Angelo
April 10th
Evening
Southern Docks
Tomorrow was the day a dragon died, and I found myself more excited than I've been in months.
It wasn't often that those words left a human's mouth.
That Sunday evening saw Sal and I preparing ourselves in the relative warmth and comfort of our Docks apartment, the moonlight peeking in from the large glass window that gave an admittedly pleasant view of the Boardwalk.
I'd already brought my Lucis back home, stowing it away safely in the on-site parking garage, and with it came a portion of our wholesale batch of potions - ten health and five fire resistance, leaving us with fifty more health potions and another five fire resistance cooling back in the laboratory. Surprise, surprise, la Statua did not need to sleep or eat, so he was able to stay working around the clock to brew more potions - the only reason why we were able to concoct so much in only two days.
I had only stopped in occasionally to oversee his work and experiment a little with my alchemic knowledge. Otherwise, I was hard-focused on my spellwork, pushing my new Erudition perk to the limits as I chipped away at the wall of magical calculus, which would see me unlock the next level of spells in my Spellbook. Day by day, hour by hour, the previously indecipherable text was becoming legible, dribbling me portions and fragments of arcane equations that my newly souped-up brain utilized to strengthen my already impressive grasp on my First and Second Level spells.
I was nearing a breakthrough—I knew I was—but I needed more time purely dedicated to studying before I could decipher that next page. Literally just one free day.
The night before a mission like this was not that time.
Outside of alchemy and Wizard study, I'd also entertained the thought of selling off the rest of our meth from Skidmark. He hadn't made a peep since we'd pressed him for a key of crystal, but considering the ground was still sealed where I had buried Mush alive, I knew he wasn't onto us yet. Word on the street was that he had a nasty run-in with some ABB thugs and was laying off of the Docks for a while, which suited me just fine.
The only thing that held me back from taking advantage was how fucking hot the streets got after our fight at the drug den.
Heroes weren't swarming the Docks or anything, not for two small fry bastards like us, but I usually sought out my dealing spots via melding with Corvo - and he'd nearly been killed by a bolt shot from Shadow Stalker while combing the Western side of the Docks. Considering she didn't give chase when he flew away, it was clear that she was just taking potshots at any black bird she saw-
But it also meant that the PRT knew even a little bit about my powers, most likely both of ours. We were on their radar.
Because of that, I kept my deals brisk and efficient, only selling to familiar faces a few dime bags at a time. After my most recent perks, I wasn't necessarily afraid of any one hero, but I was most definitely a cautious person up until I knew that I could act with impunity.
I was only able to sell about an ounce, making a little over 1300$. It was only a small portion of the roughly 18 ounces we had left, but things were quickly escalating to the point where running baggies of crystal af 2 AM myself simply wasn't feasible.
We'd need runners. But, for now, that extra money was enough added to our immediate funds for something very, very important-
Like, say, an eight-hundred dollar, two-piece suit a couple shades darker than royal purple, with subtle yet striking black and silver accents. It couldn't hold a candle to my eclectic collection of expensive Armani suits back in the other world, but the tailor was able to fit it nice and snug for my broad shoulders - though, fortunately, my Divine Physique didn't add too many inches to my trim waist. The slacks were made from some stretchy material that I'd custom requested, and the black dress shoes were surprisingly comfortable.
An ankle-length hooded cloak, a color of black so dark it almost absorbed light, was thrown around my shoulders and secured with a thin silver that draped loosely around my chest. Secretly, it was my favorite purchase - purchased from a hobby shop in the mall, run by some nerdy cosplayer. It hasn't been for sale originally, having been hanging on the wall behind the front counter to dry the raven's feathers aesthetically glued onto the thick cloth…
But I was a charismatic shopper. That, and two hundred dollars cash quickly changed his reluctance into grim satisfaction. Black leather gloves, a few rings, and - of course - my gothic Warmaster's Bracer finished up the ensemble.
And so, I ended up with my first costume. Probably a lot more pricey and aesthetically put together than the average non-sponsored cape, but what could I say? I had a hard-on for dramatics.
