shifting, lurking in the dark out to get her.


    One night, she woke up from a nightmare, her mind still tangled in whatever horrors she had experienced. She saw a monster in her bed. And she killed it. When her senses cleared, she found her husband''s body beside her. Their child broken on the floor.


    Even after hearing all that, Pavel never wavered. He had long since resolved to sell all of himself if it meant clawing his way out.


    So he partook in communion.


    For three days, he sat alone in a dark room, the essence cupped so gently in his hands as if he breathed wrong, it would disappear. Its energy rang through his fingertips like a second heartbeat. He imagined it sinking into his veins, his chest, pooling around his ribs and into his heart. With each breath, he forged what allowed him to become a Harbinger, a psuedo-core, a place of power.


    When he emerged, he was hungry and parched, barely alive and delirious, his mind stretched so thin he thought it would snap, but he had won. He was a Harbinger. Touched by the power of the Great Old Ones.


    And so he used it. He shattered bones, he healed his injuries, he fought in the pits and won. Again and again, he won. He climbed, clawing up the pit one brutal victory at a time, until the slums he felt as if the slums no longer held him.


    But as the years passed, he realized the horrid truth. The wins piled up, but nothing else did. He had no dreams beyond the next fight. No future beyond the next opponent and the next win. He had given up everything to become what he already was. Nothing.


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    Just another Volkov enforcer, another hired fist.


    So he leaned into it. He had nothing else to be, so he became the role completely. He was a champion. A fighter. The man who always won. Undefeated.


    Until he didn''t.


    If he wasn''t the winner, then what was left?


    And in that moment of emptiness, the essence answered for him.


    It broke from the core that he had forged, it shot through his body, twisting his mind as it went and made him into something else. Bones snapped, skin rippled, and he grew. He changed as the space around him warped and quivered, the very world breaking under the new reality.


    He was no longer the champion. He was no longer Pavel. No longer a man at all.


    He had become an essence beast.


    ¡ª


    Bellamy felt the change before he saw it. The thing tore at his scaffolding, threatening to rip it piece by piece into the wind. He barely managed to coat himself in essence, just in time to avoid being turned into a fine red mist. The air around him remained still, with no impact or strike --just the sound of a howl-- but his essence screamed at him. Shouting that he had come within a hair''s breadth of annihilation. He turned ¨C his gut already twisting with certainty¨C to face that which all Harbingers feared, unraveling. Becoming an essence beast.


    Before him stood a massive, broken dog. Its jaw was shattered into four flailing flaps, more a blooming wound than mouth or maw.


    The creature had more skin than fur, with patches of human hair sprouting in uneven tufts across its body. The spine stretched far too long for its sagging skin to contain, curving and twisting just underneath as if trying to claw its way free from the beast''s back. Hunched low, slobber dribbling from its mouth, the jackal let out a hiccuping human cackle.


    Pandemonium erupted from the audience as people surged towards the exit, only to be met with barred doors. The first to arrive pounded them with heavy fists, voices raw as they screamed at the guards to open up. The second wave crashed into the first. Then the third. Then the fourth and fifth. They pressed together, a writhing mass of bodies until the first wave crushed against the thick wooden slabs, their screams drowned beneath the wet snap of breaking bones.


    A gunshot rang out, muffled, whipping the crowd into a greater frenzy. Bellamy spared a look up to where Viracio was sitting. He held a gun in his hand, Penny''s brains were splattered against the glass. A few more shots rang out as the rat turned to the other guards, but Bellamy had no longer time to focus on him. He threw himself to the side as the dog lunged. It catapulted across the arena, covering the distance as fast as a full-speed freight train. The foundation of the building shook, dislodging portions of stone and dirt, both raining down throughout the basement. Dust billowed up, swallowing the beast in a swirl of fog. Bellamy went low, muscles coiling, waiting for the first flicker of movement. He had to see. He had to¨C


    MOVE.


    His essence screamed at him as another ripple of power slammed against his defenses. He began a roll to the side, but stopped, eyes locked onto the smoke as his eyes widened. He scrambled to stop his momentum, barely succeeding as the creature pounced at where he would''ve been.


    It baited him. It baited him like a pitfighter would. Bellamy''s breath caught ¨C then spilled into a string of curses. The thing was intelligent.


    The essence beast wasn''t even fully transformed. If it had been, the beast would have no mind for tactics or complex thought processes; it would simply rampage, essence leaking out as it constantly used its ability before eventually imploding.


    The thought sent a chill up his spine as the beast let out another choking laugh. It began to circle. Bellamy responded in kind.


    He sent out his own pulse of essence, gauging the substance''s ambience in the air. The essence. The jackal wasn''t leaking. The creature was stable. It wouldn''t just disappear. It would stay like a Titan would. Hell. Did this count as being a Titan? He didn''t know. He understood the theory, it was drilled into him in that cold iron room, but this wasn''t covered. This was new. It had to be.


    He had to think. He couldn''t let his mind wander. Pavel could move impacts. The dogs should be the same.


    It didn''t have the musculature to move around as fast as it did. It had to be using Pavel''s ability to do that somehow.


    The beast was done circling. Rushing in, its top and bottom mouth flaps, opening wide to take his arm. Bellamy ducked left. The beast''s head snapped after him, maw splitting. The left flap snapped in a tearing motion. It used them independently like one would use fingers, except for these had sharp rotted teeth. It bit with the top and bottom and sawed with the left and right.


    Bellamy clenched his fist and sent an uppercut from his lower position to the dog''s throat. It impacted with a crunch and sent Bellamy rolling to the right. Disorientation. Shock. He glanced left. Nothing. But something had still struck.


    The beast had done it. Turned his own strike against him.


    He turned the impact into a roll and angled it forward, hoping to get underneath the creature while he recovered. He scrambled to his feet, but the beast was already matching him, its gnashing, alternating jaws testing his defenses.


    It couldn''t have seen the impact. Could it have? Pavel had to focus to use the ability. Was the creature better at it? Did it feel the hit coming?


    He shot forward, sliding under a nip. Flat on his back he planted his hands over his head and brought his feet over his hips. He pushed, stopping the upward kick an inch away from the creature''s belly, letting the air pressure and current hit the beast before extending his foot for a kick. It impacted him in the ribs.


    The creature howled in glee. Its ability was always active now, a constant part of itself.


    Twisting its body, it raised a hind leg and slammed it into Bellamy''s chest. The floor shattered, spider webbing cracks across the arena. The essence coating his body took the majority of the impact, and even still, he could feel several of his ribs break. He grit his teeth, sending more and more essence through his body as the bones knit themselves back together. But the monster kept increasing the pressure, kept putting more and more weight on that one leg as it twisted its head down to look at him in glee.


    A whistle, sharp and unnatural, split the air like a blade dragged across glass. The dog''s body spasmed, and for the first time, it let out a low growl. The sound caught and broke against its throat ¨C deep and guttural ¨C like an engine choking on its own fuel.


    It yipped and bit at thin air before snarling and hurtling itself forward. Away from Bellamy and towards the mob of people still at the door. Bellamy felt the essence growing around it. Felt the rolling of essence and power as when he escaped turning into red mist.


    In three bounds, the beast reached the edge of the arena and howled. The vibrations traveled through the edge of the crowd, and one by one, the pile of bodies began to shake in tandem. Like a deep drumming base stuck in their chest, it roiled inside them, spreading from fingertips to toes. Screams erupted -- and, in an instant -- red shattered the entrance, spraying the viscera of sixty individuals across the wall and into the air. There were no scraps of skin, no body parts in the air, no eyes resting on nearby seating, just a dull mix of red and brown. One moment, a crowd; the next, nothing.


    Quiet settled over the arena. For another second, the only noise was the buzz of light bulbs, and Bellamy finally understood the ability. The ability at its core. Not Pavel''s understanding of the ability, and not how he used it, but the actual ability.


    Not impact redirection.


    Force manipulation.


    And if the user could focus enough, if they could expand their thoughts and think in complex ways combined with an instinctual understanding of the world.


    Then, it could manipulate the forces of atoms that held people together. The only reason he wasn''t pasted was because he coated himself in essence. Large impacts would only be dulled when he did so, but an infinite amount of tiny forces would become non-existent. But those who had no essence, who couldn''t cover and protect themselves in it, would die instantaneously.


    The thing. It wasn''t a beast anymore. The jackal at the door was walking death.

 TUP [4] - Voices

    The fight had started in a fairly standard manner. Two skilled, ruthless fighters clashing with power and precision, each testing the other''s limits, adapting and countering with escalated fervor each exchange. They traded blow for blow, their footwork a dance of experience and raw talent. They both could have thrived in the professional circuit if Oaklen''s musings were to be believed. If the fight had remained purely technical, it might have ended in a close contest, but that was before essence came into play.


    Sarah recognized its activation immediately. To those blessed and attuned to The Great Watcher, the subtle warping of the air was a signal flare. She narrowed her eyes, watching the shift from all angles. The man''s ability bore the marks of Flesh and Bone if she had to guess. She memorized the man''s face and committed his name to memory for later.


    The outcome was now inevitable. An essence user was not a challenge easily overcome, especially bare-fisted. It would be a slaughter. No matter how slight the essence it always tipped the scales. She shot a glance at Callum, wondering if he would notice. His victory was about to be unfairly stolen and, with it, all the money he''d wagered. Yet Callum remained utterly unbothered, watching the match with a steady, disapproving gaze. The poor fool probably hadn''t noticed; how could he. The match was over.


    Then Bellamy adapted.


    It was a shock to all the egos, to say the least. It was entirely brute force, continual suffocation as the man continued forward, seemingly unfazed by the various blows. There were three ways someone beat an essence user, overwhelming force that knocked them out, suffocation, or attrition until they could no longer pull from their core. Bellamy had chosen the first.


    Sarah tweaked her estimation of both fighters. It appeared that even though Pavel was a Harbinger, it was a fairly recent affair. Not more than two years. Otherwise, he would''ve learned how to both coat himself in essence and how to infuse it into his attacks, but it appeared he had done neither.


    This Bellamy, on the other hand ... they should recruit him.


    The Puritans would salivate at the thought of someone like him ¨C a fighter who could best an essence wielder without relying on their supernatural gifts. But no, Thrysa would hate that. Sarah would approach him or send word to higher-ups to send someone else to recruit him. The Church could always use strong fighters.


