《Wardens [Modern Fantasy ⦿ Progression ⦿ Noir]》


 Shattered Foundations [1]

    <h2>Spearhead: Prologue (?)</h2>


    In the heart of Velnias, Fern slouched at her desk. Shock etched into every 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:


    <h2> </h2>


    URGENT TELEGRAM


    FROM: GALAHAD


    TO: WARDENS HQ: FERN


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    SPEAR HEAD ERADICATED


    NEW TITAN STILL AT LARGE


    ONE SURVIVOR GALAHAD


    TITAN COLOSSAL WITH MANY HANDS


    APPEARS TO NULLIFY LIFE CONTRACTS


    ALL OTHER SOULS LOST


    <h2> </h2>


    GALAHAD


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    The report''s brevity, no more than half a sheet of paper, left Fern yearning for more details, for some shred of certainty. For greater confirmation or news.


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    No one would take the news of Spearhead''s death well.


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    Unfortunately for the entire Peninsula, it played out exactly how she imagined it.


    <h2> </h2>


    Day¡¯s 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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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. 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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


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    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, at least one contract used per mission, civilian casualties up 235%, with a 46% decrease in resolved cases. It didn''t help that there were also just more essence-related events.


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    There were the normal Essence events that happened naturally, like a random beam of Essence from the cosmos ¨C 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 three cults ¨C bone, flesh, and voice ¨C were also becoming more active and daring. It all culminated in a chaotic maelstrom.


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    Warden''s command could no longer just route resources and hope for the best. With things spiraling beyond what any single branch could handle, The Executive Council had been forced to act. It resulted in an evening meeting with her and Wardens Branch Captains and a newly input request from Galahad which she had already denied.


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    That evening, Fern found herself in a small, well-lit, yet windowless meeting room, so plain and devoid of life it made her skin crawl. She was joined by five others, all Warden captains from major cities, each sitting silently, dispersed around the table with seemingly no rhyme or reason. She felt out of place as a support staff, but she chalked up her presence to being the senior most dispatcher, and having received the telegram from Galahad directly.


    <h2> </h2>


    The air was thick with unspoken dread. At the far end of the table, one of the captains fidgeted with their watch, another flipping through a pocketbook, but no one spoke. She had almost excused herself to get some fresh air when the doors finally opened with two individuals wheeled in a film reel projector, followed by a man in a long trench coat and hat that covered most of his face.


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    Fern tried to peer closer, to make out any details of the individual, but found herself entirely unable to do so. She frowned, every time she looked away his height and posture slipping from her memory.


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    Essence, it had to be.


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    The man began speaking, "Thank you all for joining me here today, my name is Wave. I''m here at the behest of The Executive Council to share highly confidential information with all of you. I don''t know what you did to be part of this in group, and frankly it doesn''t matter. All that matters is you''ve been cleared to view the following footage which we''ve extracted from Galahad''s memories."


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    The room held a collective breath as everyone leaned closer, hanging on to Wave''s words. Waiting for clarification or a continuation.


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    "You''re about to see part of the fight that wiped out Spearhead. What you are about to see will no doubt spread in the coming days, but how that spreads is up to us. Make sure you pay attention and ask any questions you have before you leave this room today. In approximately twelve hours, or once the last of you leaves, the footage will be burned."


    <h2> </h2>


    Dead silence. No one dared speak, barely even breathing as the footage started. They fast-forwarded through most of the day''s memories up until the group of twelve sat around the campfire, drinking and laughing with one another.


    <h2> </h2>


    Everyone in the room heard everything, each chuckle, clink of the glass and friendly barb thrown. Saw the dulled colors of frosted winter towards the north.


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    Something caught Fern''s throat as she laid eyes on Atlas. She would never see him again, would she.


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    <h2> </h2>


    The leader of Spearhead, Atlas, raised a flask of ale in toast, and suddenly a flicker and static filled the screen, temporarily obscuring everything.


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    "What was that?" Fern ventured, the first words anyone had spoken with the exception of Wave.


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    The film paused, a few of the captains shooting disgruntled glances her way, "That," Wave pointed at the static, "is just an artifact from the memory extraction. When people go through traumatic events, the memories can get a bit blurry and are harder to sift through. Let''s save questions for the end though." he tacked on at the end before starting the film up again.


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    They all watched the events of the past play out on the screen. As the footage resumed, the room seemed to shrink, the present dissolving as the past came into undeniable focus.


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    <hr>


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    Galahad clapped Narrus on the back with his left arm, raising the canteen to his lips for a deep swig. Then ¨C falling.


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    The drop stretched on.


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    Half his body was gone. No pain. Not yet. His head lolled to the side, and he strained his eyes to open. Bisected from shoulder to hip, his right lung bare to the wind, his heart missing. He couldn''t think. He couldn''t recognize the significance of what he saw or felt as he drifted.


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    Then, his anchor activated ¨C he felt his entire body, his consciousness, everything that defined him pulled into place.


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    Empty space found flesh again as he snapped back to life and consciousness. The force of reality slammed into him, making him wave his arms wildly as he continued to fall through the air.


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    He had been launched high up into the sky. His eyes darted around, trying to gauge what in the hell had just happened, and was only met with chaos and a monster.


    The thing was a colossus of flesh and grasping hands, too many to count, as they grew and fell all across the creature in a tide. Some rose as lighthouses ¨C tall and wide. Others were swallowed by the writhing of their elders, forced beneath the water of its stone-tinged skin.


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    It stood on eight appendages, the first two ¨C more pillar than leg ¨C which seemed cut off into stumps. The remaining six were thinner, lither, yet still far wider than the length of a car, each ending in gnarled, elongated fingertips stretching and flexing unnaturally to support its weight. It didn''t so much walk as glide. Each forward digit pressed into the ground, curling inward, shifting the Colossus with the fluidity of a roach. They didn''t move in tandem; rather, they each had a mind of their own, only generally understanding or knowing where they should be moving, resulting in what looked to be an ice skater ¨C changing directions constantly while constantly facing a different location than the one previously.


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    One of the younger wardens, Nio, dodged ¨C too slow. A massive hand swung down like a wrecking ball, each finger spearing deep into the dirt to cage the boy. It lifted, leaning back to gather more force as it uprooted the earth and its prisoner, who was already freezing and hacking an escape. But it was not to be. The cage got closer to the back of the creature, and the remaining hands reached, replacing the hastily cut exit with a slaughterhouse. The hands scrambled and fought for dominance, disregarding the boys'' struggles. His thrashing barely registered as they finally brokered an agreement, yanking him free and hurling him onto the colossus'' back.


    The smaller hands scrambled and tore to get at the fresh morsel. He thrashed and cried out. Waves of essence crashed forward, and ice erupted around him, but he could no more resist the tide of hands than a natural disaster as he was dragged under.


    <h2> </h2>


    And Galahad was falling still as his mind righted itself. It wasn''t too late. He had to act. Galahad re-set one of his anchors to his current state as the existing anchors burned his thoughts. He flipped through them, finding the correct one as his essence surged. It yanked, pulled, and strained against reality. Suddenly, a weight slammed into his chest. A body, still screaming and writhing.


    <h2> </h2>


    The boy fought his surroundings like a drowning man, causing Galahd to nearly lose his grip before yanking Nio closer for the landing. This time, he didn''t use an anchor at all, but his Essence Manifestation directly as he coated the surroundings in his essence as they tumbled on the ground. No impact or explosion of dirt from their fall, everything held perfectly in the state it had been previously.


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad finally let go to let the boy gather himself. Nio had been their newest addition, a young one to train up. He wanted to make sure Nio would be fine but now wasn''t the time. He flicked through his anchors again, but his stomach dropped as he recounted. Some were gone. Not used up. Just ¡­ gone.


    <h2> </h2>


    That shouldn''t even be possible. Even if someone had died, if Galahad used his manifestation, a body should have remained to be recalled. A soulless husk, at the very least. Something was wrong here.


    <h2> </h2>


    Atlas. He needed to find his commander. Atlas could organize them ¡­ but only if he had the time and space to do so.


    <h2> </h2>


    But the creature was rampaging. Whipping to and fro with graceful flailing, which kept the survivors on guard. It lunged at one foe, reaching out to another midleap with three arms as it overwhelmed the scattered Wardens with unpredictability.


    Atlas had his job, but he needed the opportunity to be able to do it. Galahad had his job, making sure that Atlas could do his. If the commander needed space, Galahad would make space.


    <h2> </h2>


    He didn''t know where his sword was. Spearhead hadn''t expected a fight; it was meant to be a team-building weekend. With a scowl, he faced the creature and ran forward.


    Galahad manipulated the essence around his fist as he ran, constructing three distinct chambers.


    <h2> </h2>


    The first chamber was the intake, pulling in a large volume of air. The second chamber he created from the space his essence took up and then opened into a perfect vacuum to help the first chamber gather more air. The last was the compression chamber, where all the air was shoved into a space far smaller than it was ever meant to fit. He cycled the process ¨Cintake, compression ¨Crevving up the system over and over to stack more and more pressure.


    <h2> </h2>


    He reached the Colossus, set an anchor on the creature and a condition, copied the same anchor onto the edge of his knuckles, and punched.


    <h2> </h2>


    His essence bubble released all of the gathered pressure at once. Ten feet of compressed air into a space no larger than five inches in diameter. Almost 94 tons began its explosive march forward. Then it looped.


    <h2> </h2>


    Activation condition: activate on impact


    Copy the activating anchor.


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad wasn''t sure how small the universal time constant was. As far as he cared to learn, a nanosecond was the smallest unit of time that mattered ¨Cand even that was too small to matter to him. So it still galled him when such a loop ¨C which didn''t even use 1/1000th of his essence combined to initially create ¨C drained his essence instantaneously by all practical and scientific measurements.


    <h2> </h2>


    Several things happened simultaneously as the difference between "explosive chain reaction" and "one seismic impact" began to blur.


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    The explosions rippled one after another, the energy traveling with such speed that the atmosphere couldn''t recover from their previous dissipation, combining into a directional superdense continuous shockwave.


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    The result was an instantaneous rail cannon. The heat grew unbearable as the air pressure tore and crushed apart the creature''s tissues and cells, vaporizing one of its forward legs and large swaths of the creature''s chest.


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    The ground directly around the impact pulverized and compacted into a deep crater that superheated, leaving the dirt steaming and loose stone molten. Further from the direct ground zero of the attack the ground spiderwebbed and cracked, sending a shockwave miles through the area.


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad didn''t bother protecting his arm, simply allowing it to combust. The action activated his anchor, recovering the arm as soon as it was gone as he was sent rag-dolling rapidly across the ground back towards the still recovering Nio.


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad grinned. Space made.


    <h2> </h2>


    He shuffled to his feet, gritting his teeth in pain as he looked towards the Colossus.


    He had sheared enough off of the creature that it had been bisected in turn. He had expected a shower of blood and viscera any moment now, but as he peered closer, it looked as if the attack had cauterized the wound as it deleted flesh.


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahd looked closer still and saw the flesh growing and growing rapidly. The stone flesh repaired and moved across space as the portion that didn''t have a head began to grow one. The ground beneath it disappeared as it converted its surroundings into tissue it could use to regenerate itself.


    <h2> </h2>


    This wasn''t just some strong essence beast or one of the new stable ones they had seen in Velnias. This was something new or something much, much older. The word fell from his lips, tinged with fear and disgust. Titan.


    <h2> </h2>


    The objective was no longer elimination or preventing losses; now escape was the only thing that mattered.