Altogether, if I had to categorize the look, I'd call it… Warlock Mafia Boss-chic? A blend of luxury and forbidden magics.
Oddly enough, it worked.
The creepy silver Baldwin mask I'd purchased from the same hobby shop stared at me from my reflection in the mirror. It wasn't my first choice, honestly - I'd wanted something a bit more esoteric and royal - but until I could commission something, it would have to do. Fortunately, it followed the established color scheme.
"Hexlord," I tested the name on my tongue, my voice slightly muffled behind the forty-dollar mask. It sounded sexy. "… Not bad."
I turned around, slipping the thin mask off of my face, and glanced over to where my brother was fiddling with his own pile of clothing. "You finally come up with a name, Sal? I can guarantee the PRT have already shat out something infinitely worse than what you can imagine. Like Sword Man. Or Board Buster."
"A name…" My brother hummed, head tilting back and forth slightly, as he adjusted his own costume. "I was thinking about Margrave, but that might come with too many connotations and connections."
My brother hadn't quite gone for the same look as me. I was trying to style myself as a magical maestro, a sort of dark-clad villain with a suave, silky-smooth aesthetic. However, my brother's abilities just didn't lend themselves to avoiding combat the same way I did with my proclivity for ranged engagements, and his costume was designed accordingly.
IE, we both expected it to be toast after the first real melee engagement Sal got into.
Polished black combat boots led to tough, well-worn green fatigues sourced from an army surplus store. A similarly drab and tan t-shirt went underneath a leather trench coat, with a white, sturdy opera mask covering the upper half of his face, nose, and forehead. It lent him a decidedly neo-renaissance militant look, but who would be able to tell if he could pull it off?
Neither of our outfits was what I'd call tremendously designed for the rigors of Cape life. From what I understood, the Protectorate and Wards had the advantage of intense funding and Tinker support to produce sturdy costumes. We had to make do with significantly less durable arrangements and hope for the best.
Though, to be fair, I had the fortunate addition of Mage Armor.
"The other was Cavalier, which isn't really as villainous or scary sounding," Sal admitted, experimentally windmilling his arms, testing his range of motion. "Then again, you can be a supervillain without a super spooky name."
"Super spookiness is overrated, anyway. We're businessmen before we're B-rated hero movie supervillains," I snorted, walking over to the couch and unceremoniously dropping over the back. A swish and flick of my wrist saw a Mage Hand floating into the kitchen to grab me a cold beer. "Margrave… the German equivalent to Marquis, no? You looking to grab that frizzy-haired chick's attention by cosplaying her pops? Kinky."
My Mage Hand tossed me my drink from the kitchen, and I easily caught it.
"First off, she doesn't know Marquis is her dad," he shot back, rolling his eyes at my antics. "There's not a whole lot of noble titles or cool names. Viceroy, Monarch, Don, Capo, Soprano, Fortissimo… You got any thoughts or suggestions?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I think it can work. Sounds suitably badass, and America's education system is so shit that your average person won't immediately draw that comparison. They'll first just think of it as some sort of title or rank."
What I didn't mention was the fact that I enjoyed juicy drama, and if what he'd told me about this 'Carol Dallon' was true, there'd inevitably be some measure of butthurt wafting from her direction.
However, another thought came to me quickly, this one sober. "Then again, naming yourself after the title of German military governor in the Nazi capital of the East Coast… 'prolly isn't the best idea."
A darkly amusing one, but for the worst of reasons.
My last point was enough to make him grimace. "Alright, I guess I'll throw Margrave to the side for now. Cavalier is a bit better, I think, until I can imagine of something better."
My lighthearted smirk was back as I cracked open a cold one. "You're one of those 'weaboos', right? Name yourself after an anime character. Like 'Levi'-… actually, nevermind."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "What do you want people to think of when they think of you, or hear your name? For me, it was my magic, and then it was my presence. My authority. So, Hexlord."
As if emphasizing my point, my Mage Hand floated over and climbed over my back, attaching itself to my body via a firm grip on my shoulder. Moments later, it faded away into motes of translucent purple magic.