    Yet through it all, Callum''s expression barely shifted. Even when his brother landed the knockout blow, even when he won a staggering twelve thousand Ord his face remained set in stone. His impassiveness only faltered when his eyes widened.


    Sarah followed his gaze, and her stomach dropped.


    The body was twitching.


    It started with a subtle flex of the fingers, then energy like a ripple formed waves that surged through every limb. The waves ricocheted within Pavel''s body, some combining into colossal spikes, some dimming into a flatline. The strange interference caused the body to spasm in an erratic and unnatural way, as if the corpse was being constantly pulled and pushed apart all at once.


    Then, the essence hit a crescendo. Pierced the flesh and grew. Skin split and twisted, bones creaked into new shapes like warped wood. The mouth opened in a silent scream, hands spasming as if grasping desperately at something unseen. Then, the former champion tore apart.


    The jaw and rib cage wrenched itself open. The jaw grew into an open maw as the head lolled into the newly created chest cavity that was shrinking and melding together to form another sideways set of teeth. His legs warped and doubled, folding in on themselves as the body reshaped into something monstrous.


    Panic rippled through the crowd. Screams rang out. People surged for the exits, but Sarah''s heart plummeted as soon as she saw the first man impact it, only to find the door barred and locked. She turned, trying to find another exit, but Callum was already moving. He grabbed her arm and pulled her from the crowd, both taking a moment to nod at the other in mutual understanding. Entering the stampede was suicide.


    They ran for the edge of the arena, where Callum struggled to flip a heavy oaken bench. Sarah dropped down to help, and together, they upended it, forming a makeshift barricade to hide behind.


    The pair pressed flat to the ground, steadying their breathing. Neither managed to get theirs under control.


    A whistle eventually cut through the air.


    Then screaming.


    A sickening rip.


    Silence.


    Sarah shivered. Her mind raced, bile rising in her throat. She didn''t have to see to know. The sounds alone painted a picture she wished was worse than any reality. Her breaths quickened, heart hammering out of her chest.


    The voices resounded.


    Not around her but rather inside her head. The other egos.


    ''You have to let me switch with her!'' Cass shouted, the noise reaching her despite the depths of her mind the egos resided in. Urgency cracked through her voice.


    ''We can''t,'' Oaklen countered, firm. ''She''s safe for now¨C"


    ''Safe? SAFE? She''s not a combatant Oaklen! She barely knows how to wield essence. We need to¨C''


    ''Cass, calm down we have the emer-''


    ''Calm down.'' A dangerous laugh. ''Calm down? Are you even paying attention-''


    ''Cass,'' Jim''s voice cut through, edged with the authority of a senior, despite being the newest addition. ''Let Marla talk''


    Silence.


    ''Thank you,'' Marla''s voice was level, controlled. ''We''re all prepared to make an emergency switch if things worsen. Then we''ll switch you in. But right now, it''s better to get out with Viracio without revealing we''re Brinn.


    ''Marla,'' a smooth, measured voice chimed in ¨C Vic. ''She knows she can switch. And we all know Cass can escape this level of essence beast. She''s worried about Sarah. She wasn''t designed for this. She was intended to not have dealt with essence as much as the rest of us''


    Oaklen considered and interjected. ''Well, she needs to learn eveneutally. She''s seen this plenty when one of us was in charge. First hand experience ¡­ maybe it''s time she learn a bit more.''


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    "Don''t be so cold-hearted'' Thrysa finally chimed in, ''The poor girl''s scared out of her mind. Who cares if they figure out we''re Brinn? As long as we don''t switch in Jim, the plan stays intact. Sarah would just need to watch from here.''


    ''I can hear you,'' Sarah hissed internally, her mind having traveled to that far-off place away from her conscious thoughts.


    Silence.


    Someone started to speak, but a sudden movement snapped her attention outward. A figure vaulted over the bench.


    Bellamy.


    "What are you still doing here?" he demanded, staring at Callum, voice low but sharp and even greater confusion growing as his eyes landed on Sarah.


    "I wasn''t going to leave you," Callum shot back. "But now that you''re here let''s go. We can''t handle that thing".


    Bellamy hesitated. His expression darkened, lips twitching as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it down. "You two go. I have to get the rat." he gestured toward the private box where Viracio sat, his leg bouncing in a nervous tick.


    "Nope. Leave him." Callum said flat. "He''s not worth dying for."


    Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose. "It''s complicated. But trust me ¨C it''s better for everyone if he stays alive."


    Callum snarled. "Fine. But I''m helping."


    Before Bellamy could argue, Sarah spoke up, voice trembling but resolute, "I. I can help too."


    Oaklen raised to the surface of her thoughts, approving.


    Bellamy frowned. "No offense, but they don''t pay entertainers enough for this."


    "I have essence." Her throat was dry, but she forced words out. It felt like razor wire with every sentence, she hated giving out her secrets. "Primarily Watcher, but also some Reasoning. I can distract the beast. Guide you, maybe."


    Callum tensed, but Bellamy considered her for a beat before nodding. "Alright, tell me about your ability."


    She paled further.


    Callum sighed. "Life or death. No time for secrets."


    She nodded, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves before explaining, "I can create eyes at chosen points in space that can be visible or invisible."


    Callum frowned, "But the Peninsula moves, and pretty fast. Does it have some understanding of relative motion?"


    She shook her head, embarrassed. "No. That''s what Reasoning is for. I can create and destroy them really fast. It ends up looking like a film reel."


    Bellamy nodded. "Okay, if you''re a Harbinger I can''t tell you what to do. Just make sure you guys cover yourself with essence. The Jackal can manipulate forces. Long story short, he''ll use vibrations to pull apart your atoms if you''re not careful."


    Sarah bulked, her blood ran cold, and she could feel the other egos re-assessing their previous positions. Most enemies weren''t so overwhelming they didn''t give you a chance to fight back, even if the odds were near impossible. But this? Just dying because something made a noise at you? That, though, rattled her.


    ''They both have essence,'' Jim commented, his tone gruff. ''He would''ve died in the pit if he didn''t, and he addressed both of you with that comment.''


    She acknowledged the thought and created an eye toward the ceiling. The flickering of a movie showed her the dog gnashing its teeth at the floating red dust particles that used to be a crowd. Its nose twitched in frustration, but besides that, it seemed entirely preoccupied.


    She relayed the information to the two brothers, and they began to plan.


    "Can you create multiple eyes at a time?" Callum eventually asked.


    "My limit is ten currently. I can manage thirteen, but that''s far less stable."


    Callum cupped his chin before nodding.


    "Okay, I have a plan." He rubbed his hands together. "My ability lets me de-corporealize to varying degrees. While I''m like that, I can move through space freely, but if I phase out completely, I''m blind to everything except essence signatures. So, Sarah, if you position your eyes around the arena in safe spots and help me navigate, I can pop in and out to get its attention. Then, when I''m in this realm, you can make the eyes visible and vanish them when it pounces. Like the deadliest game of Wack-A-Mole.


    Bellamy was clearly unhappy but didn''t say anything.


    ''Decent plan is what the others think,'' Jim whispered, ''we don''t think your eyes would be good bait, not enough mass, can''t be chased and make noise like a human, even if they were visible.''


    Sarah exhaled but gave Callum a nod.


    "Bell," Callum continued, "As I keep it busy, you make your way to Viracio. Once you''re there, get to the door with Sarah. Then, once you''re both out, Sarah, put an eye in an empty space up top, and I''ll move to it.


    Bellamy closed his eyes, thinking through the steps. When he opened them, he gave a slow nod.


    "Alright. Let''s do it."


    They moved swiftly.


    Sarah steadied herself in an effort to breathe easier. Be the river, not the water. She extended her essence outward, forming her eyes one by one until ten invisible sensors were watching. She spread them in blind spots, around corners, in such a way that if Callum moved in a certain way, The Jackal would never turn to the door.


    She caught a glimpse of Callum''s expression. His body was stiff, and he fidgeted nervously, but his voice remained level when he spoke.


    "Alright. I''m off. Guide me in."


    Sarah nodded, deactivating all eyes except one at the far end on one of the benches. She gave a little room at the top so Callum wouldn''t phase into the bench instead.


    There was very little visual indicator. He just evaporated in place, not even leaving a ripple for Sarah to track as he moved. Strange. She should be able to see something.


    Not even the Jackal noticed. Until Callum re-entered reality. Then softly, so softly she thought she imagined it, she heard him singing.


    "Of, the bold young lad went down to the sea"


    With a coin in his pocket and a song for the breeze."


    His voice, low and playful, drifted through the arena as he stomped and the bench and clapped, taunting The Jackal, who slowly turned towards him. It snarled and licked its lips. The head lowered, the back arched, and the creature began walking closer, hugging the side of the arena.


    "The fish did dance, and the waves did rise.


    For the sailor boy with the roguish eyes"


    The Jackal passed Sarah and Bellamy a quarter of the way around the arena, and they carefully and slowly began making their way to the door. Sarah kept one hand on Bellamy, focusing the rest of her attention on the shifting images her floating eyes fed her. She moved many of them closer to the dog, watching for any small movement as-


    She noticed the twitch; she dismissed every eye as the beast lunged.


    "Oh, the bold-"


    Callum saw the eyes disappear and followed suit.


    Sarah sent two tendrils of energy forward and created invisible sensors at two locations -- one on the left side of the arena, the other on the right.


    The dog crashed into the stands where Callum was previously standing. Breaking wood and crushing stone sent waves of noise across the arena, the crunching sound causing Sarah to shiver.


    It let out a low growl of frustration as it realized its prey was no longer there.


    "-ever to weep,


    The storm it howled, and the gull did cr-"


    Another pounce. This time, Callum didn''t need any warning as he vanished once more.


    Each time he flickered back into existence, another verse slipped from his lips, and his voice grew boulder, the tune swelling with feigned confidence. She would''ve thought it a nice performance if not for the fact they were all one mistake away from dying.


    He almost made it look like a dance instead of cat and mouse.


    After the fourth time, the Jackal stopped trying to react to Callum and began trying to predict where he''d be. It manifested in wild, random leaps that grew faster until it was more of a rampage than anything else.