 Shattered Foundations [2]

    <h2>Spearhead: Prologue (2/2)</h2>


    Galahad yanked Nio up to their feet, no longer as concerned with the boy''s mental well being. ¡°Look at me,¡± he spoke quickly, eyes constantly darting to where the Titan was forming into two. ¡°Run, run to the railroads, and don¡¯t look back. Whatever you do make sure you get word out¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Nio trembled, still dazed from their near death experience. It was all Galahad could do to not raise his fists in anger, ¡°Nio!¡± he raised his voice, stern and commanding, shaking him for his stupor. ¡°Do you understand?¡± he punctuated, pointing out further to the south, towards Velnias.


    <h2> </h2>


    Nio¡¯s eyes went wide and he jerkily nodded before scrambling into a run towards the forest.


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad returned to the battle, quickly finding Atlas, who seemed to have gotten the surviving Wardens organized. Five of them now it seemed with only three in fighting shape, Galahad and Atlas included. The two injured seemed to be barely holding on, body parts missing that were slowly mending themselves. One of them, Lawrence was awake, but his was a non-combatant investigation manifestation to call upon the dead. The remaining Warden was Sandra.


    <h2> </h2>


    Sandra had the manifestation to meld any two things together. He said things since he had once seen her meld the concept of a bridge and water together to form a pathway and another time to meld a man into a tree who pissed her off. He was pretty sure the man was still there.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Narrus?¡± he managed to ask. The man was a genius and knew how to make the most amount of Galahad¡¯s abilities even when he didn¡¯t. The man also held one of his anchors that had disappeared.


    <h2> </h2>


    Atlas shook his head sadly. ¡°It went for you two first. Thought you were dead for a moment there¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad breathed in, his fist clenching as he pushed down cries of anguish.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°I have a plan¡± Atlas continued to stare at the reforming creature, well, two creatures now as he pushed a sheathed sword towards Galahad. ¡°And you¡¯re the pin. Thank you for volunteering.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Despite himself, Galahad managed a small smile, ¡°Just point me the way.¡±


    <h2>


    </h2>


    <hr>


    <h2>


    </h2>


    The plan was simple, cut them into parts so small that Atlas could burn them away all at once. It would take both Atlas and Galahad time to charge up their attacks, so it was Sandra¡¯s job to distract the two Titans, and if she could. Combine them back into one.


    <h2> </h2>


    Sandra ran, pushing her essence forward in long towering spikes across the ground in front of her. She picked up speed, willing herself to go faster, faster and further. The healed half of the Titan reared up, moving to block her path to the still reforming half of itself. She dropped low, sliding beneath its hulking mass, sending one of her spikes of essence to the side with a kick. Essence shook, erupting from the ground with masses of molded dirt and stone, the chunks forming a massive spear which lodged into the creature''s pillar-like leg. She kicked up, back into a run, placing her hand on the stone spear and activating the manifestation once more, fusing the unwieldy object to the monster.


    <h2> </h2>


    It barely slowed it. The beast took a moment to rear up its injured leg, high over its head. The hands on its back, like a sharp bristled brush, began tearing at the stone. Each scraped thin layers of stone with their fingernails, barely enough to make a dent on their own, but as they passed by, again and again in the span of a few seconds they were able to gain purchase. Layers became chunks, became piles until the molding crumpled to its base design. The small bit that remained changed. From stone to flesh, to a paste that seeped into the creature''s gray skin.


    <h2> </h2>


    The distraction was no more than five seconds, but they were five seconds she¡¯d have to take. She swore,  jumping high as a hand sailed past, the wind generated fast enough to temporarily blind her.


    <h2> </h2>


    She dived toward the ground, arms outstretched and placed on top of one each other as a swimmer would. She coated herself with essence, and fell through earth like it was water. The pressure was immense, the creature''s bulk having packed down the ground she found herself wading through. It wasn¡¯t a long trek as he emerged, greedily consuming the air once she breached. She rotated two of her remaining, long essence spikes and shot both out from her. One to the recovering half, and one to the original. It was a target hard to miss. They passed through skin easily, connecting both parts of the being with part of the string which binded all, she said a small prayer to The Loudest Yell thanking him for his gifts, and then, with all her might, yanked.


    <h2> </h2>


    The collision was slow, but inevitable. Both halves tripped over the ground, and eventually each other as they were brought closer and closer. They fought, seemingly wanting to stay separate as they began buckling against one another, until both gave in simultaneously The bodies creating a fracture which rapidly consumed them both. It caused the Titan to grow, doubling its original height and mass until it towered over even the largest trees of the forest.


    <h2> </h2>


    Sandra wasted no time retreating, knowing its fury would soon be upon her. She merged into the ground once more, the pressure from before even greater as descending any amount felt like drowning.


    <h2> </h2>


    She crawled away beneath the dirt, her lungs screamed for relief, but found no purchase in panic or fear, Sandra had long since grown past both. Forward, one step at a time. Pop up, distract.


    <h2> </h2>


    She¡¯d repeat the pattern however long Atlas and Galahad needed.


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    The weight of an ocean crushed down on her, compressing the dirt she had melded into. Her ribs strained against the force as air clawed itself out of her throat. She was pinned with nowhere to move and rapidly running out of oxygen. Then something broke the soil. It wormed its way across her wrist, wrapping it with far too many fingers scraping against her skin ¨C digging in, tugging and pulling at her flesh.


    <h2> </h2>


    It yanked, once, twice, each time it pulled she could feel her legs stuck beneath the dirt as her torso stretched, and twisted. Thrice. The dirt gave before her body and she found herself dangling in the air. She released the meld between her and the dirt, layers of soil falling from her skin. She took shallow breaths as her mind caught up to her body. The titan looked at her, the hundreds of hands that had buried themselves in the ground looking for her slowly unearthed themselves, turning as if they had eyes to see her.


    <h2> </h2>


    No plan. No time. No way out. The grip on her wrist tightened and twisted, fingernails gouging her arm. If the titan wanted the fucking thing so badly it could have it.


    <h2>


    </h2>


    She formed a ring of sharp, thin essence around her shoulder and pulled the energy inward. The formed blade bit into her shoulder in a messy cleave, snagging and tearing unevenly as long strands of sinew resisted the force. Her vision blurred in sync with white hot pain, sound falling away as she yanked the blade down again. She cried out, tears falling unbidden from her eyes as it wasn¡¯t enough and she was forced to slam the blade down a third time.


    <h2> </h2>


    She was falling, her own blood dripping in the air beside her. She looked up. Her arm twitched in the Titan¡¯s grasp as the last vestiges of essence caused the arm to spasm.


    <h2> </h2>


    The Titan¡¯s hand gripping onto the severed limb rotated her arm up and a tension rippled through the creature''s entire body as muscles spasmed. It swung rapidly¨C grip shattering what was now regular bone and flesh as it began slamming itself and its passenger into the ground in a frenzy. On the third impact it lifted itself back up ¨C caked in red. Her own fingers waved at her from the hand.


    <h2> </h2>


    Sarah melded into the air as she fell, her form becoming less corporal and far lighter. Not the best plan in her opinion, but limited options were called that for a reason. She floated up, sticking close to the underbelly of the beast, hoping that she could stay out of its attention long enough to recover.


    <h2> </h2>


    The plan fell apart as the creature decided to let gravity do its work as it jumped four feet into the air, and let itself crumple to the ground.


    <h2> </h2>


    She refused to be crushed, or perhaps even dispersed into the wind. So she melded into the Titan skin. Mentally she focused, ensuring the distinction between Melding into the Titan¡¯s skin, Melding into the Titan, and Melding with the Titan.


    <h2> </h2>


    It was light. Too light. She thought her body would be heavy, but her surroundings felt more like air. Felt porous. Wrong. She instinctively  back peddled, closer to the Titan¡¯s skin.


    <h2> </h2>


    A reverberation rang through her back, and as she turned she saw the many hands of the titan slamming themselves against where she had melded herself. They gripped chunks of gray flesh and ripped and with every tear Sarah felt the air of the outside rush closer and closer to her.


    <h2> </h2>


    She scrambled, manipulating her manifestation to move closure to the neck. Then, her foot snagged. Caught and held. The substance beneath her heel twisted and changed, soft and porous into a dense and hard material. She jerked forward, forming another blade of essence as she had before, but something lopped inside of her rib, pushing against her lung, winding between her bones. Then her sight fractured. First in lines, then in pieces and then nothing. Just the sensation of more and more stone pouring through her.


    <h2> </h2>


    She flared her manifestation attempting to escape through merging with the Titan¡¯s stone skin further still, and in the brief moment her essence flared, the stone solidified almost her entire body.


    <h2> </h2>


    There was no escape. No tricks left.


    <h2> </h2>


    She was going to be eaten by this thing.


    <h2> </h2>


    She wanted to writhe, to twist and push, and although her muscles tensed and strained there was no movement. There was no air to breathe, but her lungs tried anyways, each breath out more stone grew, constricting her more and more. The one rib that was locked in place fractured as her lungs continued to collapse.


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    <h2> </h2>


    The world blurred. Then shattered.


    <h2> </h2>


    Sandra¡¯s stomach flipped as her body collapsed inward into a single massless point, then ¨C Air. Light. Voices.


    <h2> </h2>


    She was whole, the arm she had cut off earlier clasping onto Galahad¡¯s hand in a shake.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Good shit,¡± Galahad spoke, grinning, having activated and used his own ability to effectively teleport her.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°I¡¯ve always thought,¡± Atlas cut in with a sad smile. He looked from Sandra to the massive Titan. A lattice of glowing essence floating all around him, ¡°That the unknown is a lot less scary with others around.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Sandra¡¯s eyes widened as she looked up to see what could only be described as a madman''s delirium filled masterpiece.


    <h2> </h2>


    The lattice was spherical in shape, its radius no less than fifteen feet in any given direction. Each of the weavings took up no more than six cubic inches with some sigils from one cube overlapping with another, each drawing from and using parts from one another. There had to be hundreds of these. How did they do it so fast?


    <h2> </h2>


    She looked towards Lawrence, who looked away in shame, ¡°I asked Narrus¡±


    Ah. So he really was dead. Their contracts weren¡¯t going to save them.


    <h2> </h2>


    She pushed the thoughts from her mind, seeing the last part of their madness.


    <h2> </h2>


    Anchors. At seemingly random points Galahad had placed no less than ten anchors. Four were clustered together. Another cluster contained three, and the last few were scattered.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°What is this?¡± She breathed equal parts awe and horror.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Cheating.¡± Atlas said plainly, pointing to the cluster of 4 Anchors, ¡°A relay for infinite essence for Galahad¡±, he continued to the cluster of 3, ¡°Galahad¡¯s essence blades¡±, and he shrugged at the last ones ¡°and essence siphoning, so I¡¯ll get a little kick back¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad stepped forward, raising his blade, as he looked back. ¡°Ready?¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Fire at will.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    The man brought down his sword, with a distinct lack of ceremony.


    <h2> </h2>


    The lattice flared, the anchors pulsed feeding into the weaving. The entire construct trembled, vibrating so harshly Sandra feared it would shatter, and at last their work activated.


    <h2> </h2>


    Three long blades of essence formed in the air, each rotated at a different angle. They shot forward through the air. The lattice bloomed, the anchors moved and rotated. Three more blades formed, each aimed and rotated distinctly once again. They chased after the first wave, followed by another, and another and countless more. A gatling gun of essence blades that sang as they traveled and cleaved through large portions of the titans flesh with each impact.


    <h2> </h2>


    The barrage never stopped. Long after anyone in the history of the Peninsula would have ran out of essence ¨C the shots continued. The lattice was working, each time Galahad came close to running out an anchor would activate, and he¡¯d resume the state of a perfectly healthy, fully topped off on essence Warden.