"What I want people to think about me…" He paused, eyes closing as he placed his hands on his hips. "Let's go with…Erlking. It's kingly, sort of, but also a dangerous supernatural monster."
I was familiar enough with the folklore, if only barely. The name sounded fairly cool, but-
"You want people to think of a dangerous monster when they hear your name?" I asked, bemused. "They kill children, fratello."
Of course, I was just fucking with him. I doubted most people knew enough about the Erlking to fucking cancel him over its bedtime stories.
The groan that escaped him was deep, as he threw up his hands. "Alright, fuck it, I don't care anymore, I'm going with Cavalier. It's the first option I made, I'll live with it."
Messing with my brother was one of the consistent joys I had in this new world, and I took pride in my ability to do so. Poking and prodding him to a new reaction was pretty easy once you figured out all the little tells and signs, and I'd had over a decade to study.
Still…
"Cavalier is a good, strong name."I nodded seriously, before taking a long sip of my cold beer. As the bitter liquid went down my throat, I sighed and looked over to Sal. "But let's go over the plan again, before it gets late. Tomorrow night, unless something critical occurs that throws us completely off of our game… We are assassinating Lung, slaying the 'dragon', and weakening the ABB's hold on the Docks. First thing's first, findi-"
[NEW QUEST: DRAGONSLAYERS]
[KILL LUNG!]
[REWARD: 1x Minor Dominion Perk, 1x Moderate Might Perk]
I swallowed my words, a wry smile forming on my face as the oddly succinct Quest materialized right in front of me. Judging by Sal's grin, he was privy to the same thing.
"The System is definitely granting Quests based on our desires and ambitions," I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. "Works out beautifully for us, though. First thing's first - finding the bastard. You said he's scouring the Docks for the Undersiders when it all goes down?"
"Yeah," Sal nodded. "They hit one of his places or something, I can't remember the exact reason. Taylor stumbles onto him, misunderstands who he's ordering his minions to kill, and immediately goes on the attack."
He paused, a small smile coming over his face. "If she hadn't made any noise, the guy would have never known she was there. Met her the other day at the library, and it's…hard…to square the warlord she'll be with the dorky girl she is now."
I blinked, lidded eyes watching the smile on Sal's face carefully.
A disbelieving noise, halfway between a snort and a laugh, escaped my chest. "No way you like her. No way you like Taylor fucking Hebert, brother."
"What? She's cute, in an adorkable kind of way," he shrugged. "And she knows what I'm talking about when I rant about YA novels, so that's a big up in my book. If I can get her to start reading manga, she'd be perfect."
I couldn't exactly blame him, could I? Sal had always been the type to go for the wounded, lost kitten types, and Taylor Hebert was probably the biggest example of such in this world other than Amelia Dallon. I could see the appeal in wounded dames, but my taste often steered in the direction of bombshells - whether that be blonde-haired and Supergirl coded, like Victoria, or someone more bratty and gothic.
Cold and murderous.
Vengeful and violent.
I was just a man, after all. I liked a dangerous, resourceful woman with big tits, a big ass, or thighs and biceps muscular enough to crush my windpipe. Possessing all of the above was the quickest way for me to pay your dowry.
"Fine," I lazily waved it off, returning to important matters. "We should move out as the sun starts setting, so about seven thirty, and see if we can find either Taylor or Lung before shit fully pops off. Assuming shit goes smoothly, and we're not discovered by a fucking cockroach or something, we should be able to sweep in and ambush him when he's all loaded up on Bug Girl juice. We pop potions, you move in with your blade, and I'll support with spell and gunfire from the shadows. Anything I'm missing?"
The amount of spells I was able to memorize had grown since I'd fought Mush, and there were a few particularly nasty ones I wanted to try out on a high-rated Brute like Lung. And, more sadistically, I was looking forward to seeing just how much my new bracer empowered my more destructive magic.
Hardly subtle, but I was a fucking Wizard. I reserved the right to toss around fire and ice whenever I damn well wanted to.