    "The bold young lad, he ran and ran,


    With death at his heels and blood on his hands,


    The wind it laughed, and the tide did turn,


    For the bold young lad who''d yet to learn"


    He finished an entire verse this time, the beast finally calming down and simply studying him. Sarah pulled Bellamy down behind a series of benches as the creature scanned the entire arena.


    It sniffed the air, eyes flicking to any frow. It tensed its legs. Callum disappeared, but it didn''t leap. Sarah furrowed her brow, Bellamy dragging her to her feet as they approached the door, but Sarah pulled him back down.


    What was it doing?


    She placed the invisible sensors down once more, trying to get a better read¨C and barely caught its movement.


    Its eye twitched to the side the moment she created the sensor. A coincidence? She shifted one slightly, and the beast''s ear flicked.


    Then, without warning, it lunged ¨C nat at Callum, not at them, but at the air where the sensor was moving. It snapped its jaws around nothing and landed in a crouch, muscles coiled.


    Sarah''s breath hitched. It could track her sensors. What the fuck.


    She could see the ripples of essence in the air, but this thing ¨C this thing could actually see them.


    Her blood ran cold as she dismissed every sensor she had. But the Jackal didn''t relax. Its ears stayed high, its gaze sweeping the arena. It was waiting. It knew something had changed. It stepped away from the far end of the arena towards the door.


    She created a sensor behind it for a split second. Its tail raised, and it glanced behind it. It paused for a second, considering before it began walking sideways. Legs criss-crossed as it continued slowly.


    There was no way to communicate with Callum now that he was somewhere else, and they hadn''t set up any emergency communication plan. She almost felt like laughing. What a novice mistake.


    Sarah let out a soft whisper, "It''s learning, Bellamy. It''s figured out the trick."


    Bellamy met her eyes, not understanding at first, then his face darkened. He cursed and glanced at the private box Viracio should''ve been in.


    But Viracio wasn''t there.


    Sarah''s stomach tightened as she scanned the arena. Then she spotted him.


    Halfway between the box and the door, Viracio crawled on his stomach, inching his way forward in soft gasps. He dragged himself forward in short, frantic bursts, keeping his head low and using the benches to hide his approach. He flinched at every, not so quiet noise, and she saw blood on the tips of his fingers as he continued to claw forward.


    They stayed hidden as Viracio continued his approach. It gave Sarah enough time to think. She needed to communicate with Callum, but how. She could create ten sensors, they had said a sensor was where he was supposed to be, so how else could she communicate with him. Multiple sensors in one place? There were no preset symbols they made. But there were symbols that meant something regardless.


    She created an X with 9 sensors and a dot next to it. She held her breath, hoping he would get the message. He didn''t reappear, and she heaved out relief.


    She kept the one sensor where it was and created a check mark opposite the private box, with another sensor beside the check. She kept it there momentarily before dismissing every eye except the one near where she placed the X.


    She then created three more sensors at obviously inconvenient locations, either on the ground, high in the air, or inside the private box. Callum returned where he was supposed to, and the dog lunged towards the sensor in the private box.


    Callum sang once more.


    "Oh, the young lad, nevr'' runs out of luck.


    But the sea don''t care, no it don''t give a fuck!"


    Viracio was close enough to the door that they all sprinted to the exit. Bellamy reached it first, he raised his hand, and to Sarah, it looked like everything was sucked into the black hole that was that man''s palm. He touched the door, and suddenly, it swung open, nothing blocking the other side.


    "GO GO GO"


    He yelled. The three of them shot through the doorway as Callum gave one final bow to The Jackal and disappeared.


    Sarah let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. What a ridiculous¨C


    Then, the world exploded once more.


    Gunfire.


    It filled the upstairs, mixing in with glass shattering and more people yelling. She cursed her luck as they plunged into another field of chaos. Penny''s was getting raided.

 TUP [5] - Shoot Out

    Sarah was not having a good time.


    The rush of a near death escape burned through her like bad gin ¨C fast, intoxicating, and leaving a sting in its wake. The relief she felt had been ripped away by the hard, punctuated bark of gunfire from the club. Death moved in from both at the top of the staircase, a shoot out; at the bottom the waiting maw of the essence beast.


    ¡®It would seem,¡¯ the thought surfaced, ¡®that the universe wants to kill me.¡¯


    And in that moment, she fully believed it. The logic was sound. Maybe she should just switch out. Call it a mission, and retreat to being an observer yet again. Or she could walk back downstairs, hide from The Jackal on the blood stained floor and wait, the universe would get bored and move on.


    But she didn¡¯t.


    ¡®Why don¡¯t we just leave?¡¯ she sent the thought to the collective.


    ¡®We can¡¯t,¡¯ Oaklen replied, steady as always. ¡®We need to get Viracio out, only then can¨C


    ¡®No. We don¡¯t.¡¯


    Her anger surged, a tide she wouldn¡¯t hold back. Oaklen was always like this ¨C always the plan, the mission, the obligation. We have to do this. We have to do that. We need the Church¡¯s protection, so suffer in silence. No choice. Never a choice.


    And Thryssa? Thryssa bought into it. Hook line and sinker. Old hag.


    ¡®We¡¯re Brinn. We leave and no one finds us.¡¯


    ¡®Sarah, I get it,¡¯ Oaklen sent, measured, like he always was. ¡®But they know us. Not just our names and faces, but many of you were designed by them.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s not the point, Oaklen!¡¯ Her fists clenched, nails biting into skin. ¡®I¡¯ve watched you throw us into mess after mess after m-¡¯


    The basement doors flew off their hinges.


    Victor¡¯s presence brushed against hers. Warm, smooth, like a blanket. ¡®Safety first. All you.¡±


    She nodded, and cut the connection to everyone.


    A cursed, cracking laugh echoed through the room before The Jackal¡¯s elongated neck slithered through the door, jaws chittering in anticipation. The creature was too large to fit, but that didn¡¯t stop it from trying. Muscles tensed, limbs coiled, its massive body strained against the doorway as if sheer will would give the beast its meal, but the door held.


    She didn¡¯t sigh in relief. The universe wanted them dead, it had more tricks.


    Sarah watched, heartbeat hammering. Frustration bled into a deep rattling growl as The Jackal was unable to get through the threshold. A howl built in its throat.


    She rushed toward Viracio, before it could let the deadly sound loose, driving her fist into his chest. The action was urgent and imprecise as essence surged through her hand and into his skin. Her gaze met The Jackal¡¯s just as not so distance gunfire erupted once more.


    Viracio paled, as the monster let out a deafening howl. The wave of energy rattling his entire body as the essence defused the forces just enough. He didn¡¯t speak, understanding her intentions.


    Through the commotion, carrying on the wind, she heard a commanding voice from far off. ¡°The hell was that? Shit ¨C Rick, Dadum you¡¯re over there. Go check it out¡±


    ¡°Uhh boss. Did we have wolves down there?¡± one of the voices called back.


    Sarah closed her eyes, reaching out. A flickering, unseen presence pulsed forward to grant her vision. The corridor was long, but it was only a passageway, making it simple to move to the other room. Shifting her vision she saw two men crouched by an open door, piled in the corner were the bodies of two dead guards, gun shot wounds to the head. She remembered their faces, they were the same ones that stopped Callum from leaving the basement.


    One peaked out, a heavy tommy gun raised, spraying bullets through the doorway and out the shattered windows. The other man, carrying a simple revolver, took the covering fire to reach out and shut the door. With a breath of a momentary release the pair turned towards the staircase that led to the basement. She cursed. Rock and a hard place.


    Then, right on time with a flicker from the sensor, Callum dropped back into existence." Of course he did¨Cthey made a plan.


    He dropped four feet straight down, landing with a startled thump. His eyes met the tommy gunner¡¯s. One second.


    Callum blinked out.


    Tw-


    The gun roared.


    Callum wasn¡¯t fast enough. The first bullet caught his shoulder, then he was gone.


    Muzzle flashes strobed the stairs in violent bursts, illuminating the frozen, wide-eyed man with the revolver, followed by the three figures pressed into the stairwell that he was staring at. And beyond them the beast.


    She wasn¡¯t sure if what had just happened was bad luck or good windfall, but she did know that the revolver man, she guessed Dadum, froze, processing the information in front of him.


    To his credit, he recovered quickly ¡°MORE!¡± The man bellowed, ¡°Switch!¡± he directed the man with the Tommy gun as he scanned the room for the teleporting man.


    Fuck, she wasn¡¯t a combatant. The machine gun would tear her apart. What could she¨C


    Bellamy moved.


    Sarah felt it ¨C the rush of essence, the sudden pull in the air. A shift, like space folding in on itself. But she saw nothing. No ripple. No warning. Bellamy was next to her one moment, and the next he was at the top of the staircase. The movement was too seamless, too fast ¨C it felt oddly similar to Callum¡¯s ability. Strange. Bloodline didn¡¯t determine ability type.


    She didn¡¯t question it. She had time for that later, she went to follow him, until Viracio¡¯s hand tightened on her wrist. His face pale as he stared still down the stairs.


    The Jackal hadn¡¯t moved a muscle. Teeth gleamed in the dim light, its mouth just barely agape¨C waiting.


    If she had let go it would¡¯ve howled and Viracio would be red on the wall.


    She hated it, but all she could do was trust that Bellamy could handle the two men upstairs. So she held her breath and watched through her ability.


    Bellamy, she quickly realized, was a monster. She knew he was a talented fighter, but this?


    She watched him step through air, body flickering into a new position as if space itself folded for him. He moved with impossible precision. His elbow snapped backward before he was even behind the man with the tommy gun ¨C Rick she believed ¨C as the blow struck the back of his neck with crushing force.


    The machine gun tumbled from the man¡¯s hands as he staggered, grasping out at empty air as the gun clattered to the ground.


    ¡°Four hostiles! They got essence!¡± Dadum bellowed, voice raw with urgency.


    Dadum lunged for the fallen weapon, snatching it up as Rick dove to the side. A fresh hail of bullets erupted. Bellamy coated himself with essence, the bullets deforming against his second skin, but with each impact they got further and further through. He made a decision and concentrated essence around his vitals. Blood sprayed as rounds ripped through his limbs. Muscles tore, bones cracked and bullets caught, but Bellamy didn¡¯t fall. Didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t even break stride.


    A monster.


    There was a commotion on the other side of the door, as heavy foot falls got closer and closer.


    Click. Click. Empty.