    <h2> </h2>


    The essence poured from him in a continual stream, each time he reset a portion of the substance would be siphoned off, flowing through the labyrinth of sigils as they began to glowing a deep red-orange. It intensified, growing brighter and brighter until it was preferable to stare directly at the sun.


    <h2> </h2>


    The sky burned. Flames circled the sky in a halo above the Titan, wreathing their opponent in a holy dowry before execution.


    <h2> </h2>


    By the time Sarah looked back to the Titan the majority of its mass were already discrete chunks, and much to her horror they were growing, turning into smaller writhing hands as they transmuted dirt into usable mass.


    <h2> </h2>


    Then Atlas called down fire. It did not rain. It did not slam. It fell like judgment. As fire touched the ground it melted into slag. The air itself was swallowed in a roar of combustion, drawing in the surrounding oxygen to fuel its creation. Long after all the air was gone, it continued to sustain itself, pulling more and more on the constructed lattice.


    <h2> </h2>


    For two minutes, fire took the world.


    <h2> </h2>


    Judgment only stopped when the lattice finally broke, falling away like dust.


    <h2> </h2>


    Neither man panted or gasped for air. Why would they after all, Galahad¡¯s manifestation ensured that it felt like they hadn''t even done anything.


    <h2> </h2>


    The trio stood in place for a moment. The relief of a victory rushing through them, the cost thought about in some abstract far off place. They looked over the destruction. Sandra sending a wave of essence over the ruins, trying to catch any sight of the Titan still being alive, and signature of essence that could alert her. But she found nothing. She found nothing. Where was its core? Harbingers, had pseudo-cores. Intangible things that held their power, Titans had actual, physical cores.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°It¡¯s core isn¡¯t here¡±


    <h2>


    </h2>


    <hr>


    <h2>


    </h2>


    The tape flickered. Fern frowned. Everyone¡¯s jaws hung as they watched the casual display of power from Atlas and Galahad ¨C those who hadn¡¯t before finally understanding why they were considered the strongest. For a moment. For a brief moment Fern had almost cheered, hadn¡¯t believed that the pair wouldn¡¯t make it out of this alive. She had read the message from Galahad, that all but him had been killed, but seeing the memories in front of her. She had still believed.


    <h2>


    </h2>


    <hr>


    <h2>


    </h2>


    Then Galahad saw it. Felt it before he saw it, but saw it still. It was something that grabbed at his feet. Stealing skin from his ankles and clawing against the vein on his thigh.


    <h2> </h2>


    He turned to the south, where he had sent Nio, and standing, head peaking barely above the trees was the Titan.


    <h2>


    </h2>


    <hr>


    <h2>


    </h2>


    The film reel stopped. Fern blinked in confusion, glancing at Wave as the lights in the meeting room flicked on.


    <h2> </h2>


    "Where¡¯s the rest?" she ventured. She was shaken by what she saw but couldn''t look away. What happened next?


    <h2> </h2>


    Wave shrugged, "Like I said before, trauma messes with people''s memories. After this point, everything gets real scrambly. Uninterpretable. As Galahad recovers, we''ll be able to extract more and more, but for now, this is all we have, and frankly from Galahad¡¯s report we know what happens next. It¡¯s not pretty." He motioned for one of the workers to rewind the film. It took a second for the man to spool it and move to the correct frame.


    <h2> </h2>


    Wave pointed to the Titan, watching from over the tree line, "I believe I do not need to explain to everyone why this is bad. If it can make more of itself, then unless we trap this creature or somehow get it under control we risk the entire Peninsula."


    "They had life contracts." One of the captains in the back spoke up, a more prominent man with a scarred face and sparse yellow hair. "How are they dead. Captured I could understand. Turned into an essence beast or had their flesh mixed in stone I can wrap my head around. But dead. They should''ve reformed right in Wardens HQ. Why did the contracts fail?"


    <h2> </h2>


    Wave shook his head, frustration evident, "throughout the footage we see, there is no clear use of a manifestation being used, the creation of another one of itself may be it, but we have reason to suspect that the Titans ability itself may be to nullify contracts."


    <h2> </h2>


    Another oppressive beat of silence.


    <h2> </h2>


    The meeting dragged on ¨C plans, next steps, requirements for the captains. During the proceedings someone even suggested releasing an edited version of the footage to the public. Fern barely registered it. Her heart wasn¡¯t in it.


    <h2> </h2>


    She left.


    <h2> </h2>


    The thought of returning home filled her with dread ¨C returning to an empty bed where Atlas should have been with framed pictures, and a shattered shared life.


    <h2> </h2>


    She turned to her desk, and it filled her with anger ¨C sorting through half sheets of paper, deciding lives with a single stamp


    <h2> </h2>


    Instead, she walked. The air bit at her, but she welcomed any reprieve from the numbness. She let it push her forward to the husk of Spearhead¡¯s former office.


    <h2> </h2>


    The inside of the building was a wreck. The entirety of the support staff ahd quit the moment the news broke. Papers lay scattered, some half signed, some abandoned mid sentence. Only one light shone, far in the back.


    <h2> </h2>


    She opened the door without knocking.


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad sat on the wrong side of the desk, a flask intertwined with his fingers. He needed a shave. His hair was unkempt, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and drink. The moment he saw her, he looked away.


    <h2> </h2>


    She opened the door, not bothering to knock and came face to face with Galahad. He needed to shave. His hair was scraggly and unkempt, and he held an opened flask in one hand as he sat on the wrong side of the desk.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Please,¡± it came out as a breath, ¡°let''s only have this conversation once.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Fern pulled a chair next to him, and grabbed the flask, pulling deeply from it before shoving it back in Galahad¡¯s lap, ¡°I don¡¯t think I have that in me.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Could you do it?¡± Galahad pushed out in a hoarse whisper, ¡°If I were to give you infinite essence, could you turn back the clock that much? To before we left¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°I wish I could.¡± she didn¡¯t elaborate.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Did you see my request?¡± Galahd continued, still not looking at Fern.


    <h2> </h2>


    She took the flask again, continuing to pull and not giving it back, ¡°No.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Silence.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°I¡¯m reforming Spearhead-¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°No¡± she practically spat the word, a hiss of frustration, anger, grief that caused Galahad to flench.  ¡°I meant no to your request Galahad. We¡¯re not pumping some poor fools with essence¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Another beat of nothingness.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Galahd scowled, as he grew the courage to look at the furious Fern.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    She turned the flask in her hands, rolling it between her fingers like a child with a puzzle they couldn¡¯t solve. Then another swig. This time, she held it out for Galahad. He took it and drank.


    <h2> </h2>


    Neither of them knew how to speak to the other. The silence stretched, suffocating.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°They¡¯ll push my request through anyways. The Executive Council wants a new Spearhead¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°I know¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Four times the usual amount of essence. They¡¯ll survive long enough for The Peninsula to stabilize.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°I know¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    More silence.


    <h2> </h2>


    Fern swallowed, hesitating as she rolled the words in her mouth. Then soft as wind she started, ¡°Thank you. For being his friend.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad turned away, not daring to look at anything but the floor.


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°Atlas always felt alone,¡± she pressed on. The words wouldn¡¯t stop now. ¡°Before you came, he never smiled. Never laughed. Like he was carrying the weight of the entire Peninsula on his back.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad¡¯s breath hitched, ¡°He was the most charismatic man I knew.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    ¡°We knew two very different men.¡±


    <h2> </h2>


    Galahad nodded, a small sob escaping his lips.


    <h2> </h2>


    She could feel the tears burning, but she forced them down. Forced herself to stand and leave without another word.


    <h2>


    </h2>


    <hr>


    <h2>


    </h2>


    8 Hours later


    <h2> </h2>


    URGENT TELEGRAM


    FROM: UNANIMOUSLY, THE EXECUTVIE COUNCIL


    TO: CAPTAIN GALAHAD


    <h2> </h2>


    REQUEST APPROVED


    IMMEDIATE AUTHORIZATION GRANTED FOR SPEARHEAD REFORMATION


    FOURFOLD ESSENCE COMMUNION SANCTIONED


    SELECTION AND AUGMENTATION TO PROCEED WITHOUT DELAY


    FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION

 The Underbellys Pulse [1] - Thrown

    <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''3", 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 ¨C slicked back black hair covered by a velvet baker¡¯s boy hat ¨C 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, I know you scabs get itchy and antsy, so 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.


    Stolen story; please report.


    "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".


    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.¡±

 The Underbellys Pulse [2] - Precision

    <h2>Precision</h2>


    Outside, muffled voices and the occasional rattle of a streetcar punctuated the streetlamp-dimmed dusk that mingled with the scents of coal, smoke, and city grime. The sound of honking horns and distant music from the halls of entertainment only dimmed as Bellamy shut the door to the apartment, not bothering to turn the lock. His home was modest for a three-bedroom apartment. He split the rent with a young couple from the Atrean Islet, a grumpy older lawyer, and, of course, his brother. The wooden floors creaked in odd places, worsening in the chill of winter, but the insulation was good enough to keep the biting cold at bay.


    Bellamy gently massaged chilled, stiff hands, working ambient heat into his fingers before reaching into his bag. He carefully unwrapped one of the many butcher-paper bundles he had received from Kye. The soft crinkle of paper echoed as he peeled it back, revealing the fresh meat ¨C deep red, marbled, and almost too perfect to be real. He set it on the counter quickly, almost willing its presence away before temporarily retreating to his room to grab his personal butcher''s block and cast iron.


    Explaining why he kept separate cookware had been an ordeal. Looking back, his excuse had been flimsy at best ¨C shellfish allergy, deathly allergic. But it worked. Kept his flatmates safe. Kept him from flipping up. He''d take the awkward conversations over the alternative. It also happened to make him their resident cook, which came with a little rent decrease, which was always nice.


    His knife bit into the flesh with satisfying resistance, the blade gliding through sinew and muscle. Each piece was roughly cut ¨C just the right size to break down into tender shreds in a slow-simmering pot. The rhythm of chopping settled into something steady -- meditative -- the thud of the knife against the board a consistent backdrop to his thoughts.


    With practiced precision, he retrieved another butcher''s block, a separate cutting board, and yet another knife before pulling more stew beef, this time from the icebox. A second round, uncontaminated. A second pot. One for himself, one for the rest.


    The vegetables came next. Carrots, potatoes, and onions. The carrots were still caked in earth and needed a quick rinse. Water splashed into the basin, the sound crisp against the background hum only shattered by an occasional boiler bubble messing with the pipes. He set about peeling and slicing each vegetable, appreciating the differences in texture ¨C the snap of carrot skin, the satisfying give of an onion under the blade, the sudden lack of resistance once he broke through a potato''s skin.


    Oil sizzled in two cast-iron skillets as they met the heat of the stove, fire crackling and popping softly beneath them. A dollop of lard melted into a thin shimmer of fat before he slid the meat into the pans. Each chunk landed with a hiss, the rich scent rising into the air and infiltrating every corner of the apartment almost immediately. He didn''t need to smell it to know; the old lawyer''s door creaking open and the familiar shuffle of worn slippers was a dead giveaway.


    The old man, Paul, sprawled onto the sofa with a weary sigh, a cheap booze bottle in one arm. "Mind bringing that bottle over here?" Bellamy asked, stirring each pot with their separate wooden spoons, turning each piece carefully so the edges caramelized in the rendered fat.


    "Sure, son." With the grace to sound only mildly disgruntled, the lawyer hauled himself up and hobbled over, sliding the bottle across the counter. Belllamy for his part had the grace to not drink the entire bottle as he unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig.