"Nothing that pops out to me," Sal agreed, shaking his head. "I'll try to finish him off with the Soul Eater so I can get what I can from him. Hopefully, a parahuman's soul is worth more than a normal one."
"You're getting into philosophy now, dear Sal. That may be God's way of saying it's time for rest," I smirked, standing up and giving my brother a two finger salute. "Buona notte. Try not to stay awake for too long."
"I should be saying that to you. Goodnight, brother."
Touché.
I headed up to my bed, knowing full well that I would be up until the wee hours of the morning studying magic.
We'd done all the prep work we could, otherwise.
At the end of the day, there wasn't much else we could do but go in and make shit happen. We'd gone over plan after plan already, along with a couple backups just in case shit went South, but everything always led back into the same strategy - shadow one of the main players, wait out the battle, and strike when Lung's at his lowest.
In one night, we could weaken the ABB enough to really start applying pressure and recruiting. The vacuum his death leaves behind would pave the way for the hooks of our criminal empire, if we played our cards right.
And I was ready. Oh, was I fucking ready.
Salvatore
April 11th
Evening
The Docks…
It'd be a lie if I said I wasn't a little concerned.
So far, we hadn't had much in the way of an impact on the world. Little things, here and there, but nothing so seismic that the foreknowledge I had was null and void. Things were on the railroad right now, clean and safe, if we didn't touch or prod anything significant in the next few days.
Which was precisely why we were doing our best to cause a trainwreck, with no survivors. Killing Lung was a net positive for the world. Any benefit he could have on the final battle was diminished by the two of us just existing and the sheer potential of our connection to the System. We'd be ridding the world of someone who used their strength purely for dominion's sake without any kind of deeper ambition or drive.
I'm sure there were portions of the ABB that weren't untenable to keep kicking as an organization. But in its current state, it was just unacceptable, whether from its position as a competitor or just the things that it did. All of that stemmed from Lung, from his allowance of those unsavory elements and what his protection allowed them to do.
That wasn't even mentioning the act task of practically killing him. There wasn't a single guarantee that Bitch's dogs would come in with the steel chair like in canon, and provide the help needed to put the bastard down. All we knew with a reasonable guess, was that Taylor was heading out and the Undersiders were going to be roaming about.
This was terra incognita, and it scared me. Though, if I was being entirely honest about my feelings, it was exciting too.
Fighting Lung wouldn't be like fighting anyone else in this city. It'd be the greatest challenge we'd faced up to this point, and a part of me was raring to get into the thick of things.
I had my sword handy, and Angelo had a satchel filled with health potions in durable canteens. There wasn't much in the way of prep work to be done, with our costumes completed for now and our capabilities as heightened as they could be before the night's events. Now it was just a matter of finding the trouble we were hoping for.
As usual, the task fell to Corvo. That creepy bird freaked me out, but Angelo swore by his Familiar, so I gave it the benefit of the doubt. Even beyond my reticence, it had proven to be useful for scouting. That didn't mean I liked it hanging around, with those beady, suspicious eyes.
"Your little birdie spot anything yet?"
We were hanging out in one of the many grimy alleyways that populated the Docks, sticking to the shadows as usual. Angelo - or, Hexlord, now that we were in full costumes - blew out a small cloud of cherry-red smoke from behind his mask before answering.
"Not seeing anything in this area. We might need to keep movi-"
He paused mid-syllable, his eyes glazing behind the holes of his mask. A second later he was pushing himself off of the wall, flicking his cigarette into the nearby dumpster. "Big ass group of ABB marching down the street, roughly in our direction. Twenty-five, maybe thirty. They're probably about two blocks away, moving from the Northern sides of the Docks."
Hexlord's voice turned cooler, more professional, but I knew my brother enough to recognize the telltale traces of excitement lurking beneath the surface. "Guy in the front is about my height, shirtless, with tattoos and a metal mask. Has to be Lung. No sign of the Taylor broad though."