    Rick yanked a fresh magazine from his bag, moving to help Dadum reload.


    Bellamy glanced from Rick to the door, jaw tightening. He teleported to the chandelier, standing on top of it. With a heave he tore it from the ceiling where it landed with a crash as porcelain broke. He had attempted to aim it so that it would hit the men, but it came up short as they backed up to the room''s edge, far from both the staircase and door.


    As the chandelier crashed the noise drew The Jackals attention. Sarah spared a glance behind her to see it twitched. The doorway cracked just a little more as the monster continued trying to squeeze through.


    With another heave Bellamy grabbed the chandelier with strength that could¡¯ve killed a man in one punch, but was suspiciously absent from the blows he landed. Bellamy spun the chandelier. Once. Twice. Then hurled it. It crashed into the doorframe, jamming in the wall and sticking.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    He didn¡¯t have time to admire his handy work as another hail of bullets impacted him. This time the waves were more like pulses. Short precise shots that were aimed rather than sprayed. It seemed the man''s favorite spot was Bellamy¡¯s left leg, only occasionally sending a stray bullet at his head or chest, forcing Bellamy to keep essence focused on shielding his vitals. The panic was gone from the two now.


    Individuals from outside slammed on the door, but the barricade held and a hail of gun shots sent the men at the door scrambling away. The two men inside the room cursed, but kept firing.


    Bellamy began moving again ¨C always moving. He closed the distance easily enough, but every time he flickered forward, dodging the machine gun, the revolver-wielding man was there, already adjusting, already firing.


    The Volkov enforcers weren¡¯t amateurs. They were trained. Disciplined. They fought with precision the moment they got their panic under control. They weren¡¯t just hoping for the best. They were fighting an essence wielder with practiced efficiency and holding their own.


    But eventually, they¡¯d run out of bullets.


    Or Bellamy would run out of essence.


    It was a battle of attrition now.


    Harbingers were powerful, but they were still human. Unless someone had an absurd amount of essence ¨C or could replenish it faster than they used it ¨C they would tire. Essence granted overwhelming power in close combat, but against firearms? Against trained soldiers who knew how to counter them? The battlefield was far more even.


    She didn¡¯t know how much essence Bellamy had left, and she wasn¡¯t about to take chances. The feeling of helplessness from before pushed her to action as she came up with a plan to weigh the scales. It was one on two, but it didn¡¯t have to be.


    She just hoped Callum still trusted her after her last mistake.


    Peering through her ability, she focused a cluster of five eyes into existence right in front of Dadum¡¯s face, this time visible. They swiveled wild,y darting in every direction which resulted in a sickening disorienting blur of motion for both herself and the man holding the machine gun. He flinched, recoiling from the sudden invasion. It was only a second, but a second was enough.


    She dismissed the eyes, forming another seven into an arrow, then an extra to mark where she needed Callum.


    The gunfire faltered.


    Bellamy seized the moment. He was in front of the dazed gunman in an instant, grabbing the still smoking muzzle of the tommy gun. The metal sizzled against his palm, burning flesh.


    Rick moved to cover, swinging the revolver towards Bellamy¡¯s head, and at the same moment Callum apparated to Rick¡¯s side.


    ¡°Damn.¡± Callum grimaced, ¡°Unlucky¡±


    Both brothers moved. Their fist snapped forward in perfect uniform. The impacts cracked like gunfire, echoing down the staircase as each man received a haymaker to the chin. The impact spiked both men straight into the ground, bodies crumpling with a dull thud.


    Bellamy exhaled. Callum cheered. As they basked in their brief moment of triumph.


    <hr>


    Bellamy slumped against the far wall with his focus pointed inwards to the scaffolding which housed his essence. It coursed through his veins as he traced its path, expelling the bullet casings onto the floor with a soft clatter. Flesh knit together in their wake. His wounds were still mending as he rose to his feet ¨C his muscles ignoring his brain''s commands.


    The four of them huddled in the ruined room. The chandelier Bellamy had stuck into the wall holding well as an impromptu barricade to the ongoing fire fight. No one glanced down the stairwell, but the clawing and scratching below told them all they needed to know about The Jackal. It wasn¡¯t trying to break free, too quiet for that, but it wasn¡¯t staying still either. Occasionally, it would let out one of its horrid laughing fits, as if reminding them it was there.


    ¡°The police will be here any second¡± Viracio muttered, finally finding his voice.


    It was the first time he had spoken since escaping the pit. He hunched near Bellamy, knuckles white, his breathing shallow. He didn¡¯t blame the man for his reaction, he had no doubt that Viracio had seen plenty of men fight, skill and scrape their way through life without flincing, but there was a difference between that and having annihilation with a breath. The Jackal wasn¡¯t an enemy you could intimidate, fight, or bargain with if you were a normal man, it was more like being at the epicenter of a natural disaster.


    ¡°And after them, The Wardens. Once they find out about us or the essence beast" Sarah added.


    Bellamy¡¯s eyes flicked toward her. He had been reassessing the performer ever since they made it upstairs ¨C she wasn¡¯t a fighter ¨C that much was obvious, and while she had panicked it hadn¡¯t stopped her from acting. Her quick thinking had saved Viracio¡¯s life and let them dispatch the enforcers cleanly. Every Harbinger had a story to tell. And they always lied when telling it.


    He kept her and Viracio in sight at all times. While he was wary of Sarah, he was fully suspicious of Viracio at this point. The whistelning had to come from somewhere, maybe one of the fighters in the locker room had done it, or maybe there had been other survivors down there, but even so he was the main suspect.


    Bellamy rolled his right shoulder, considering their options. ¡°We need to make a break for it before The Wardens arrive. We can get away from the police, but as soon as The Wardens get word of us having essence. Let¡¯s just say I don¡¯t fancy our chances.¡± He looked over to Sarah, ¡°Are there any exits that could lead us to nearby alleys or good cover?¡±


    Sarah hesitated, blinking, thrown off by the question ¡°I uh, I only just started today. I¡¯m traveling to the Atrean Islets, needed some extra cash and I have a friend in town, figured this would be an easy job.¡±


    Bullshit.


    Bellamy could feel the lie in the air, but now wasn¡¯t the time to push.


    There was a time and place, and in mortal peril was not either, so he instead turned to their prisoners.


    The guards they had incapacitated had long since stirred to find their arms and legs bound with their own clothing. They barely resisted as Callum tied them up ¨C still dazed from the blow from earlier. It was a relief that they hadn¡¯t gone unconscious for too long, knockouts didn¡¯t typically last that long, and if they did permanent brain damage was on the table.


    Callum crouched next to the two body guards, watching them. Dadum, Sarah had called the scrawnier one, seemed to become fully lucid first. Enough to spit in Callum''s direction.


    ¡°Just so you know,¡± Callum started, too casually, ¡°we don¡¯t actually know what the hell¡¯s going on. We were just trying to gamble. Turns out when an essence beast can kill anyone without essence, people who can use essence are the only ones left to leave.¡±


    Dadum didn¡¯t respond, continuing to scowl, but his partner, Rick took the bait.


    ¡°If you were out for us, we¡¯d be dead already. The guys outside weren¡¯t pulling punches, so I doubt you¡¯re with them. They had some plants inside the club.¡± He gestured with his head to the two dead bodies by the stairs ¡°they were vicious fuckers. Haven¡¯t tried to push in since though¡±


    Callum shook his head, ¡°honestly. I didn¡¯t even realize there were people outside attacking until after our little scrap was over. You kind of opened fire right away¡±.


    Silence met the room, Callum waited for a response, but when none was had he continued.


    ¡°Look, we don¡¯t want to get wrapped in this, we just need the rest of the Volkov¡¯s to not shoot at us as we leave, and to know the situation. We¡¯ll even take out a few on the way¡±


    Dadum¡¯s eyes squinted, narrowing in suspicion before sighing.


    ¡°All I know is that we¡¯re surrounded. They¡¯ve got the entire street locked down, street level, rooftops, probably even the sewers. We heard over the radio that similar attacks were happening around town. Last we saw it looked like they were preparing for something, lots of movement, lots of noise. They haven¡¯t tried to push in yet since¡±.


    Bellamy grimaced. Too convenient. One shootout was bad luck. Coordinated attacks across town? That reeked of something else. But it wasn¡¯t all bad news apparently. They could hide out in the room, and once the gang outside began their assault he could open a hole in the wall and they could make a break for it.


    The Volkov enforcers were stalling until the cops could arrive on scene, afterall they were in the families pocket, half of the work the police did was actually handed off to the Volkov¡¯s. Helped the police stay away from more of the unsavory work and kept them at a distance from the messier work.


    So the attackers outside needed to push in before the cops came, the Volkovs needed to stall until then, and Bellamy and his group needed to leave before The Wardens arrived, preferably before the cops. Meaning their main obstacle wasn¡¯t the Volkovs, but the unknown group attacking Penny¡¯s


    The only issue is if the Volkov¡¯s decided to try to take them before the final assault began, it wouldn''t be good to have an unknown party at their back in an already tenuous firefight. They could just leave them alone, but he wouldn¡¯t if he were in their shoes.


    Viracio must have been thinking along the same lines because he began to motion to Dadum, ¡°Let¡¯s cut this one loose. Have him talk to his boss outside. Let him know we¡¯re not a threat, update him on The Jackal in the basement. Come to a truce. Gives us an easier exit.¡±


    Bellamy exhaled, he had the pieces but not a plan, and he couldn¡¯t come up with something better, so we just nodded. He didn¡¯t like that they would be giving up half of their leverage to communicate and find their captain, if they could find him and talk to him directly¡­ Most Volkov captains had essence, a well known secret kept hush hush from The Wardens.


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± he said as he looked at his brother ¡°But we may be able to keep them here. Callum, their captain should have essence. Can you tell me where he is?


    Callum vanished, for three seconds before coming back into view, pointing to a wall, ¡°room to our left. Either he¡¯s far into the room, or the wall is thick¡±


    Bellamy walked to the wall, crouched low and pressed his palm flat against the wall. The essence in his body molded, as he pushed his scaffolding out from himself, into the wall and through it, before removing it entirely, leaving a perfectly square hole to the other room.


    ¡°What¡¯s your captain''s name?¡± Bellamy turned to Rick who responded with the name of Tayfun Rayan.