    "Hits the spot," he muttered, setting the bottle down before turning to the vegetables. The steady chop of his knife filled the room once more.


    "You look like shit," the older man finally observed, eyeing the bruising swell around Bellamy''s eye.


    "I''m getting that a lot lately," Bellamy chuckled, not looking up.


    "Anything an old man like me would be worried about?"


    "No." Bellamy''s voice left no room for doubt. "Got this from a job."


    The lawyer grunted in acknowledgment, motioning for the bottle again. Bellamy took one more quick swig before sliding it back across the counter. "And you? Bit strong tonight."


    "Damn judges again. They''re stalling. Waiting me out, hoping no one else picks up the case once I''m mush and that I won''t come back to get them. Or at least until The G-O ratifies another legally sanctioned extermination clause into law."


    Bellamy paused in his chopping, setting the knife down with a quiet clink. "Yes, because I am an educated enough man to understand those words," he said, voice dry. "Simply not educated enough to understand them in that order."


    The lawyer grumbled something under his breath before speaking louder. "Lousy people are still lousy, and the snow is making my old bones ache."


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Bellamy reached into the cabinet, pulling out a bay leaf which he slid into the broth, watching as it bobbed before settling beneath the surface. "Let''s hope some stew can warm those old bones of yours, aye."


    "What I''m hoping for," the lawyer muttered, making his way back onto the couch.


    The conversation lapsed into comfortable quiet, the bubbling of the pot filling the space between them. Bellamy adjusted the seasoning based on the old man''s feedback, adding a pinch more salt and a crack of pepper.


    Ladling stew into two bowls, he switched to the uncontaminated ladle for the old man''s portion. He carried his brother''s bowl to their shared room before setting his and the lawyers at the table. They ate in silence, the warmth of the food settling between them like an unspoken understanding.


    The old man left first and Bellamy set about stacking dishes, dropping the contaminated cookware on Callum''s desk. He might enjoy cooking, but he''d be damned if he was going to clean up. Bellamy passed the time un-bruising his body and black eye, channeling essence through him to mend the wounds. The sensations of using essence were different for everyone -- some felt it burn like a fire inside their chest, others like a rush of something sharper than adrenaline or any drug through their veins. For Bellamy, it was nothing so visceral. Instead, it was as if he were a scaffold, and the essence was countless workers swarming over him, straining the supports until they creaked. The sensation set his nerves on edge.


    Suddenly, his brother recorporealized inside the apartment by the door. Another casual display of his Harbinger manfiestation. Bellamy''s eye twitched.


    <h2> </h2>


    "Seriously?"


    Callum grinned. "No one saw." He and his brother looked quite alike, they both had the distinctive tanner skin of Coutama, with deep coffee brown eyes and short curly hair. They both wore simple clothes, but Callum always had a better mind for fitted cloth and accessories to make him appear better off than he was.


    Bellmay exhaled through his nose. It didn''t matter if his brother thought he wasn''t seen. All it took was one set of prying eyes, one rumor, one overeager bastard with a holy book, and they were done.


    People weren''t supposed to survive natural essence exposure, not without consequences. Some turned into twisted husks, some got burned out, and a rare few came back ¡­ wrong. Those ones? They were hunted.


    <h2> </h2>


    "Accident when I was a kid," Callum always said when he revealed his essence. Some bought it or didn''t care, too busy figuring out what to eat or when their next job would be.


    <h2> </h2>


    Bellamy turned away, shaking his head. "How were classes?"


    Callum ignored the question, sniffing the air. "Stew?"


    "Aye." Only a small note of jealousy managed to worm its way into the single word.


    "Bet it tastes great." he hung up his coat and doffed his hat, hanging both by the door. He proceeded to step through the wall to their shared room, grabbed the bowl of stew, and then pulled himself and the soup through once more. His grin only seemed to widen as he greedily took in the scents of the stew, savoring every moment.


    "Classes were fine," Callum started, still leaning over the stew but not yet eating it. "Second semester, and they''re still doing the intro work from grade school. He almost reluctantly brought the bowl to his lips before pouring its entire contents into his mouth and swallowing in one go.


    "Do you do that around your friends?" Bellamy scowled, seeing his hard work disappear.


    "Oh yeah. Party trick. The girls love it."


    "I''m no longer interested." Bellamy grabbed his coat, heading for the door. "Keep your ability on for a while. Low attention. The zealots are in town."


    Callum froze, his hands now clammy, face tight, tension spreading through his in its entirety. "... You''re sure?"


    "Yeah. Keep going to school. They''ll be watching for anyone suspiciously absent after news gets around."


    "We could just leave," Callum hesitated, "Say we''re visiting family."


    Bellamy shook his head, "Sniffers at every station. You could get by, but I''m not stealing a car."


    Callum stood there, face scrunched in an approximation of pain before the hat he had just hung up smacked him in the face.


    "Don''t be a baby about it," Bellamy muttered, a poor excuse for comfort. "If one of them tries something, just punch them in the throat while they pray ¨C they never finish their chants after that." He gave a side glance at his brother, realizing he had done nothing to put his mind at ease.


    With a sigh, he continued, "Come on. I''m heading to The Last Dance and then Penny''s. I need someone to proxy bet on me. I have a job down there. They won¡¯t allow me to bet on myself"


    <h2> </h2>


    Callum groaned. "Fuck, dude. I''m tired."


    "And I like paying your tuition, so let''s go."


    With a halfhearted grumble, Callum slouched after him. Bellamy gave him a small kick on the way out, guiding them into frostbitten streets. The city was never silent¨C the wind howled through alleyways, rails screeched, machinery hummed. But Bellamy never felt the weight of all that noise more than when he was with Callum.


    Brotherhood meant trust. It meant knowing when to put everything on the table and when to hedge your bets and trusting whatever decision the other made had been done with the intent for both of them to succeed, but it also meant that he couldn''t just tell his brother to shut the fuck up and not talk when he was sharing.


    "And then," he continued his mini-rant, "she had the audacity to look me in the eyes and start talking about a lack of studies on brain matter density."


    Bellamy grunted, barely listening.


    "That was her entire argument, a lack of a direct comparison to brain matter. By her logic a fucking whale or dolphin is more sentient than Verdan."


    "Oh wow"


    "That''s insane Bellamy. It''s not even a lack of knowledge, I swear."


    "Crazy"


    They''re fucking with me. They have to be. They''re trying to piss me off. The looks on everyone else''s faces though. They were horrified! They couldn''t believe she said that out loud."


    "Yep"


    It continued. All the way to The Last Dance. Every second until they walked in the doors.

 The Underbellys Pulse [3] - Shifty

    <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, gifted upon them by The Brightest Star and their emissary The Heart That Beats True 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¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    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.


    ¡°My turn then?¡± Oaklen asked, the words silent in Thyrsa¡¯s mind.


    They met at the barrier of control over the body inside their shared mindscape. ¡°Your turn indeed. Do take care, I believe she is nastier than she lets on.¡±


    Each held their hand up to the barrier, and each walked through to the other side. Thryssa to join the other souls, and Oaklen to take control of the body.


    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 her 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 slowly, 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.¡±

 The Underbellys Pulse [4] - The Last Dance

    <h2>The Last Dance </h2>


    The Last Dance wasn''t a bar so much as a boundary line. A place where killers drank with their marks, where debts could be settled over whiskey, dice, a knife, or all three at once. Bellamy had always liked it.


    They stepped inside, and the wall of cigar smoke rushed to meet them as heat shot out the open door in time. The smell hit Callum at the same time the smooth lilting voice of Charley began her solo. The rest of the musicians played quieter; the one-handed pianist lightly tapped each key, and the drummer focused on keeping the beat but not drawing attention, something that they typically struggled with if it was any other singer. Her voice was practically hypnotic, leaving both brothers stunned as they stood in the doorway until a rough grunt from the bouncer got their attention, "Inside. Yer letting heat out".


    A little embarrassed, Callum fully entered, following Bellamy, who simply gave the man a nod. They found Viracio at his usual table on the second floor balcony that overlooked the rest of the speakeasy. He didn''t run The Last Dance according to himself, but it ran on his rules, and the money seemed to flow to him. He was a mob boss who built his power like a spider ¨C layer by layer, thread by thread until the whole web belonged to him. And if you got caught in it? You stayed caught.


    Viracio looked up as they approached, sharp eyes flicking over them once before returning to his drink. "Sit," he commanded.


    Bellamy pulled out a chair, motioning for Callum to do the same.


    "Took longer than I expected," he said, sipping his drink. "That means you either got delayed, or you were being careful. Which?"


    "Bellamy leaned back, unbothered by any insinuation. Viracio knew he wouldn''t put his brother in the line of fire if that was a possibility. "Little of both"


    "Good. I''d be disappointed if you got sloppy." He set his glass down, fingers tapping once against the table. It was a deliberate action, but Bellamy didn''t know why. Everything he did was deliberate. He imagined it was exhausting.


    "Still," the gang leader continued, "the photographer I hired is probably freezing his ass off. Older gentleman from Coutama. Not a good combination for winter here. Reporter, high profile too."


    Bellamy grimaced, only imagining, "I''ll open my tab to him. Twelve Ord limit."


    A smile crept up Viracio''s face like moss as he struggled and failed to hold in a laugh, causing him to almost double over on his desk. "Oh man oh man. That''s the best thing I''ve heard all day. You sure know how to balance the books Bellamy".


    Viracio waved to a guard standing by the door, who brought a large envelope and placed it in front of Bellamy. He picked it up, surprised by the weight.


    "Why the bonus?"


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


    Viracio smiled like someone with five answers prepared but just thought of a sixth. "Because I like you. You''re reliable. I pay well for reliability."


    The smile was infectious, and soon Bellamy found himself doing the same. He pocketed the envelope, not bothering to count it out. Viracio didn''t deal in false generosity. If he overpaid, it was an investment, not a mistake.


    Callum, with all the subtlety of a brick through a car window, contributed to the conversation, "Sounds like he fills a spot in your organization that you need then"


    ¡°Oh ho ho, the kid speaks, got a pair of balls on him already. You¡¯re working age, whatdya do¡± Viracio¡¯s tone turned jovial, with just enough interest to make him sound like a distant uncle who didn¡¯t make it back home much.


    ¡°I¡¯m uh, a sophomore. In math¡± Callum hesitantly offered up, to which Viracio continued to nod.


    ¡°Ay, not bad not bad. Numbers are hard, there¡¯s an infinite amount of them I hear. Good to know someone who knows these things, but Bellamy. How the hell are you paying for all of that?¡±


    Bellamy was surprised by the interruption, but relieved that Viracio took it in stride.


    He shrugged, ¡°we scrape by. The school has some deals with The Grand Order. As long as his grades stay good, and he works for them two years after college ¡­ the cost is manageable.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I shoulda known. He¡¯s doing math. Course he¡¯s gifted too. Say, I may have more work for a man like yourself. What type of work can you do for me?¡±


    It was a trap, of course. The honeypot. But if it was this sweet, he couldn''t imagine minding that much. He was already a rat trapped in a nesting doll of boxes. What was one more layer?


    "It depends," Bellamy recovered, "I''m not a violent man, but you can count on my discretion."


    Viracio nodded, "Then you¡¯ll have as much work as you could ask for. I''ll walk both of you out. Need the old man to get a good shot of us. Hold the envelope in your hand. I don''t want the photo to leave anything to the imagination. Callum, you can come out a minute after us, don''t want to get you in the shot."


    They began walking downstairs, Callum getting a drink from the bar as he waited, still captivated by the singing.