His arms crossed over his chest as he spoke, but I knew he was feeling for the grips of his pistols - strapped snugly to the sides of his fitted suit by a new leather harness. Combined with the spellbook strapped to his thigh, the dark satchel on his hip, and the skeletal bracer girding his gloved left hand, he looked like something out of an urban fantasy novel.
It would have made me chuckle if not for the seriousness of the situation.
"She should be on a rooftop, but I don't know when they'll cross paths with her," I admitted. "Make sure to give us a bit of a buffer with the distance from the thugs. Her bugs aren't exactly… discriminant."
I'm not even sure if flaring my Cursed Energy would be enough space to act as a buffer between myself and her bugs. All I knew for sure was that I didn't intend on getting stung to death anytime soon, nor was I keen to try and make her turn that biblical plague of insects on either of us. It didn't matter how souped-up Angelo's cantrips were or how big my sword was when her power was just that good.
"When he starts going up a wall, that's when it'll be best to intervene, I think." Preventing him from getting to Taylor and taking him by surprise with the Soul Eater sounded like a fine enough plan.
Did I expect it to go off flawlessly? Hell no. This was Earth-Bet; nothing ever went off that smoothly.
Rather than respond with words, Hexlord grunted his acknowledgment and sank back into his odd Familiar half-dive. For almost a full minute, there was only the sound of the Brockton Bay nightlife filling the air as I waited impatiently for an update on what was going on. It was a cold night, and although my costume was fairly warm, the bite of the wind wasn't necessarily pleasant on the skin.
When Angelo jerked back into awareness, the sudden movement nearly surprised me. "They stopped a block away," he said briskly, jerking his head towards the right side of the alleyway. "Skitter is on the rooftop of a two-story building near them. Thing is, she's-"
Panicked screams ripped through the air.
FWOOOOOM!
A conflagration of fire, red-hot and angry, lit up the night sky. It flew so high that we could see it from a block away, hidden inside of an alley, and the screeches of pain and agony quickly joined that of panic and fear. Hexlord let out a quiet, nearly silent whistle - equal parts impressed as it was pitying. "... Yeah. There's fucking bugs everywhere in the street. Lung is pissed."
He was slowly making his way down the alley as he murmured to me, hands still resting on his pistols.
"You ready for this?" I asked him, hefting up my blade, all while I swirled that flow of CE inside of me. I could feel the dreadful build-up of adrenaline in my veins. "It's gonna be intense."
Reaching into my coat, I didn't waste any time guzzling one of the potions of fire resistance. In the games, they lasted for about thirty seconds. In real life, that was rated to last a lot longer, in actual minutes. By the time the potions ran out though, I imagined we'd either have won or have died.
Hexlord's response was nonchalant, backed by a very audible grin hidden by his mask. "A life without excitement is shit. Let's kill a fucking dragon."
I saw him press a glowing hand against his chest, his body glowing a dull blue for a moment, before he unholstered a pistol and gave me a mocking bow. "After you, Cavalier."
All I could do was give him a toothy smile, lifting my sword and rushing into the fray. The two of us could tear up the distance something fierce when we had a reason to cut loose, and this qualified. It was a blitz down the street, toward that conflagration of fire. Past the goons that were being assaulted by a swarm of stinging, biting bugs, the kind that made my skin crawl as we gave them a wide berth.
It almost felt like I could feel my higher brain functions beginning to shut down, one by one, as I threw every reasonable concern into a little box in the back of my mind. Where we were going, we didn't need anything as banal as logic to see us through the day.
Lung, at least one and a half feet taller than normal and covered in burning silver scales, was just beginning to climb up the wall when we turned the corner and saw him, practically skidding across the concrete. Maybe he thought that we were just more of his men, rather than related to the interloper on the roof that had interrupted his murderous plans. I was just thankful he didn't see us coming.
Lowering myself into a crouch, I visualized myself more like a rocket than anything else. Pressure was building in my legs to a boiling point, and they were practically trembling before I let it go. An explosion of force that cracked the concrete underneath me, as I was sent sailing through the air like a rocket.