    He called through the newly made hole, coating himself in essence just in case any of the gangsters on the other side decided that talking was beneath them. He signaled Callum over to do the negotiating, Callum was a scalpel, Bellamy thought of himself more as a sledgehammer. Both tools required precision, but accomplished very different tasks.


    ¡°We want to talk,¡± Callum started, listening closely to the shifting behind the wall, ¡°There¡¯s been a misunderstanding.¡±


    Footsteps traveled through the opening, slow and deliberate. A scratchy voice ¨C low from a lifetime of a carton of cigarettes with every meal replied ¡°And what¡± the man on the other side paused for another drag, ¡°would that misunderstanding be?¡±


    ¡°We have your men, Rick and Dadum. They¡¯re alive. We were just gambling, like everyone else. A monster appeared during one of the fights ¨C that¡¯s what that howl was from earlier.¡±


    Silence. Long enough for Bellamy to tense his muscles and prepare for another fight. Long enough for Callum to frown and motion for the others to get down.


    ¡°And?¡± The voice returned, disintered as he took another drag. ¡°Find that hard to believe. Just some gamblers with essence turn up at the same time as an essence beast? Only survivors in fact. And meanwhile, the guys outside aren¡¯t putting up much of a fight. They¡¯re pissing their pants, too scared to do anything but fire when we peak our heads out¡±


    Callum cringed, it certainly didn¡¯t look good when you put it like that.


    ¡°The beast has an ability, it doesn¡¯t work on you if you coat yourself in essence. Only reason we¡¯re alive and everyone else isn¡¯t¡±


    ¡°And Penny?¡± the man finally asked. Callum shot a glance at Bellamy who shook his head.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t make it.¡±


    Another pause. More whispering. ¡°Stinks to high hell¡± the Volkov finally spoke. We got word the rat went down there too. He alive?¡±


    Callum¡¯s eyes landed on Viracio this time, as he hesitated, ¡°No. They were both in the private booth when The Jackal broke through¡±.


    Before their prisoners could call out Bellamy stepped away from the wall, staring each of them in the eyes, holding up a finger to his lips. They scowled, but nodded.


    ¡°Alright. So what do you want?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a start, ¡°Just a promise that you won¡¯t shoot us. We just want to exit this unlucky situation. No need for either of us to get in the other¡¯s way.¡±


    Another pause. No whispers. Finally the man on the other side gave a slow drawn out sigh.


    ¡°Alright. Let rick and Dadum go, and you have a deal.¡±


    Callum didn¡¯t bite. ¡°Pick one. We¡¯ll need the other for insurance.¡±


    ¡°Fair,¡± the man said, "too quick, too easy. As if he had expected that response. ¡°Send Dadum over then, but I want their guns. We need every bullet we can get. The fuckers outside have been quiet, but last we say they were preparing something¡±


    Bellamy felt it immediately. It was a creeping wrongness across his spine in the way the man spoke, the conversation had gone too smoothly. Was this Tayfun man the type to care about the life of one subordinate? Unlikely. But guns? He¡¯d care about those.


    Callum must¡¯ve felt it too because his fingers twitched. He didn¡¯t respond right away. Bellamy could see the hesitation in his brother¡¯s stance, the way his fingers drummed against his thigh. He was running calculations in his head, thinking as silence stretched out between the two rooms.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot you¡¯re asking for,¡± doing his best to keep a casual tone. ¡°One hostage and all their guns? For what? You doing nothing? Not exactly an even trade.¡±


    Tayfun chuckled, ¡°Pretty even if you ask me. You¡¯re holed up, outnumbered. Borrowed time might as well be written cross your forehead.¡±


    ¡°How about this,¡± Callum shifted tactics, ¡°we send Dadum over, you keep your people, you agree to share some information with us, then we¡¯ll talk about guns and safety"


    The Volkov captain hummed, ¡°You only got until the men outside come knocking to negotiate. You sure you want to spend that time playing games¡±


    ¡°Are you¡± Callum asked back, ¡°Here¡¯s the problem Volkov, you don¡¯t give a shit about these men, if anything you care more about the money they¡¯ll cost you to reimburse their families. No one wants unnecessary bloodshed. So let¡¯s cut the bullshit. One hostage, no guns. You don¡¯t try anything with us and we¡¯ll stay clear of you and your men¡±


    More silence, but Callum didn¡¯t let it go on. ¡°Or you try to screw us and we put bullets in both their heads, keep the guns, blockade the door, and take our chances with the police. Hell the beast below could break out then we¡¯d all be fucked.¡±


    The man on the other side sighed. ¡°Fine. Send Dadum over, and his pistol. No Tommy gun¡±.


    Bellamy didn¡¯t trust it. But at least now they had some assurances. The police were in the pocket of the Volkov family, sure, but not all of them. They couldn¡¯t get executed tonight without issue, especially not with an essence beast in the basement.


    They untied Dadum, who gave Rick and apologetic look. They gave him his revolver back and Bellamy leaned in close, ¡°I¡¯m not one for killing, but I can¡¯t speak for the others. One word about Viracio still being alive and Rick likely doesn¡¯t walk out of here.¡±


    Dadum spit in his face, snarled, but ultimately nodded and left with a thin coat of essence supplied by Bellamy to join the other Volkov enforcers.


    Several minutes passed with nothing happening. No gunfire, no yells or shouts, and soon enough they figured out why.


    Apparently they had been under a misunderstanding. The gang outside was in on this from the beginning. They somehow knew that the champion of the pit had essence. It¡¯s why the guards down there were prepared to lock the doors when things got rough. They died before they could communicate anything to the rest of their group outside, but the howl of The Jackal confirmed for them that the champion had turned essence beast. They were never going to do an all out assault. They were just stalling for time. There was an essence beast in a club jointly owned by the Volkov and Devereaux family, once that was confirmed, they could report the incident, but not to the police. No. The families of Velnias had their hooks too deep for anything useful to come from that.


    The Wardens had come instead.


    It was an unfortunate thing, and Viracio was left with only one option. He took a silver whistle from his pocket, and blew loudly. The essence beast below roared.

 Kumere world map and Atlas

    Map of Kumere: The Floating Peninsula


    Locations


    Regions


    Coutama: One of the three locations not under full Grand Order control. Years ago there was a bloody war for independence which was partially successful. Now Coutama can be considered the wild west as most towns and cities are considered their own separate states free to do what they wish.


    Verdan Wilds: The home of the Verdan, who are thought to come from the roots of The World Tree located there. A mixture of swamp land and jungles prone to flash flooding. The Grand Order seeks to take complete control of the area, but are routinely stopped by a freedom fighting group named Swailing.


    Silver Reach: Located in the north western most part of the island the Silver Reach is a harsh icy tundra with very few cities and is one of the only places on the Penninusla that snows year round.


    The Veldt: A great plains full of grazing animals and sparse tree coverage. The entirety of The Veldt is home to Therions, animals who have consumed essence and become humanoid.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The Tunnels Below: A vast cave network underneath the Verdan Wilds. It has largely been untouched by the politics and life above ground and largely keep to themselves.


    Wastelands: The northernmost area of the Peninsula, a combination of sand, glass, and irrdiated dirt. No one is able to live in the Wastelands as any who try die shortly later. The wastelands is a reminder of The Final War which cause the Peninsula to rise in the first place.


    Cities


    Velnias: The capital city of Kumere, also known as The City of Lights and home to The Grand Order, who rules over Kumere.


    Dej Khov: Home of The Congregation of Purity, built within the mountains of the Silver Reach.


    Cholt: The city of technology, where many advancements are made, at the cost of laws and morals.


    Avorad: The major city of Valdmere, which is completely cut off from the rest of Kumere, people can enter, but they never leave.


    Chistota: A frontier city and a military outpost for the war against The City of The Dead.


    The Dead City: A city in Coutama ruled by a sentient Titan known as The King of Dead.


    Vespens: The only modernized city in all of Coutama and a hotbed of migration for people who have nowhere else to go.


    The Atrean Islet: The location where the majority of ocean dwelling humanoids live and one of the three places given special governmental permission by The Grand Order due to them containing an ancient Titan known as The Leviathan. They currently have a political dispute with Cholt as pollution from the city is carried downstream to the islet.

 TUP [6] - As Above so Below

    The piercing whistle cut through the chaos of his thoughts as Bellamy realized what was happening. He knew that sound ¨C it was the same one that had saved his life in the pit at the cost of countless others. He didn¡¯t need to turn to know who held it. It was Viracio ¨C had to be.


    The ground lurched beneath them, stone splitting in jagged cracks as The Jackal whipped itself into a frenzy to force its way up. A violent tremor sent Bellamy staggering, his boot skidding over loose rubble.


    Bellamy just didn¡¯t understand why. Why drag him here to fight? Why put himself in the line of fire? All to kill Penny? She wasn¡¯t a large enough piece to warrant this level of risk, unless Viracio was completely unhinged.


    ¡°Why¡± is all Bellamy asked, as the building shook, pieces of stone coming loose and falling around them as The Jackal began tunneling its way out. With every layer of stone it disintegrated, another collapsed on top, burying it deeper. But eventually it would break free. There was only so much dirt until it reached the surface. Soon enough it would escape.


    Viracio¡¯s eyes darted around the room, frustration plainly visible. ¡°Wire got crossed,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°What I get for making the gang decentralized.¡±


    Bellamy ran through their predicament.


    The Volkov¡¯s wanted to keep their reputation. This wouldn¡¯t look good for them to have an essence beast appear in their club. So they¡¯d likely fight against the beast, if only cursory.


    The Wardens wanted to contain and eliminate any threats in the building. They dealt with essence related events and people. The exacts were up to individual Warden discretion, maybe they¡¯d be seen as an asset, maybe as a threat.


    The Jackal, however, wasn¡¯t burdened by politics or individualism. It was hunting. It was that simple.


    Another ripple in the air as a sinkhole began to form.


    It was a grim comfort, that the only thing Bellamy could predict with any certainty was the monster.


    He started making a plan, it involved him staying behind, but he was confident in his ability to escape if push came to shove.


    ¡°Cover your faces,¡± Viracio instructed. ¡°Better a glimpse than nothing left to the imagination.¡±


    Bellamy didn¡¯t hesitate. He strode toward the fall wall, away from both the Volkov enforcers and the growing sinkhole. The wall facing the alleyways was already collapsing, the pit widening further to consume the club as The Jackal worked. It was a bad exit both because of Wardens no doubt watching and anything that passed over the abyss risked being swallowed.