    "So," Viracio began, "you were already planning on Penny''s weren''t you?." It was less a question than a statement, so Bellamy only confirmed with a "Yes."


    "Good, better to spend the IOU than let it go to waste." Bellamy didn''t have time to let the implications of that statement fully sink in before Viracio continued, "I know you said you''re not violent, but that''s frankly not true. You''re just not a killer. I respect that, I do. The slums need everybody. So I don''t need you to kill anybody. Just rough someone there up who owes me." He turned and handed Bellamy a photo of a woman in a well-tailored suit smoking a cigar at the bar."


    "Just rough her up a bit, embarrass her if you can, and tell her to come to The Last Dance ready to deal."


    Bellamy paused, fingers curling around the edge of the photo, but his mind had already started drifting. The job seemed simple enough ¨C embarrass a woman with money. They did that enough themselves. But that was the problem. Bellamy has been in this position before. An easy job, only to find himself dragged deeper. At least when Kye had given him her job she had told him how fucked he was. No. There was no "simple" for men like Viracio. He didn''t deal in small.


    He could hear his ¡­ father''s voice in his head: Everyone gets a little taste before the real hunger kicks in. One step too many boy.


    The thin bead of hesitation lingered in his chest. "Fine," the words fell out of his mouth unbidden, flat but steady. "I''ll do it. But I want hazard pay if things go down."


    Viracio patted him on the back, pulling out a second envelope from his jacket pocket as they went to step out of the building. "Tell you what, let''s make this whole thing easier. I''ll go with you and your brother. If things get crazy I can see it first hand", and with that, he opened the door and crossed the threshold, holding it open for Bellamy with one hand and holding out the envelope with the other.


    And that was the moment Bellamy knew for sure: another layer had been added to the nesting doll.


    ¡°Now¡± Viraco patted Bellamy on the back, ¡°Smile for the camera.¡±

 The Underbellys Pulse [5] - Pennys

    <h2>Penny''s</h2>


    <h2> </h2>


    Callum was enraptured by Penny¡¯s club.


    Penny''s was, to put it in as plain words as possible, a place that dealt in pleasures. Those who didn''t fully get it ¨C who just drifted through without taking note of their surroundings ¨C would only see it as a den of lowlifes and degenerates. A simple space for simple people where a pretty face would smile at you or where a not-so-pretty face would get punched in the ring. But if you looked closer, if you could see past the haze of smoke, drink and dance, you''d realize Penny''s was built around something much more complex


    At its core it was a machine designed around vice. The strippers were part of it sure, but not just in the way most people thought. They weren''t there simply for their athleticism and admittedly nice figures, men and women moving gracefully around poles or in various acts of seduction. No, they were there to build the atmosphere. To draw people in. To make them forget their inhibitions and their morals, to strip them down, in turn, to nothing but their desires. The drugs, the alcohol, the promises of pleasure ¨C they weren''t just luxuries; they were tools. And like any good tool, they worked together in harmony to bleed your wallet dry.


    A beautiful combination of ideas, Callum thought. The world was full of people who never noticed its beauties, who never took the time to consider which artists shaped the canvas they walked on, the structure of it all was intoxicating to him.


    It was why he could never just be a spectator. To lose yourself in it, to be guided by the painter''s purpose and experience their creation as they intended. There was something beautiful about it. His eyes lingered on a woman just entering from behind the stage, her body poised, deliberate. He had an eye for numbers, sure, but he knew the true value of a well-placed flirt. He gave it some thought, scanning the crowd of people, taking into account how many there were, how wealthy they looked, and who they were currently looking at, and ran some estimations. He caught her eye, and she beamed at him, Callum returning a slight grin, one that said, I know what they''re paying you, and it''s not enough.


    "Callum if you don''t stop gawking at the girls I swear to god," Bellamy hissed in his ear as Callum broke from his revere.


    <h2> </h2>


    Callum grumbled, muttering under his breath something about "just because you can''t feel touch, doesn''t mean I can''t.", catching up to his brother, he started to put on the charm, "well, you and Viracio are going down to the fighting pits right? He can place the bet on you instead. So you don¡¯t need me to proxy bet. I can be the look out up here, you got an IOU you''re not going to use.


    Bellamy, for his part, rolled his eyes. He had brought his brother here to take his mind off The Congregation of Purity, not to¡­ Wait. This is exactly what he wanted, it would probably even look more legit if Viracio placed the bet, a mob boss, testing out a potential bodyguard in the ring. With a grunt, he subtly reached into his pocket and slipped Callum one of the envelopes. "Your allowance, and a bit more fun money from V. If you spend it all, that''s on you."


    Now it was Callum''s turn to roll his eyes, just as subtly pocketing the envelope. "Just come get me when they start setting odds for your fight. I¡¯ll help Viracio place the bet"


    Bellamy gave Callum one last look before nodding, "Don''t wander off."


    Callum waved a dismissing hand before heading towards the bar to get a drink, "Now, to find that woman from earlier."


    ¡ª


    <h2> </h2>


    They were led into a back room, soundproofed. At first glance, it seemed to be a lounging area with long couches and tables perfect for causal conversation, with a rather gaudy chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but on the opposite side of the room was the entrance to the pit.


    <h2> </h2>


    The stairwell opened up into a dim, warmly lit basement, it''s heavy wooden doors a clear barrier between the haze of the club and the violent haze of excitement coming from the pit. The primal roaring of the crow, the music of footwork, the satisfying crack of a punch landing just right. The pit was alive with violence ¨Ca brutal back-and-forth where two fighters'' strategies slowly bled onto their opponents each round, each strike, each desperate move.


    The tension in the air was thick. It wasn''t just the fighting that gripped him ¨C it was the chaotic, raw, unchecked hunger of it all. Fighting wasn''t just a sport here. It was control. A way to claim what you wanted without apology, guilt, or conscience. As the match reached a fever pitch, each fighter thinking they were losing on points and trying for a knockout, the room surged louder still. Bellamy felt a deep pull towards it. Despite himself, it spoke to him in ways he couldn''t ignore.


    Over to the side of the announcer''s box, several men were taking and writing down bets, people gathering around the table as they struggled to tear their eyes away. The fight ended in a messy knockout, one of the fighters giving every last piece of energy in a hail merry uppercut that knocked out his opponent. A clamor of cheering excited shouts as groups celebrated and pale complexions in others as they realized exactly how much they had lost.


    A part of it pulled at his heartstrings. People blamed the poor and desperate all the time but seemed to forget they were poor and desperate. Sixty Ord could get a single man or woman through the month if they were savvy and had roommates. Most people made eighty Ord, most in the slums half that. If you needed sixty to live and made only forty ¡­ it didn''t take Callum to figure out the numbers didn''t match up and if someone had people to take care of. He''d rather not think about it. All to say, he didn''t blame them for their bets; he just knew that if that uppercut missed, they''d be the ones cheering, and the others would be pale-faced.


    It was the worst zero-sum game.


    The sobering remembrance brought him out of thoughts of fighting, and he remembered why he hated this place. Why he had refused to fight here again. He scanned the room, looking for the woman in the picture Viracio had given him, and he could feel a headache fighting through numbness as he saw her in the announcer''s booth counting earnings. There she sat, flanked on either side by muscled body guards. She was pristine with curled, overflowing golden locks paired with pale blue eyes that made her look equal parts welcoming and dangerous. Bellamy shot a dirty look at Viracio, who simply shrugged. "To be fair I said rough her up or embarrass her."


    Had he? Bellamy couldn''t remember the exact wording. Unless he wanted to wait in a back alley for the obviously powerful woman to leave with several bodyguards and then jump her, it didn''t matter. He had agreed to help Viracio, but if things got too intense, he wasn''t above bowing out early. He could deal with an angry Belemay. He wasn''t so confident about crossing the people backing up Kye ¨C they paid upfront for the job, so there was an implied expectation. So his goal, first and foremost, was to search for any signs of Harbingers here, or even those who risked the smallest doses of essence possible, just enough to give them a boost but not enough that they''d gain powers.


    So, fighting pits were a safe place to start his investigation. There was a small wooden bar on the opposite side of the betting table, and the floor was quickly cleaned and the next fighters brought in, causing the last bets to close. Buying himself and Viracio a drink, they sat at a nearby table, studying the fighters and discussing with each other casually.


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    "I used to fight here y''know. When I first got to Velnias" Bellamy offered through a sip of liquor.


    "I did actually. One of the reasons my people found you. Couldn''t figure out why you quit though."


    Bellamy hesitated, wondering if this was a time or place to share, but he''d likely be working with Viracio for a while. He had told the mob boss his requirements, he wouldn''t budge on those, giving him the reason why may help. "My opponent. They killed him after the match. He made a dumb bet, dead man walking anyways. I was undefeated. They told him if they beat me they''d let him go."


    Viracio''s face twisted in disgust as he slammed back his own drink. "You ever think about how it gets worse. Every year," he watched a wiry kid, not more than sixteen, duck under a clumsy haymaker. "The slums, I mean."


    Bellamy nodded, "I keep thinking we''ve hit bottom. Or that I''ve saved up enough finally for it to not be my problem."


    "And then the taxes increase, or the city stops taking care of those nice apartments at the edge of midtown that grow into the slums, or Spearhead finally fucks up and dies" Viracio nodded.


    "And the people in charge don''t even have to pretend. To them, it''s all just numbers. Slips of paper. A calculation on how much they can squeeze before someone breaks. Most days, I think about breaking them back.


    Bellamy nodded slowly, surprised by the gang leader''s earnestness. It wasn''t what he had expected, although everyone in the slums had a chip on their shoulder -- it just manifested in different ways. He still shot him a sideways glance. They both knew that line of thinking led to places neither could afford to go.


    A man approached their table, leaning in close and motioning with his head to the announcer''s box, "The boss says she''d like to talk to you," directing the comment at Viracio. They both stood up, and the guard put a hand in front of Bellamy, to which Viracio rolled his eyes, "He comes or neither of us do. Better to cut your losses here."


    The guard only nodded, putting up the cursory amount of resistance before walking them toward the booth.


    The announcer''s booth sat in contrast to the rest of the pit. Where the fighting floor was raw and bumpy, stained with blood, and intentionally difficult to navigate, this space was pristine. Tiled floor, clean lines, polished wood, faint scent of expensive cologne masking the smells of sweat and desperation. And at the center of it all was the woman who ran the show.


    Penny Devereaux


    The last name was spoken in hushed tones all over Velnias. Always with an edge of bitterness or fear. The Devereaux were one of the largest crime families in Velnias. They operated at the intersection of vice, finance, and information- an insidious trifecta that made them an underworld staple. Lots and lots of people owed them money, word was even some of the banks had taken out loans. They were, unfortunately, also who you went to when you needed a deal brokered. Technically, Penny shouldn''t have a fighting pit. Fighting rings were the domain of the Volkov Syndicate, which dealt in blood, but through backroom dealing and likely many kickbacks, they didn''t say anything about it and even supplied guards to keep it running.


    She leaned back in her chair, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she studied them. "Ah, Viracio. I''ve been meaning to have a word with you." She gave Bellamy a once-over, gaze trailing over him like just another pawn on the board, barely worth noting. She let out a short exhale through her nose¨C amusement? Disappointment? ¨C before flicking her attention back to Viracio.


    "And you brought a friend. How quaint." Penny spoke, expression icy and unmoving.


    Viracio didn''t bite. He just arched a brow, voice calm, detached. "Funny that. Every time I told you I was coming, you seemed to have some pressing engagement. Your family calling you uptown or something?".