With my current level of strength, I'd still get my ass beat by most of the Grade One sorcerers in Jujutsu Kaisen. But here and now, against a plain ol' bruiser like Lung? This was enough.
The Buster Sword was a gleam in the night as it sank into Lung's side, a feral roar erupting from his maw as he was tackled off of the wall. We fell from the wall together, my blade stuck in his flesh, while the man's head whipped to my direction, eyes burning like coals. No words, no sound, save for the eruption of flame that engulfed me.
It was almost too much for my CE Reinforcement, with how spontaneously warm I felt from that initial gout. Blessedly, that potion was doing work right now, lessening the strain against my CE just a little more. But I wasn't going to be able to handle this onslaught forever, not with my current reserves.
That being said, this wasn't a fight where I needed to be stronger than Lung. I didn't even need to be smarter, as the two of us slammed into the street. We both rolled to our feet, scant feet from one another, as I lifted my left arm, already coated in the inky blackness of Soul Eater.
All I needed to do was outlast Lung. Who would win? One autistic alien supercomputer and its handpicked meat puppet, or my abomination of an arm designed to consume everything as a living embodiment of entropy?
DING!
The sound of a bell, too loud and all-encompassing to be anything but magic, suddenly rang out in the street. It easily overpowered the sound of screaming from the thugs, bringing with it an unsettling feeling of slight nausea that built in the pit of my stomach. Somewhere above me, I heard Corvo screech, right before Lung bent over at the waist and gagged. His gleaming, armored scales rippled across his skin, revealing hived, warped flesh for only a moment before they resettled. Sickly, radioactive-green bile belched out of his gaping mouth and spilled onto the street.
If that wasn't an opener, I didn't know what was.
I crossed the distance between us and slapped my hand against his bare chest. Already I could see the wound I'd given him rapidly closing, his height beginning to pick up before my very eyes. If that was all I had to focus on, I probably would have been shitting bricks, because Lung was on a very different level than Mush or Merchant druggies.
That was how I felt before I activated the Soul Eater and began understanding why it had such a blatant warning about exhaustion.
Imagine you were in the void of space, in an enclosed environment. The only thing separating you from the cold suction and explosive decompression was a tiny cork topper that you could remove at any time. Now, picture pulling off that topper just a bit, and you'd have an idea of the infinitesimal fraction of the unleashed hunger.
The Soul Eater didn't just want to eat Lung's soul, it wanted to devour everything he had. His mind and memories, flesh and bone, the smallest iota of viscera that it could reach. To say that I was in control of it was, perhaps, a very tenuous statement. It was more like I was along for the ride, my very being taxed as I was a conduit for a force of ravenous consumption from beyond this plane of existence.
Lung didn't die, he didn't have his soul ripped out immediately, or his recollections turned to Swiss cheese. But nobody could mistake the inhuman roar that came from him as anything other than pain, more like a beast than a man. And I felt a vitality enter me, thick and sweet, even as my spirit was being tested by using the Soul Eater.
I'm not sure if his power knew what to do. It was torn between healing the horrendous, rending damage of blood being drained actively from his body, trying to figure out how to stop whatever necrotic bell-borne spell that made his stomach purge itself, all the while attempting to fight off the toxin from god knew how many of whatever Taylor had bite the man. Brown Recluses were among the cast of creepy crawlies responsible for retarding his healing factor, I believe.
As focused as I was on Lung, I only caught glimpses of Hexlord as he calmly strided along the edge of the street, pistols flashing and barking with each pull of the trigger. 9mm rounds were clearly not enough to put the dragon on his ass, but he never missed a shot, and whatever perk he'd gotten that empowered his spells clearly did the same to his weapons, too. No matter how close I was to the hulking dragon man, each bullet unerringly found its way into Lung's cranium, battering against his scales hard enough to draw blood and piss him off.
That being said, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it was a little unsettling to have those shots come so close to me.
The ringing of bells filled the gaps between reloads, and each time, Lung would puke up more and more bile. Eventually, he learned to just scream and gag through the pain.