    He moved to the far wall, opposite to the enforcers, and activated his ability. The scaffolding inside him stirred¨C an alien crawling sensation spreading through his core which he pushed outward, threading it through the wall, shaping and twisting until he understood its structure intimately. Then he collapsed it, folding it into razor thin cuts in space until there was naught by a passageway.


    ¡°Out¡± he barked.


    Sarah hesitated, but ultimately followed, whispering to Callum in a low voice as they went ¡°Not Safe?¡±


    Callum blinked out of existence and came back with a grim nod, ¡°multiple essence signatures on the roof tops.¡±


    The club itself was near silent now. Bodies of previous patrons littered the floor, some slumped over tables, glass still in hand, other twisted by a spray of bullets. Those still alive cowered beneath overturned furniture, not daring to make a sound. Even for those still alive it didn¡¯t matter. They¡¯d be bodies shortly.


    Bellamy grimaced at the thought, but he couldn¡¯t do anything for them. No need to be stupid.


    ¡°We wait for it to escape¡± Bellamy started. ¡°When it does, use the chaos to get out. Callum, you lead. You¡¯re the only one who can scout and find an opening.¡±


    Callum hesitated, an argument on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down and nodded.


    They crouched behind nearby tables, all of them and their Volkov hostage tense and waiting. Time stretched unbearably long for a span that couldn¡¯t have been more than twenty seconds. Still no sign of The Wardens trying to enter, likely still unaware that it would never self-destruct like a normal essence beast.


    The ground beneath them groaned. Then ¨C silence. The kind that sounded quieter than it was as your brain readied itself to process the cacophony to come.


    It came in a thunderous crack that split the air.


    The sinkhole¡¯s jaws grew wider, swallowing wood, stone, and bodies. Clouds of dust billowed up and out. Thick and suffocating that coated the ruins of the club, turning it into a miasma of swirling gray. Shapes moved rapidly within as the Volkovs finally moved. Their figures were half seen, running, tripping, vanishing.


    Bellamy couldn¡¯t see The Jackal, but he knew it was there.


    He watched the way the air warped. The way it swirled unnaturally from the large beasts movements, displacing space around it.


    A ripple coursed through the ruins, like heat wafting off pavement. Then ¨C just for a moment ¨C Bellamy saw it. The hulking shape, wrong in every way. It stalked in and out of the thickest parts of the dust, barely visible through panicked muzzle flashes of gunfire.


    A low chitter fell over the ruins. It clicked its teeth, raking sharp point over sharp point as The Jackal laughed. A scream. Then silence. A sickly sweet rot filling the club with greater intensity every second.


    ¡°Now,¡± Bellamy hissed. ¡°Go.¡±


    Callum took the lead, the others following closely behind.


    The moving Volkovs all seemed to have different plans. Some ran for the exits, others shouted orders, but he could no longer glimpse the training that he saw from Rick and Dadum, it was more mob than regiment now. Those who tried to fight, or organize all seemed to have their voices cut off in screams as The Jackal hunted them down one by one.


    Bellamy stood still, watching the smoke.


    And then, through the haze, something locked eyes with him.


    Gray met brown.


    The Jackal¡¯s jaw trembled with anticipation, it arched it¡¯s back, but more shouting caused its ears to twitch at the chaos. Irritation flickered over its monstrous features, leading to ripples of flesh along its skin.


    It could have lunged, could have begun their fight once again. But it didn¡¯t. Instead, its claws scraped against the floor in a slow deliberate line ¨C an unmistakable command.


    Don¡¯t cross.


    Then it vanished ¨C a blur of twisted flesh moving far too fast. It was a blur. The first scream was cut short with a snapping sound. The second dragged across the ground, choked and desperate before going silent. The third was longer, a shriek followed by the roar of gunfire. The muzzle flash painted light across the dust, granting all those looking a horrifying glimpse of serrated teeth biting into a silhouette, before the enforcer combusted into paste.


    It continued, with each muzzle flash the room seemed to heat. The screams continued. Another yell. Another meaty crack. Another pop of evisceration. Another set of gunfire.


    Then ¨C nothing.


    Bellamy stood, unmoving, waiting as the dust thinned. The last remnants of chaos settling into the previous quiet from before.


    Bellamy met The Jackal¡¯s gaze once more. It panted, tongue lolling from its maw, eyes gleaming with anticipation.. He flared his essence, ready for the fight to come. He didn¡¯t need to win, he just needed to stall. Stall long enough for The Wardens to realize this thing wasn¡¯t going to handle itself.


    The two circled each other. The Jackal reared onto its hind legs, then ¨C lunged forward snapping jaws descending like a fox diving into snow. This time, Bellamy didn¡¯t bother moving. Instead, he activated his ability, folding the space in front of The Jackal itself.


    To any onlooker, it would seem like an illusion ¨C the beast twisting mid-air, it¡¯s trajectory warping impossibly as its entire being rippled. Sending it back in the direction it jumped from, far away from Bellamy.


    He couldn¡¯t rely on brute force for this encounter. Any attack he made would be redirected to himself. The stronger the attack, the more likely he¡¯d hurt himself. Even a weak attack wouldn¡¯t do anything even if he managed to get it through The Jackals defense.


    But there was a way to win. There always was, he just needed to find it.


    He drew on his essence, feeling the power pulse through him, raw and volatile. He shaped the fold ¨C a fragile, spherical, twisting prison of warped space. If he could properly invert the sphere to point inwards, he could fold the creature into a pocket dimension ¨Csevering its connection from the outside world. Then he could just wait for it to starve.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    He shaped fast, focusing as best as he could, but for the life of him he couldn¡¯t figure out how to invert the sphere properly. It left the distortion unstable ¨C requiring constant effort to maintain. With all the twists and folds he managed to get most of it to point inwards, but it resulted in two weak points ¨C singularities where all the space met and buckled under its own weight.


    It would have to do.


    The Jackal attempted to move forward, but halted as its head met its side, trapped within the sphere of folded space. It growled, prowling the edge of the sphere. It tested the invisible wall, with snaps of its teeth. Then a kick, before finally it let out a piercing howl. The growth of energy in the closed system pressed against the distortion and caused the singularities to flare with energy. It seemed the entirety of the howl was concentrated at the two weak spots as all space traveled to the two locations, funneling more and more energy.


    Bellamy felt the pressure like a migraine splitting his skull. He shouldn¡¯t feel pain, yet it felt like his mind was on fire.


    Hold.


    Just hold.


    The sphere shattered.


    Bellamy was thrown backward from the backlash of losing control of his essence. Heat rippled outward. The air shimmered, and The Jackal threw back its head and laughed. It grew louder and louder.


    Bellamy felt the energy build, the disturbance in space. The volume grew to a crescendo.


    Then reality fractured.


    Everything within thirty feet of the beast ceased to be ¨C tables, bodies, walls, dust ¨C all erased in an instant. No remnants. Just a yawning void over a fighting pit.


    Bellamy fell.


    For a split second it felt like there was nothing except terrible weightlessness. He mastered himself, and pulled ¨C folding space beneath his feet to the now fully revealed fighting pit where it all started.


    The Jackal landed a few seconds later, panting heavily as it stalked side to side. It¡¯s gaze locked on him.


    It was time for the second exchange.


    Except¨C


    ¡°Messy work, huh?¡± the voice resounded from above, calm, reassuring. ¡°These temp Wardens are quite the set of cowards.¡±


    Another voice responded, raspy, as if they had fire in their throat, ¡°I believe they choose to call it being ¡®strategically minded¡¯ Ridley¡±


    Bellamy risked a look up and saw two men standing at the edge of the pit. One had chains wrapped around their too long arms, which almost reached their knees. The other seemed to be a middle aged man with red hair. Bellamy¡¯s heart sank when he saw their garb. While they did have the embroidery of the Wardens on their shoulder pads, the flowing cloaks told him everything he needed to know, these two were from The Congregation.


    The Jackal growled, annoyed at yet another distraction as it howled up at the two of them.


    ¡°ESSENCE!¡± Bellamy yelled out. As much as he didn¡¯t like The Congregation, this could be a good enough distraction to escape.


    The force rippled through the pair like a wave, but neither man flinced. They nodded appreciatively towards Bellamy, seemingly unfazed.


    ¡°It redirects impacts, and can control forces,¡± Bellamy offered up the information, irritation cutting into his voice as he continued ¡°maybe stop screwing around and help me?!¡±


    ¡°Redirects forces¡±, the smaller man with red hair spoke, ¡°makes things rather difficult¡±.


    The other, with too long arms didn¡¯t bother, ¡°I¡¯ll chain it up then¡± and he jumped down into the pit.


    The other shouted after him, following suit shortly after, ¡°It¡¯d break them¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll reinforce with essence¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll run out first¡±


    They both landed one after the other as their boots met uneven dirt. The Jacakl regarded the two newcomers, calculating as it made space between them.


    A question loomed over the trio, how could you kill something that couldn¡¯t be hurt?


    For starters, avoiding bad assumptions. It wasn¡¯t that it couldn¡¯t be hurt, just that it couldn¡¯t be hurt through force or impacts. Bellamy¡¯s mind raced, scanning the beast¡¯s hulking frame, trying to think of a weakness. Then he saw it. Remembered from before. It was panting. It needed to breathe.


    ¡°We could smother it¡± Bellamy murmured.


    Both fighters turned to him.


    Bellamy shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s breathing hard. Means it needs air. If impacts won¡¯t do. We can stop it from breathing¡±


    A glance passed between the two Congregation members.


    ¡°Sigismund?¡±


    ¡°Yeah I can do that,¡± the redhead said ¡°I just need an enclosed space.¡±


    Bellamy gestured to the fighting pit around them. ¡°This enclosed enough for you?¡±


    Sigismund grimaced. ¡°It¡¯ll have to do, I suppose. I need a moment to pray. Ridley, cover me please.¡±


    The Jackal was tired of waiting. It began its slow, deliberate advance, muscles tense underneath matted human hair.


    Ridley wasn¡¯t a fan of waiting either. He let the chains around his arm unravel, raising up his hand and sending one flying forward as if he had complete control over it. The chains wrapped around the Jackal¡¯s front legs, meant to pull them inward and send the beast crashing down.