    Penny let out a sharp scoff. "Hardly pressing. Just rats showing up where they don''t belong."


    Viracio gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Mmm. Shame you haven''t caught them yet." Then a beat. His smile didn''t reach his eyes. "Speaking of which ¨C glad I caught you."


    "Yes, let us talk. You''re costing me money and not just me. I think the only family you haven''t pissed off is the Holloway Group. So we''ve come to a consensus. You cease your operations, and we don''t turn the slums upside down and sick the hounds on your ass," she let the words hang."


    Viracio exhaled slowly. Almost disappointed.


    "I''m sure it''s unsettling."


    He met Penny''s gaze, steady, unblinking.


    "All those feelers you have in the city. The brokers, the informants, plants in the police, and the snitches in the alleyways ¨C yet somehow, none of you have a clue how I''m doing it. How I''m pulling your business out from under you while you''re still sitting in your chair."


    His voice was even. As if he was lecturing a class on the details.


    "Tonight, the Volkovs will sign the deal. If they don''t, the mill wakes up tomorrow to no workers. That''s already decided."


    He leaned in. Just slightly.


    "And when that happens? The first crack forms. Maybe you try to fix it. Maybe one of you panics. Maybe someone gets desperate and takes a shot at the wrong person. Then it''s just a festering powder keg."


    <h2> </h2>


    "And maybe you think that you can kill me before any of that, but then you''ll wake up next week and realize nothing has changed. The ball keeps rolling. Then the families will go to war."


    A pause. He let the silence work for him.


    "Maybe you''ll win, but then again there are five of us. The odds aren''t great."


    Then, he sat back like the matter was settled.


    Penny''s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. A tiny crack in the armor. But that was all it was, a tiny flicker, then it was gone. It was replaced by a slow inhale, her fingers drumming lazily against the arm of her chair.


    She let the silence stretch between them, forcing Viracio to wait as if she still had control of this conversation. But Viracio didn''t fidget. He didn''t fill the void. He just watched.


    Annoying.


    Penny exhaled, shifting her weight slightly. "Quite the little speech," she mused, feigning indifference. "You practice that in the mirror? Or do your rats repeat it back to you while you stroke their fur."


    She had wanted a reaction, maybe a twitch of the jaw, a clench of the hands, but Viracio just tilted his head slightly, studying her. Like he was measuring how long it would take for the realization to set in.


    The fucking audacity.


    Penny had spent her whole life knowing things before anyone else. That was the Devereaux family''s power¨C the whisper of a deal before it was inked, before it was glimmering in someone''s eye ¨C the shift in the underworld before the blood hit the streets. And yet. This little bastard had been moving under their noses, building something, and she still didn''t know how much less what.


    That meant he was a problem.


    And problems got solved.


    She pushed herself up from her chair, rolling her shoulders like the weight of the conversation was already boring her. "Alright Viracio. You''ve made your point. You''re clever, you''ve got your little operation running in the shadows and now you want us all quaking in our boots. I get it."


    She took a step closer, tone dropping.


    "But you''re forgetting something. This city still belongs to us. And in Velnias, power isn''t just about who moves the pieces ¨C it''s about who bleeds for them."


    She turned slightly, gesturing toward the far side of the pit. The crowd had been murmuring, the tension thick as they waited for the results of their conversation. They couldn''t hear any of it through the thick, bulletproof glass, but the sharp among them knew something was happening.


    She gestured down towards a seat at the side of the pit, there a broad-shouldered man studied the movement of the current fighters, his leg bounced slightly, and he was stripped to the waist, hands wrapped, eyes cold.


    Pavel here," Penny said, letting the name settle, "is a problem-solver. You''ve been costing me money, Viracio. So how about a show match between two bleeders. Your man," she flicked a hand toward Bellamy without so much as a glance, "versus my champion. A little entertainment for the night. If he wins, I get the others to sign your little union deal tonight and you get to keep running around like a particularly clever rat. But if he loses, we take his head and parade it around the slums."


    She let the weight of its hand, savoring the widening eyes of the little rat as he realized what she just proposed. She pressed him before he could compose himself, "do we have a deal?"


    Viracio didn''t get the chance to open his mouth before Bellamy cracked his knuckles, rolling his neck with an audible ''pop''


    "We do."

 The Underbellys Pulse [6] - Dance

    <h2>Dance</h2>


    Sarah thought about today''s events and the mission at hand. The newest ego, Jim was truly an excellent photographer. Viracio and the larger brutish man had walked through the door no less than three times to get the perfect shot. Completely unaware Jim got it on the first go around.


    She didn¡¯t understand all the incatrices of the plan. Seemed far too convoluted for her tastes, but the other insisted, so what was she to do. The others loved playing spy so much, it was strange. They were Brinn afterall, so it made some amount of sense to her.


    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 souls, 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. The big bad monster stalking the streets. Sarah was subtler than that, she hid in plain sight, and when she left none were the wiser. She was 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, barely, before planting his feet and turning to look at the platter of wine she carried.


    "And how much would one of these set me back?" he asked, more a statement than a question.


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


    He made a show of counting the glasses, tracing his fingers over each of them as he softly spoke, "1, 2, 3, 4, 7." He finally landed on all the glasses left, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a bundle of cash. "7 Ord for the drinks," he thumbed through a few more bills, "and another 10 for your company."


    A big spender, then. Just hit 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 waved his hand, "I''m aware of the difficulties on the job." The boy was obviously nervous, from the small way his eyes didn¡¯t know where to look, and his muscles were just a little too tense.


    "Oh" she let out a giggle, covering her mouth with a single hand as she did.


    Callum flushed beet red and straightened at the melodic sound. Sarah smiled, feeling some amount of pity for the poor boy, an invisible cat had obviously taken his tongue. She¡¯d help him along then.


    "And looking from afar wasn''t enough?" she took the opportunity to scoot closer, allowing their legs and shoulders to brush against each other, "you had to get a closer look?"


    He smiled, showing a neat row of teeth as he nodded slowly. "For you? Absolutely, but I also hoped you would make for good conversation."


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


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    He laughed. It was smooth and came out naturally, perhaps the first sound out of his mouth that didn¡¯t sound forced. "Please, I''ve never met an entertainer who wasn''t talented in storytelling, much less casual conversation."


    She liked this one. Respectful and a flatterer. Little green for her tastes, but 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 back the desire to pounce.


    "It''s rare," she mused, reaching for one of the wine glasses, swirling it before continuing, "to find a man who looks but doesn''t drool."


    "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 imposed by others.¡±


    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 raport, 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. "Hardly. Everyone obsesses over control, because it''s external.¡±


    ¡°And yet?¡± she led the conversation.


    ¡°Yet nothing ¡­ I think. People like to feel powerful¡±


    She hummed, reaching out gentle hand towards Callum¡¯s face, ¡°yet I control my hand.¡± She slides her fingers closer, pushing a curled lock from his ear, ¡°I control my lips¡± she almost started to straddle him, but by how red he was getting she decided that may not be the best idea. He might just bolt for the door. Instead she leaned in from the side to whisper in his ear. ¡°I don¡¯t think control is such a bad thing. At least in these cases.¡±


    Sarah heard some of the other egos, watching from her subconscious begin to laugh. She caught vague feelings of ¡°too cruel¡±, ¡°poor boy¡± and a vague feeling of disgust from Thryssa, but that much was to be expected.


    She backed up slightly, giving some space for the boy to recover as she hugged one knee playfully.


    To Callum¡¯s credit he mastered himself faster than Sarah thought he would.


    ¡°I think¡± he managed to get out, ¡°that you¡¯re right¡±.


    "Tell me Callum. You seem like a man who keeps his hands clean,¡± Sarah ventured, hoping that she had sufficiently disarmed the boy of his wits.  ¡°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." 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, ''Viracio, watched. Can¡¯t bet. You place it instead''.


    Callum stood, previous conversation with Sarah, completely forgotten. ¡°Sorry. I have to go.¡±


    Sarah stood, picking up the tray of wine from earlier, ¡°I mean, you¡¯re going to the pit right? They always need more alcohol down there¡±


    Callum, quirked an eye brow as he made his way through the club.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t I pay for those?¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be so sour. I¡¯ll give you an IOU later if you don¡¯t make a fuss out of it¡±


    ¡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. "126 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 won out, "a lot of money to bet on your brother."


    Callum nodded, almost solemn, their earlier flirting seemingly forgotten, "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. I¡¯ve made the bet. 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 weighed a few ideas in her head. Try to get in with Callum and gain hooks in that way or observe Viracio and scout out what he was doing. Hell, maybe it was worth trying both.


    "I mean. I''d be interested in watching. Plus 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¡¯m going to get a drink upstairs."


    Sarah sighed internally. She didn''t know how close Callum and his Brother were to Viracio. It was always better to have an asset than to need one. Better to get her hooks in and learn why Viracio was here tonight through other means.


    She reached out, pressing herself into Callums arm, ¡°Oh, are you actually going to drink this time?¡±


    He didn''t get a chance to respond. As they moved towards the exit, one of the bouncers, a Volkov enforcer, held up his hand, "No leaving once the first bets are placed. 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.

 The Underbellys Pulse [6] - Cage Match

    <h2>Cage Match</h2>


    Pavel was born in the slums of Velnias, where survival was its own currency. His mother was a sex worker. 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.


    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, more others than his own. 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.


    <h2> </h2>


    So when a Volkov higher up in a suit gave him an offer, he sold it all. Every last scrap.


    Pavel Cross took a shallow breath, and walked out into the ring, ready to bury yet another opponent. He¡¯d win, he knew deep down he would. Because that¡¯s all that there was left to him.


    <h2> </h2>


    <hr>


    <h2> </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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    "Bellamy," she called out.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    <hr>


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    "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!"


    <h2> </h2>


    He paused for dramatic effect. Bellamy appreciated the flare.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    Another pause. A breathless, silent moment.


    <h2> </h2>


    "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 Holloowwwww!"


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    "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?!!!"


    <h2> </h2>


    The air hit a fever pitch.


    <h2> </h2>


    Bellamy opened his eyes.


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    <h2> </h2>


    "BEGIN!"


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    But Bellamy was faster.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    It was enough.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    It would''ve worked, except for a heavy fist impacting the side of Pavel''s neck. 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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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?


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    But even that slight impact struck his head.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    An essence power.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    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 of his core.


    <h2> </h2>


    And stopped.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    Plus he didn¡¯t know how his own ability would interact with Pavels. If he squashed the man suddenly, would he have time to redirect the force back at Bellamy?


    <h2> </h2>


    Fine. The hard way it was.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    In short. Beatable.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    Good. Bellamy could work with this.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    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, forward, back, back, left, right, left right, leg kick, guy punch, weave, forward, forward, right, back, jab, jab, hook, jab, left, jab, forward.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    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.


    <h2> </h2>


    The champion made no noise. Just crumpled backwards.


    <h2> </h2>


    There was silence as Pavel hit the ground.


    <h2> </h2>


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


    <h2> </h2>


    Bellamy raised up his arms and screamed in turn.


    <h2> </h2>


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

 The Underbellys Pulse [7] - Price and Jackal

    <h2>Price</h2>


    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 months 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 his future to become what he already was. A fighting dog.


    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.


    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.


    <h2>The Jackal</h2>


    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.


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    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 ¨C where had he gotten a gun? ¨C 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. Was his ability still a bust? Using it directly on the creature might be more dangerous now even.


    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.


    Bellamy reached for his manifestation, for the core in his chest, pulling energy from it as he prepared¨C.


    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 manifestation. The ability at its core. Not Pavel''s understanding of it, and not how he used it, but the actual manifestation.


    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.