    Instead, the force rebounded ¨C yanking Ridley towards the beast.


    The fighter barely reacted in time, twisting his body and redirecting his momentum into a slide he used to pass underneath The Jackal. He let more and more chain spill from his arm as he moved, manipulating and twisting the weapon around legs and chest as he passed.


    The Jackal snapped, kicked, and tried to pin down the annoying man, but each time it found the space around it to be false. Its footing shifted, the target moved just out of reach or a nip moved through air several feet to the left. It took all of Bellamy¡¯s focus to keep the fighter relatively safe, he used it in subtle ways in an effort to conserve essence displacing inches into yards and devastating blows sailing into thin air.


    Ridley continued his rapid movement, never still, never not moving some part of his body or his essence infused chains. He was careful to give the chains a lot of slack, not wanting to activate The Jackal¡¯s ability ¨C instead letting the beast tangle itself up in the criss-crossed chains.


    Sigismund, kneeling in the dirt not far off, closed his eyes and began to chant.


    May The Heart That Beats True stir the Waters,


    Beneath parched earth and empty skies


    May its pulse call forth the storm


    And its rhythm unchain the tide.


    The air vibrated with power


    When land is cracked and silent,


    May the flood rise to answer its cries.


    A whisper in the gathering wind


    A drumbeat in the rising waves.


    The Jackal thrashed, tangling itself up more in the chains. It¡¯s ears perked, and it snarled as it felt the change in the air and locked onto Sigismund.


    In a moment of desperation the beast took a large breath, and leapt to the side. Fully tightening the chains and yanking Ridley with him just enough that Ridley impacted the side of the essence beast.


    It was a start. It howled, redirecting both the energy of the sound and the impact of Ridley on its side directly into a single chain.


    Ridley pumped as much essence as he could into his weapon, trying to fight the vibrations as the Jackal continued its piercing yell. Then the monster switched its focus to a different chain, then another, then another. Ridley couldn¡¯t keep up, and one of the links disintegrated.


    Let no hand still the river¡¯s path,


    Nor false voices bid it retreat.


    For the water knows theri course,


    And the truth they carry cannot be damned.


    Just like that the connection to essence was cut off, and The Jackal was quickly able to destroy the rest of the chains keeping it in place.


    It didn¡¯t gloat, didn¡¯t laugh or take any joy. Instead it charged into a frenzy at Sigismund.


    Go forth, O tide of the divine,


    Break the chains, cleanse the earth,


    For the heart That beats True surges within,


    It leapt jaws open wide, maw going to close around the red haired priests head.


    Then Bellamy pulled. Yanking Sigismund out of the way of the killing blow.


    Now and always.


    Water bloomed from the air itself.


    Beads formed from nothing throughout the arena, swelling into droplets, then streams, then a torrent of water. It poured down in waves, filling the pit rapidly as if opening a portal to the sea itself.


    Bellamy didn¡¯t bother waiting. He folded space and the world snapped around him, repairing at the crater¡¯s edge.


    Ridley was already moving, grabbing Sigismund by the collar, he used his remaining chain to lash upward. The metal links sticking deep into one of the few remaining pieces of foundation as the two began their rapid ascent.


    Below them, The Jackal roared. It clawed against the water, rapidly rising to its chest as it tried and failed to tread water. Its body twisted in the churning vortex of holy water, muscles bulging as it fought against the rising tide. Then the water rose above its head, and the creature sunk.


    It clawed at the stone walls, desperate to find purchase. Its movements slowed and its limbs flailed. It tried to yell out once more ¨C but only bubbles rose.


    Moments passed, and the last breath left its lungs.


    Bellamy didn¡¯t stay to watch it die.


    The second he landed at the edge of the ruins he folded space again, straight up as high as he could, launching past rooftops. His essence reserves were nearly empty, he had at most two large folds left.


    One more pull. The world snapped and he rose higher still. Trying to lose sight with any prying Warden''s eyes.


    One last push. He shot forward across the slums.


    His essence depleted completely.


    The weight of his body crashed back into him as he plummeted, a nearby rooftop rushing towards him as he barely stuck the landing.


    His legs snapped and he was sent sprawling across the roof.


    He thanked the gods he was undead.


    For a long moment, he simply laid there on the roof ¨C staring up at the sky.


    There was so much left to do.


    But now he had some answers. He knew the strange essence had come from Viracio. He just needed a little more. Find Viracio, get answers, pay back his debt to the cult.


    Then he could sit the fuck down and lay low until The Congregation left.


    Slowly his hand drifted upward, reaching out towards the night sky. A palpable energy filled him as he remembered the fight.


    For the first time in a long time.


    Bellamy felt excited.


    <hr>


    An image slid across Fern¡¯s desk.


    She raised an eyebrow at Ridley before picking it up. The man in the photograph looked to be in his late twenties, dark tanned skin, thick curls of brown hair, and a body built for hard labor.


    She flicked her gaze to Ridley, waiting.


    ¡°His name is Bellamy Hollow.¡± He spoke, ¡°It is currently suspected that he and his brother Callum Hollow are Harbingers ¨C and more importantly, undead.¡±


    Fern nodded, expression unreadable ¡°And you know this how?¡±


    ¡°We have eyes and ears around, but according to the bishop, evidence of them being both Harbingers and Undead comes from a first hand account of people who were observing them.¡± He paused before tacking on, ¡°I also saw first hand that this Bellamy had Harbinger abilities¡±


    Fern frowned, ¡°This is about the essence beast in the slums isn¡¯t it.¡±


    She stood, moving to a nearby cabinet, pulling out a stack of reports. Flipping through them, she selected a few pages and handed them to Ridley.


    ¡°From your report, the beast appeared stable¡± she said ¡°Not the first instance of this.


    Ridley skimmed the documents as Fern continued.


    ¡°Before Spearhead was wiped out, they were investigating the creation of stable essence beasts in Velnias. They didn¡¯t find out much, just that it was happening. These beasts were far weaker than the one you described in your report.¡±


    Ridley hesitated, setting the reports down. ¡°That¡¯s important, but I¡¯m talking about the Hollow brothers themselves. I¡¯d like to request a mission to capture them.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. That is important. I was more talking about these two brothers themselves. I would like to request a mission to capture these two individuals.¡±


    Fern drummed her fingers against the table, considering her options.


    She would like to say no, but then The Congregation might pull Sigismund and Ridley away, and as much as she hated to admit it they were by far the two most useful assets she had in Velnias.


    Finally she sighed.


    ¡°Not Bellamy. He¡¯s been on our radar for a while¡± a lie, but Ridley didn¡¯t need to know that, ¡°he¡¯s considered an asset. Callum. We can approve that for a mission, you¡¯ll have to use a day off to pursue this. I won¡¯t use full Wardens resources on one Undead¡±


    Ridley¡¯s expression tightened, but he gave a curt nod. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Fern watched him leave, then glanced down at the image of Bellamy Hollow once more.


    Might as well turn a lie into truth. Time to see if he really could be an asset.


    <hr>


    Viracio stumbled into one of his gang¡¯s many safe houses, breath shallow, pulse still thrumming from the night¡¯s chaos.


    He had ditched Callum and Sarah as soon as they ran. Splitting up had been the right call¡ªat least, that¡¯s what he told himself.


    The night had been messy. He had nearly died, and worse, some of his own plans had gone up in smoke. That was the cost of working with a decentralized group. Sometimes, you fucked each other over.


    He made his way to the back of the warehouse, pressing the button for the elevator.


    It groaned in protest as it descended.


    The basement was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of chemicals. Cages lined the walls with varying degrees of occupancy. Large vats bubbled with his carefully brewed mixture¡ªhis masterpiece, his weapon.


    He grabbed the phone near the entrance and dialed.


    ¡°It¡¯s Viracio,¡± he said. ¡°Call a meeting. All hands. I don¡¯t know which cell hit Penny¡¯s tonight, but they did a damn fine job. We need to take advantage of this chaos.¡±


    He waited just long enough to hear the confirmation before hanging up.


    Letting out a slow breath, he traced a hand over one of the vats. The liquid inside churned, dark and sickly.


    This could have gone differently.


    He had wanted diplomacy. Wanted to find another way.


    But people didn¡¯t listen. Not until you forced them to.


    His concoction was the answer. A perfectly tainted essence.


    It had taken years of trial and error¡ªbalancing just the right amount of instability. Too much, and the subject would implode. Too little, and they¡¯d remain human. But this? This was the sweet spot. Just unstable enough to ensure transformation. Just potent enough to keep them from turning mindless.


    Spearhead¡¯s death had been a tragedy.


    But it had given him an opportunity.


    It had given him power.


    He let his fingers linger on the cold metal of the vat, then turned away. The real work was only beginning.

 Ledger is Blood [1] - The Shade and the Scion

    <h2>The Velnias Grand Families: From Bloodsports to Essence</h2>


    By Jim Harven


    Velnias, our city of lights, was shaken by tragedy last night as an artificially created Essence beast was unleashed upon the Rust Walk in the city¡¯s eastern quarter. The destruction was senseless, as casualties are still being accounted for. Thankfully, a patrol of Wardens was in the area and braved the beast, containing it before it could run rampant. In times of uncertainty, when fear spreads like wildfires, we are not defined by the calamities that befall us, but by how we rise from them. I was unsure of how we would rise from this one, so soon after Spearhead''s untimely demise. Last night, the Velnias Wardens gave me an answer that I hope we will all follow in the footsteps of: together.


    To honor this viewpoint, spoken many times by Spearhead Captain Atlas, The Velnias Gazette will donate all proceeds from this and any issue published over the next month to the cleanup efforts and to aid those who lost loved ones in this senseless tragedy. Our city has weathered many storms, and together, we will weather this one too.


    But as we pick up the pieces, we must ask ourselves: how did this happen, and who bears responsibility? These questions weigh heavy, and while the full truth remains uncertain, one family in particular, has come under direct scrutiny ¨C The Volkov family.


    For decades, the Volkov family has been one of the five Grand Velnias Families who have worked as enforcers for the city when the police were stretched thin or riots became dangerous, but underneath this philanthropy the Volkov family appears to have developed a taste of blood which has long stained its underbelly.