 The Underbellys Pulse [8]- Voices

    <h2>Voices</h2>


    <h2> </h2>


    A whistle eventually cut through the air.


    Then screaming.


    A sickening rip.


    Silence.


    During the initial chaos of the Essence beast appearing Callum had quickly dragged them away from the door and behind a bench into relative safety.


    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-'' Marla began, but was cut off immediately.


    ''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 eventually. She''s seen this plenty when one of us was in charge. First hand experience ¡­ maybe it''s time she learn a bit more.''


    "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, and it felt like there was a lump in her throat, but she forced the words out. "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."


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    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, jaw tight, shoulders tense, he rubbed his hands together in nervous anticipation, 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 not 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 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.

 The Underbellys Pulse [9] - Shoot First

    <h2>Shoot First</h2>


    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.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    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.


    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.

 The Underbellys Pulse [10] - Questions Later

    <h2>Questions Later


    </h2>


    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 flinching, 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 whistling 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.


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


    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.

 The Underbellys Pulse [11] - As Above

    <h2>As Above</h2>


    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.


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    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.


    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 Underbellys Pulse [12] - So Below

    <h2>So Below</h2>


    The Jackal growled, annoyed at yet another distraction from the two congregation members appearing 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 Jackal 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, if you¡¯d 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.


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    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.¡± Not the response he wanted. After all, they already had the brother dead to rights.


    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 in 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.


    <h2>Party</h2>


    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 make a move against the Deaureaxs and Volkovs at Penny¡¯s where they somehow knew that 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 at all.


    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 it looked like, 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.


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    It didn¡¯t matter. None of it did. He 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 had 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 ratched higher and higer.


    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 a dead end, an alleyway that randomly ended into a brick wall, and 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, as long as 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 to expose any part of himself to danger Bellamy chose to instead pull at the Essence in his core. 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 it was 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 thick with the remnants of old shipments, whose only proof was their lingering smell. The lights buzzed softly, so softly as to be considered part of the silence. A spotlight hung down from the ceiling illuminating two seats facing each other, a coffee table between them.


    Voices came from a backroom, but before Bellamy could investigate he became aware of another presence which wasn¡¯t there before. He turned to match gazes with a shorter man in dark garb, he was a half head shorter than Bellamy, 5¡¯9¡± if he had to guess, or at least he 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 leasts 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 him and the other by the chair as he 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 as 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, binders of paper in both of their 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, 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 my friends, are going to see an Opera¡±

 Ledger in Blood [2] - Good things come in Threes.

    <h2>In Threes</h2>


    Bellamy was no stranger to vaudeville theatres, silent movies, and even the occasional drama when money wasn¡¯t so tight ¨C which was most of the time before Spearhead up and died. Regardless, Bellamy liked to think of himself as artistically inclined and more than a little worldly. There was, apparently, a lot more that went into the Opera.


    ¡°A tux?¡± Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose as he set down the meatloaf provided on the coffee table.


    ¡°Well for one don¡¯t call it a tux.¡± Cassandra chuckled through a hand covering her dinner.


    ¡°Tuxedo.¡±


    The sharp featured woman cringed slightly, ¡°Just call it a dinner jacket when we go out.¡±


    Bellamy scowled, looking between Cassandra and the elephant in the room.


    ¡°Are they so. Preoccupied? To have so many names for a jacket?¡± the elephant with the head of flaming shadows spoke.


    ¡°Sorry. Did we miss the part where no tux -¡±


    ¡°Dinner Jacket¡± Cassandra corrected


    Bellamy wished he was fighting The Jackal again.


    ¡°Whatever. Is going to stop people from calling The Wardens as soon as he steps onto the street. Honestly. I¡¯m amazed you both even made it into the city.¡±


    Cassandra nodded rhythmically, ¡°a good point. I agree that would be the normal case, but I¡¯m also a Harbinger. That¡¯s more my domain.¡±


    Bellamy nodded, content to let the explanation end there, something Cassandra was obviously dissatisfied with, ¡°how about we do a classic manifestation trade. I¡¯ll explain my ability if you explain yours. We¡¯ll be partners for this mission after all.¡±


    Harbinger etiquette, there weren¡¯t many things that bound Harbingers together. The un-instrussive rules passed from Harbinger to Harbinger was one of the few things they all shared.


    ¡°I agree to a partial trade.¡± afterall, spatial manipulation was not a manifestation easily ignored. The closer a manifestation came to a universal constant the more dangerous it was, but also the more unstable the individual''s pseudo-core. In short, a lower threshold of becoming an Essence Beast. Wouldn¡¯t do any good for the mysterious pair with a powerful boss to learn of his ability.


    ¡°Fair. I call mine Conceptual Lattice. It allows me to create metaphors into reality.¡± She flipped a notebook towards Bellamy, tapping on the margins, ¡°look here.¡±


    Bellamy squinted, studying what she was pointing at. Which was a blank sheet of paper. He frowned. There was clearly something at play, surely she wasn¡¯t just messing with him. He traced the margin, up and down the page with the intensity of a scholar. One, two, three, four, five, six, eight, nine ten.


    It was difficult to explain, but Bellamy felt a pit in his stomach which mixed with an odd frustration. As if his mind was meld in place, unable to move no matter how hard he pushed.


    Another pass of the page, nine more seconds counted. Nine. Nine?


    He scanned again, and this time, caught the place where his thoughts skipped over. On the page, written in intricately beautiful cursive. ¡°Neat huh? I made the words be Lost in the Margins¡±


    It actually made him chuckle. Her manifestation was clever word play. His mind raced with all the ways she could use the ability and not for the first time he grew jealous of another Harbingers manifestation.


    ¡°Functionally,¡± he began his part of the trade, ¡°I can displace any two objects that I can see. Grabbing for an empty plate, Bellamy pulled at his core, teleporting the rest of Cassandra¡¯s meatloaf onto his plate.


    ¡°Hey!¡± a hint of incredulousness drifting into her voice ¡°I need the hours. It¡¯s rude to steal a fellow undead''s time like that!¡±


    She began reaching for the plate, but just as shortly he teleported it back onto her plate.


    ¡°IndeeD.¡± Johan¡¯s blue eyes bore into Bellamy. ¡°Our abilities are similar. You are truly blessed by The Unbound Dominion.¡± The last words caused Bellamy to reel back, as Essence coarse through his system. The words themselves were fine. The Elder Gods names had no power, at least not when reduced and translated as they were. No, it was Johan¡¯s voice. It snapped into focus when he said the name, no longer the far off tinny radio sound, but as if the shade in front of him wasn¡¯t covered in the smoke.


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    Did that mean something? He didn¡¯t know. Manifestations behaved in strange ways and their connections to the Elder Gods and the Titans of those Gods more so. In the end he decided not to question it.


    ¡°So what play on words gets Johan into the Opera with us?¡±


    ¡°Oh that¡¯s easy.¡± Cassandra started through bites of meatloaf. ¡°We¡¯ll all be using it. We¡¯ll just be another face in the crowd.¡±


    ¡°Alright¡± Bellamy nodded, ¡°so why the tu-¡± he caught himself as a tiny pinprick of blood appeared on his arm as Cassandra literally stared daggers at him. She at least has the honor to look abashed after realizing she had activated her manifestation.


    ¡°Dinner jacket¡± he corrected, ¡°at all? Seems we could get away wearing whatever¡±


    ¡°More complicated than that¡± she set her plate aside, giving Bellamy her full attention. ¡°It¡¯s easier to nudge a boulder off an eroding cliff than it is to move one on flat ground. The closer their expectations align the more I can nudge them.¡±


    ¡°The cult providing the outfits then?¡± Bellamy had meant it as a joke, but when Johan and Cassandra nodded as if it were the most natural outcome he was forced to consider it as truth.


    ¡°So this takes me to the other important thing I wanted to talk about.¡± She slid over a small stack of papers that she had brought out from the back room earlier. On it were paragraphs of clauses and chapters and sub chapters. A contract.


    ¡°I take it this isn¡¯t my ticket stub¡± Bellamy grunted, poking the stack of papers as if they were going to come alive and bite him.


    ¡°It very much is. Just not for the Opera.¡± Her voice darkened considerably, taking on an air of caution despite her earlier joviality. ¡°You said it yourself ¨C Johan sticks out. So do I, in certain ways you do too. At least if anyone¡¯s looking close enough. The best way to keep things going smooth is to make sure we¡¯re all on the same page. Literally.¡± She nudged the contract closer to him.


    Seeing his clear hesitation she continued, ¡°I like when myself and the people I¡¯m working with are bound by rules. I can have the word as law and it would bind all of us to the contract. This is the version Johan and I use, but take your time to look over it and make adjustments where you see fit. Afterwards I can go through it with everyone and we can iron out details. The Opera is tomorrow night, so we all need to sign it before then.¡±


    The explanation was made since, and with Cassandra¡¯s power making the metaphor into reality he could see the benefits. Yet his mind wandered, going back to the cold iron room where he grew up and of the deals some of the others made to get out. It made sense, but he still hesitated.


    He forced the thoughts out of his head and focused on the reality in front of him now. The way Cassandra spoke, the robustness in her voice, it was clear. No signature, no job. No job, no Callum.


    That¡¯s all that mattered.


    That evening, Bellamy returned to his flat, stack of paper in hand. He quickly set about making a simple stir-fry ¨C a dish popular in the Atrean Islet that Jun and Annie had taught him one night when the couple was missing home. The key, Jun had proclaimed, was boiling the long-grain rice just long enough so that the firm food became chewy. Apparently after cooking the rice the rest was up to interpretation and to quote the name directly ¡°As long as you aren¡¯t a psycho about it, you can basically throw in anything you want.¡±


    It¡¯s what made Bellamy fall in love with the dish. If he ever didn¡¯t know what to cook and had some leftover vegetables from the night before he could whip up a quick stir-fry and call it a day.


    After finishing the meal he separated a portion onto a plate, set it on the table, and knocked on the old lawyers door.


    It creaked open, Paul only peaking through slightly before Bellamy spoke, ¡°I¡¯ll trade you food for some advice.¡±


    The lawyer grunted and slid the door open just enough for Bellamy to catch a glimpse of the man''s modest decorations ¨C or rather the lack of. A small twin bed occupied one corner of the oddly shaped room, a desk sat against the opposite wall, and every other inch of wall space seemed to be taken up by layer upon layer of filing cabinets.


    ¡°You traded food for less rent last time I checked.¡± Paul muttered, not pressing an issue he didn¡¯t really care about further as he made his way to the table, ¡°Hope you¡¯re not in trouble with the law.¡±


    ¡°Nah. Not that unlucky. Favor for a friend in the Wardens¡± a bold face lie. One that Paul seemed to not believe for a second as he snorted which devolved into a cough.


    ¡°Sorry, go on.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a mission he¡¯s going on and they want him to sign a contract. I told him I knew a lawyer and that you could look it over and make any adjustments.¡±


    Paul scowled, jabbing the a fork into the stir fry, ¡°I¡¯m a lawyer, but I¡¯m not your lawyer, and I¡¯m certainly not your friend''s lawyer.¡±


    ¡°I agree¡± Bellamy raised his hands in appeasement, ¡°no one said you were, just figured one set of knowledgeable eyes were better than just mine.¡±


    Paul grumbled, but relented, ¡°Yeah I can look at it. My recent case hit a stand still anyways.¡±


    Bellamy nodded, ¡°good news?¡±


    ¡°Good news?¡± Paul partially spat. ¡°Never with The Grand Order. You find one contradiction, and they bury you in precedent. Not that they give a bat winged fuck about that. Precedence only matters to them when it goes their way.¡±


    A shrug is all the response Bellamy gave. He had long since become aware that The Grand Order wasn¡¯t there to help people. It would do everything in its power to keep the machine that was Kumere turning, but the specifics. The people caught in those grinding gears. To them those innocent were just numbers. Lubricant even if they died in the right place.


    ¡°So no progress on the safe haven laws?¡±


    ¡°No. We made progress. That¡¯s why they¡¯re scared and stalling for time¡±


    Bellamy raised a curious eyebrow, but the burning of the contract in his pack stopped him from continuing that line of thought. He slid the stacks of paper out and put them on the table, only sliding them closer to Paul when he beckoned the papers closer mid bite.


    Paul donned reading glasses and began flipping through the papers, skimming the contents before frowning.


    For his part Bellamy said nothing, content to let the man work until he asked any questions.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a great contract. Insanely conditional and colloquial. The clauses are a mess and there¡¯s a few cases I don¡¯t understand the language of, likely on account of them dealing with Essence. Do not tell me where you got this from. I do not need to know, and if I do know I may be required to tell someone as you ¡­ your friend is not my client.¡±


    Bellamy nodded. He had long since suspected the lawyer knew more than he let on, but no one fighting that hard for Verdan¡¯s would throw him under the bus, so he had tacitly accepted their unspoken agreement.


    ¡°But is it dangerous?¡±


    Paul took his glasses off, placing them on the table and considering the question. ¡°Potentially, but just in the areas that deal with Essence. I¡¯ll highlight the areas, so you can have another look.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate this. I want you to know that.¡±


    Paul grunted, ¡°Make me a steak next time then.¡±


    Bellamy laughed, a genuine bellied laugh as he stood and was about to head to the door before Paul called out again.


    ¡°Is Callum alright? I read the paper. Sounds like you two were involved with some unfortunate stuff.¡± He hesitated, choosing his words, ¡°haven¡¯t seen him in a few days.¡±


    Bellamy swallowed, not turning back around to look at the lawyer. ¡°Yeah he¡¯s fine. Staying with some friends. Whole thing really scared him.¡±


    With that lie he walked back out from his apartment and back towards the warehouse.

 Ledger in Blood [3] - Little Lost Numbers

    "Little Lost Numbers"


    Step inside.


    Shut the door.


    Not the children from before.


    Wind the gears


    Turn the key


    Hands of clock where heart should be.


    Soft as silk and cold as stone


    Don''t let the little ones cry alone.


    March in twos, march in threes.


    Listen close.


    No one breaths.


    -- A nursery rhyme found scrawled on a wall of a destroyed Coutaman settlement.


    <hr>


    Callum came too with heavy chains weighing down his arms and legs, each chain ending in a cold iron clasp. They sounded of soft chimes that echoed through the dim room ¨C with each ring taking more and more of the fog that shrouded his thoughts.


    His surroundings came into focus bit by bit. Stone walls. A single barred window. He was lying on a small raised bed. The room itself was small, enclosing him in a space no more than a five-by-ten square foot holding cell. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and mold. It irked him. Smell was one of the only senses he had left and for it to be tortured so was disheartening.


    ¡°Finally awake.¡± A voice, deep and jovial, broke the silence.


    Turning Callum found himself facing the doors to the cell, and beyond it was a giant of a man, a head taller than even Bellamy. His broad grin seemed at odds with the cold indifference in his eyes, a dissonance that instantly put Callum on edge.


    He reached for his Essence, trying to stir the whirlpool like substance that raged in his core, but it rebuffed him. Tore and nipped at the pathways where it would otherwise roam free. He could feel it, its potential ¨C wild and dangerous ¨C but it lay beyond his reach, as if it belonged to another and not him.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t if I were you.¡± the man said, his tone conversational as he moved closer to the bars, leaning in to get a good look at Callum. ¡°A helpful invention by the Puritans. For a sect so morally bankrupt they really did create something useful.¡±


    Callum¡¯s thoughts snapped into focus as his voice rasped out, almost unrecognizable even to himself. ¡°That¡¯s what the shackles are for then?¡±


    The man smiled, it still not reaching his eyes. ¡°Indeed. It¡¯s impossible to stabilize the essence of an undead. It¡¯s what makes your kind so dangerous. If your psuedo-cores have nothing to do they¡¯ll tear themselves apart. But it is possible to suppress the Essence.


    Callum had many questions now that he had recovered part of his whits. Namely Where he was, what he was doing here, and how he got there. The last thing he remembered was running through the alleyways with Viracio and Sarah. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember the details of that night. They were easy to recall, almost in perfect detail, up until he left the club, at that point the memories fell through his fingers like sand.


    He must¡¯ve been silent for far too long, as the man took it as his queue to continue. ¡°My name is Ridley. Pity our paths cross at opposite ends.¡±


    ¡°More so for me than you¡± Callum muttered, forcing a chuckle through cracked lips.


    Ridley¡¯s gaze softened a touch. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see your situation hasn¡¯t broken your spirit. It will serve you well on the march.¡±


    Callums blood ran cold as a chill yanked at his spine The implication of everything settling in his chest. Where was he? In Congregation Custody. Who was the man? A Congregation Member. What did they want? To kill him presumably, through their accursed ritual in Dej Khov.


    ¡°Bad luck,¡± Callum muttered, the words bitter in his mouth. Hopelessness built around his heart and core, seeping into his bones through a chill.


    ¡°Good luck, I¡¯d think.¡± Ridley countered, his voice even, as if he were consoling a child. ¡°You get a rare chance to rid yourself of the original sin, Callum. From what I saw that night ¡­ you deserve at least that much.¡±


    ¡°Oh eat bricks,¡± Callum snapped, defiant anger the only thing he could muster.


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    ¡°Please. Anger falls flat on your frame.¡± Ridley sounded almost amused, ¡°Is there anything you need in the meantime? To make your stay more comfortable until we depart? Besides the key to your cell, of course.¡±


    A scowl formed at the edges of Calum''s lips, and they twitches violently for a moment before he mastered himself, ¡°Daily news papers would be good. And water.¡±


    The large man on the other side of the bars nodded, ¡°Easy enough.¡±


    There was a short period of silence as Ridley walked away, returning a short while later with a chair and a paper cup filled with water.


    ¡°Your brother,¡± Ridley began as he sat, his tone turning serious, ¡°Bellamy Hollow. We looked into you both. The Church of The Watcher helped us sift through your records since you arrived in Velnias. Fairly standard ¨C exemplary even. Model citizens. Even under closer scrutiny¡±


    Callum raised an eyebrow, already dreading where the man was going with his speech. ¡°But what intrigued me was when we looked at what you two were up to before you arrived. We dug deeper, but found nothing. No records. Not a trace of you or your brother anywhere on the Peninsula.


    Callum shook his head, a wide bitter grin returning to his face. ¡°We¡¯re from Coutama you fool. War of Bloody Veins ring a bell? We fled¨C¡±


    ¡°I am well aware of the war.¡± Ridley interrupted, his voice a harsh growl. His gaze hardened as he stared off into some far off place. ¡°When the undead tried to carve the land. When they stooped low enough to ask that blighted crown ¨C your King of The Dead City ¨C for help. To unleash horrors untold upon all indiscriminate.¡±


    He took a breath, regaining his composure as he looked to Callum, young eyes meeting young eyes before Ridley deflated.


    ¡°But I suppose you went through the same.¡± Ridley seemed to struggle on how to continue for a moment before composing himself, ¡°But what doesn¡¯t add up is this¨C¡± Ridley leaned forward, his voice lowering. ¡°Not even the priest of The Great Watcher can see you. Now or in the past. You¡¯re both ghosts.¡±


    Callum¡¯s heart skipped a beat. His hands subtly moved to the shackles, testing their hold. His focus split between the chains, his Essence, and the revelation Ridley was so close to. That he desperately wished the man would not stumble upon.


    ¡°The Congregation thinks you might be part of the Eternal Family. Maybe even a powerful player in this game. The Cardinal wanted you and your brother dead immediately ¨C regardless of what The Wardens say. But I saw what you did that night. The courage you showed for a woman you hardly knew. That¡¯s not the mark of a monster. So here I am, with my Bishops blessing, offering you a trade¡±


    Callum fought to not breath out a sigh of relief. To maintain the tension in his muscles as if he was afraid still. They had come to the wrong conclusion. Good. ¡°What trade is that?¡± he asked.


    Ridley¡¯s eyes gleamed, energy, pride, and hope welling within them, contrasting the words pouring from his mouth. ¡°If you march willingly. If you walk the path that ends in your heart beating once more. Renounce unnatural undeath and join the public ceremony your brother will be considered an asset to remain untouched indefinitely.¡±


    Callum absorbed the words, then let out a hollow laugh. ¡°That¡¯s .. awfully lenient for The Congregation. You must understand, it¡¯s hard to believe. Especially when your ceremony likely ends in me being dust. Deals between dead men never stick.¡±


    ¡°The Bishop said you may be apprehensive about the deal and told me to tell you the following for their reasoning, and then you¡¯d believe them.¡±


    Callum simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for Ridley to continue.


    ¡°Batch 826.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°Well? Oaklen asked, revealing pocket aces as he raked in chips from Sigismund. ¡°Did he agree?¡± The question was directed at Ridley who walked out of the holding hall, wooden chair in hand.


    ¡°He has.¡± Ridley sat as he picked up the cards and began shuffling.


    Sigismund let out a great, heaving sigh, running a hand through his now-clean ¨Cnon bloody ¨C blond hair.


    ¡°This is not right. The Bishop plays too many games. That man is dangerous ¨C too dangerous to be kept alive. And his manifestation. If he turns into an Essence Beast, who knows what damage it could do.¡±


    ¡°I tend to agree¡± Oaklen nodded, ¡°though I do admit¡­ Do you know what this Batch 826 business is? Either of you?¡±


    The three exchanged glances, but when it was clear no one had an answer Oaklen continued.


    ¡°Well the wording has piqued my interest. The word batch suggests a group ¨C something organized and experimental. I doubt the kid helped run whatever it is, too young, and he can¡¯t be tracking them ¨C after all the march could lead to his death. So why would just hearing the name push him to agree to the deal?¡± He leaned back, tapping a finger on the table.


    ¡°And?¡± Sigismund pressed, having placed down his cards, his full attention on Oaklen now.


    ¡°It leaves us with two strong possibilities. Either he saw something related to Batch 826, or he¡¯s personally tied to it. Family relation, a target, or even part of the batch itself.¡±


    Ridley cupped his chin, ¡°His manifestation is unique ¨C tied to a universal constant. But I fail to see why this is important. Whatever Batch 826 is the Bishop and the Cardinals already know what it is. Our role is to collect undead. Nothing more.¡±


    Oaklen shrugged, ¡°Well I was thinking, if she didn¡¯t want us to know she wouldn¡¯t have given you that information. She would¡¯ve come herself. The Bishop loves her games, so I assume this is her giving us the unofficial go ahead.¡±


    Ridley considered the words for a moment before nodding, gesturing for Oaklen to continue, ¡°I think it¡¯s a personal connection. He agreed too quickly for it to be anything but personal, and it¡¯s a batch. There may be loose ends.¡±


    Sigimund caught on first, grimacing as he spoke, ¡°Undead with Manifestations close to universal constants¡±


    Oaklen nodded, letting the implication sink in.


    Sigismund stood, donning the jacket he had stored on the other side of his chair, ¡°The Church of The Watcher may be able to dig something up. Bellamy may be off the table, but if Batch 826 is something dangerous it¡¯s best to destroy it now.¡±