    This article was originally intended to discuss their strike-breaking behavior and their ownership of every steel mill in the industrial slums through various smoke-and mirror-tactics, and how their behaviors were not only hurting the ward working factory men, but also driving some of them into a life of crime. While all of these actions are worthy of criticism that would have been the extent of this article, instead I found myself first hand at Penny¡¯s Club where the Volkov¡¯s had an underground fighting ring where their essence beast broke loose.


    I was not in the fighting pit when it happened. I was above, in the club proper, when the ground trembled, and men surged upstairs in terror. Among them was Callum Hollow, a university student in his second year of mathematics, who barely escaped with his life. We caught each other while running from the chaos, breathless and bloodied, but clearly disturbed by what he had seen. Once we reached a safer location he confided in me that ¡°it wasn¡¯t a man anymore. It was something else. He lost the fight and then changed.¡±


    According to Callum what was previously an ordinary brawl had gone sour when the Volkov¡¯s prized fighter, one Pavel Cross, lost ¨C and, in a fit of anger sought to kill his opponent at all costs. Once again, we see the truth of Essence. It does not corrupt the body first, but the mind. Pavel Cross, previously an upstanding citizen, resorted to twisting himself into a monster, deciding a loss was worse than death. The mind twists before the body follows.


    It is apparently an open secret that many of the Volkov enforcer captains and important ranking members are Harbingers, individuals with essence, but yet again we see why the presence of essence must be limited to The Wardens and The Churches as unsuited individuals may gain access to the substance who are wholly unprepared for the consequences that come with it, making it dangerous for everyone.


    This article is an open letter to The Wardens, The Churches, and the other Velnias Grand Families. We urge you. Do not let this stand.


    <hr>


    The newspaper crinkled in Bellamy''s grip as he re-read its contents for the third time that morning ¨C committing every detail he could to memory. The whole thing reeked of a plot with its many falsehoods and veiled truths.


    After looking into the author, Bellamy had found them to be an older gentleman from Coutama. Specifically, a veteran of The War of Blood Veins, in which The Eternal Family had attempted to cut out a portion of land for themselves with the help of The King of The Dead City. Everyone who fought in that war either lost their minds or found an outlet for their newfound hatred for undead in The Congregation ¨C though Bellamy saw little distinction between the two.


    Bellamy was staring at a puzzle, and as much as he racked his brain for how all the pieces fit, he couldn''t separate coincidence from planning.


    Jim Harven arrives in Velnias at the same time as The Congregation. Viracio hires the man to write a story on the steel mill and the Volkov family. That same night, part of Viracio''s mismanaged gang decides to move against the Deaureaxs and Volkovs at Penny''s where they somehow knew Pavel would turn into The Jackal. Jim claims he was at Penny''s when The Jackal rampaged but made no mention of Viracio''s gang starting a shootout, which the man would''ve surely seen if he were there.


    Were Jim and Viracio part of The Congregation, or was Viracio just feeding Jim information on what to write, and they both had their own goals disconnected from the church? And why include Callum specifically in the article if not to get his attention?


    His brother hadn''t been home for the three days since that night. He hadn''t been to school in those three days, and none of Callum''s friends had heard anything.


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    He could''ve gotten his answers by storming The Last Dance or this new Velnias Gazette, but The Last Dance hadn''t opened since that night, and The Velnias Gazette didn''t have an official headquarters. They didn''t even print through a single company, paying some truly exorbitant fees for a rush job on prints.


    Frustration mounting, Bellamy balled the newspaper up and chucked it at a nearby wall.


    It didn''t matter. None of it did. Bellamy had leads. He had resources. As long as he found his brother, no one else''s plans mattered.


    Which is why he was heading to meet Kye. The day after his fight with The Jackal, he called the butcher from a pay phone and told her what he found and how Viracio was likely connected.


    He had intended for that to be the last time he talked to her until The Congregation left town, but she had other ideas, and those other ideas involved her helping him track down Callum.


    An opportunity that he jumped at immediately as he navigated the streets of Velnias.


    He dipped into an alleyway as icy sheets of rain fell. The streets were practically empty, with only a couple people walking to and fro. Policemen were out in force, patrolling the area heavily for any signs of suspicious activity. For the first time since moving to Velnias, it seemed as if the city of lights truly dimmed as fear ratcheted higher and higher.


    The warehouse ¨C the location for their meeting point ¨C wasn''t far now. Bellamy followed the directions he was given until he ended up at a dead end, an alleyway that randomly ended into a brick wall. Even though his eyes saw space, and his hands felt the resistant pressure as he pushed against it, he knew it wasn''t actually there. Closing his eyes, he took a few random steps and half-turns before striding through the wall.


    A perception trick. If you didn''t know when you passed the threshold, your brain couldn''t trick you into stopping.


    He opened his eyes only once he was sure he was through the barrier and was met face-to-face with a small warehouse in the center of a series of buildings. It was made of well-kept sheet metal, with no windows. It sat eerily quiet in a space it should not exist.


    Wary of exposing any part of himself to danger, Bellamy chose to pull at the Essence in his core instead. Everyone perceived their Essence differently ¨C some as elements like water, others as abstract or concepts like a wall. It was a subjective and unique interpretation for everyone; for Bellamy, he felt it like a scaffolding reaching high into the sky. Like the workers who had originally built it had gotten tired of waiting for the rest of the construction crew and decided to keep building up longer after they needed to. It swayed aggressively, creaking and groaning, but never broke.


    He pulled at that scaffolding, bending it impossibly further with each extra foot of warped space.


    A step, and he was in front of one of the side doorways. A window separated him from the warehouse''s internals. He stepped again and found himself inside.


    The space smelled of damp wood and chemicals. The air was thick with the remnants of old shipments, whose only proof was their lingering smell. The lights buzzed so softly as to be considered part of the silence. A spotlight hung from the ceiling, illuminating four seats in a circle, a coffee table in their center.


    Voices came from a backroom, but before Bellamy could investigate, he became aware of another presence that wasn''t there before. He turned to match gazes with a shorter man in dark garb. The man was a half head shorter than Bellamy, 5''9" if he had to guess, or at least they would''ve been if his head was not wreathed in shadow like whips of flame. The shadows licked and curled, leeching light from the air rather than shedding it. Two glowing blue slits ¨C eyes, or at least something like them ¨C stared back. Then a nod.


    The second most distinct thing about the man was his voice, it sounded far away and tiny, as if he was speaking through a radio rather than the space between the two. "I am not an enemy."


    As far as introductions went, Bellamy appreciated that one.


    He gave a nod back, "My name is Bellamy."


    "Johan. I was supposed to keep a look out for you. You were fast. Or I was slow. I am unclear on the specifics. We have," they paused, and their voice seemed to fast forward through the next few syllables as if the sound was catching up to itself. "Similar abilities, I believe. "


    Bellamy raised an eyebrow -- usually, people weren''t so forthcoming about their manifestations. He glanced towards where the voices were still talking before gesturing to the two seats.


    "Might as well talk a little before Kye joins us."


    "That would be a pleasure. Hollow." the shade opened a rift, one end in front of itself and the other by the chair as the man crawled through into a sitting position.


    Walking over and taking a seat, Bellamy began their conversation, "Wild guess, but you''re one of Kye''s men. She call you out here once things heated up a little?"


    The shade shook their head, "No."


    There was no silence with the creature -- even in the empty space of conversation, the sound of a radio calibrating could be heard.


    "A request was made by the Veythar." it continued, "My master accepted."


    Bellamy tried to keep his movements natural. Tried to show no sign of how bone-chilling the man spoke such terrifying words. The Veythar were leaders of sects for the Cult of Bone: The Eternal Family. And the words the shade chose. Requested. Not demanded or forced.


    The Veythar didn''t make requests. Not unless they were speaking to something far worse. Bellamy fought the urge to vanish that instant, even as his mind, muscles, and Essence screamed for him to teleport away.


    "Must be nervous," Bellamy tried instead, forcing calm through his veins by cycling Essence. "How did Kye get them to do that? Didn''t think she had the pull."


    "The Butcher?" the shade offered, glancing to the back room. "No. She does not. Tasked ¨C" the radio burst into static before calming down "vibrations. She let them travel back, and the Veythar took interest. The Essence Beast. You believe it was stable?"


    Bellamy nodded in turn, "No signs of Essence leakage. I don''t know how Titans form. But could it have been one?"


    "Based on the reports. Unlikely. The corpse remained intact. No core.


    "The reports?"


    "I was able to get access to Warden reports from that night. They used to be vigilant."


    There was little time to process the information before Kye and another woman stepped out of the back room with paper binders in both hands. The woman besides Kye had long brown hair, lily-white skin with sharp Coutaman features, and a curious expression that flittered between the Shade and Bellamy.


    "Johan," she spoke, voice even and of a lower pitch than Bellamy expected, "I see you''ve made a new friend."


    The shade, Johan, let out a string of static that sounded like a chuckle, "Ah. You with the jokes. Always present."


    Kye interjected, placing the binders of paper on the coffee table, "Bellamy this is Cassandra and Johan. They are both on loan."


    "Did The Eternal Family not have anyone in the area?" Bellamy didn''t hide the surprise that crept into his voice. One loaner could be explained away, but two didn''t make sense.


    Kye''s face twisted into a scowl. "Even with the information you gave. No Veythar wished to risk their children with The Congregation of Purity in town."


    As far as Bellamy knew, each Veythar was a head of a sect. They acted as the presiding leader, their name a translation from an old tongue before Kumere rose 1920 years ago that literally meant eternal guide. They acted as the shepherds, referring to anyone in their flock as their children.


    Kye glanced from Cassandra to Johan and then back to Kye. Alright, so you brought us here for a reason. Let''s hear it."


    Kye nodded, pulling out a map of Velnias as she began spreading out correspondences and pictures.


    "Thanks to your information we are aware that Viracio and his gang are involved in the creation of Essence beasts, but we don''t know how. All known partners of his have gone into hiding, but before they did we were able to get word of one of their members'' habits. There''s a place he goes every Friday night without fail. If you three can nab him there, we may be able to get some information out of him."


    Alright kidnapping. Bellamy didn''t hate the plan.


    "Where?" Johan tilted their head, gesturing to the map.


    Kye smiled, tapping on Mainstreet, "The Grand Proscenium. You ay friends, are going to see an Opera."