After a short minute, Hexlord stowed the pistols away completely and drew even closer, hands flashing a sickly green in the darkness as he pelted Lung with orbs of bubbling, corrosive acid. They actually melted at his scales, allowing me the room to go in and batter them apart with reckless abandon.
Corvo trilled from the sky, circling the street that had quickly become an inferno of chaos and fire. The other ABB goons were either unconscious in the street or had gotten too close and was burned to death by Lung's flame.
For a short while, with the two of us double-teaming the dragon from both sides, things seemed… not perfect, but effective. He bled freely from multiple patches of desiccated, flayed flesh where the scales had been weakened by bubbling acid and pried away like the shell of a lobster by my claws, fist, and blade. Hexlord and I worked together like a well-oiled machine, magical damage and support balanced perfectly with my tanking and constant onslaught of bruising attacks.
The thing is, we couldn't put him the fuck down.
The bastard had grown drastically in those brief couple moments of high-octane scrapping - he stood multiple heads taller than me now, his mask long since melted away in place of an actual, draconic maw that looked like a mix of a toothy maw and a man's drooling snarl. His whip-like tail of burnished silver lashed rivulets across the melted and shattered blacktop, and ten-inch claws reminiscent of talons sought to carve my flesh from my body. Fire coiled around his scales like writhing snakes, warping the very air around his body.
There were no more words exchanged now. His speed and strength were slowly, yet steadily increasing, and so was the heat from his fire. Even with the insect poison fighting his regeneration and Hexlord's corrosive acid eating through his scales, the fucker was still growing. Still escalating. And even with my left arm's constant sapping of health, I could feel my Cursed Energy reserves dropping at an exponential rate. I was taking more and more damage, and I'd need to start guzzling from my potion canteen soon.
DING!
Lung's bestial form stiffened and stilled mid-swipe as my brother's cantrip rippled necrotic energy through his body and across his scales, and I took the opportunity to juke low and then high into his guard. My reinforced right fist, surrounded by a flickering blaze of greenish-black, crashed into his rippling, curdled midsection, silver scales the size of kitchen knives slicing into my knuckles and splintering apart.
"FuCkEr!"
I wasn't fast enough to avoid the tail.
Its bulk slammed into my hastily thrown-up forearm with the force of a speeding vehicle, and I could feel the Reinforcement of my Cursed Energy shudder, and then break apart. Bones snapped, a burst of hot, lancing pain shooting through my brain before I felt my body simply cease to be standing on solid ground. I careened through the air, broken arm flailing boneless by my side, and there was a moment of odd, disembodied weightlessness before-
BOOM!
Wood and drywall turned to splinters and dust as I blasted through the wall of a building on the other side of the road, and somewhere in my flight path, I lost grip of my buster sword. My brain rattled around in my skull as I slid across a dirty, broken glass-strewn floor, knocking over empty shelves and kiosks as I dug my clawed left hand into the linoleum to stop my momentum. In the midst of battle, there was no time to anguish over pain. I didn't have the luxury.
I scrambled for the half-melted health canteen attached to my belt, relying on every iota of willpower to fight through the pain and temporarily recenter myself. Burns, and breaks and god knew what else was done to my body, and my costume, from that blow. My CE felt...weird, if blessedly still present, spiking in response to the decidedly negative emotions such agony brought to the forefront.
The healing potion tasted like burnt cherries and iron, nearly boiling my throat as it went down, but the relief in my arm was instant. Blackened, charred flesh flaked off my chest and was regrown, the bone in my forearm cracking as it knitted itself back together, and countless lacerations from molten silver claws healed over without scarring. It wasn't complete, but it was enough to get me back on my feet.
In moments, I was jogging out of the same hole I'd made with my body, scooping up my fallen sword as I ran.
What I saw when I stepped back outside was nothing but pure chaos.
It had been difficult to see in the heat of battle, but this section of the street was finished. The road had turned mostly to melted slag, puddles of acid corroding into sections not already scorched apart by Lung's heat. Buildings closest to the cape fight were blackened from wild shots of flame, and windows shattered from the kinetic force of the explosions.
With me having been temporarily thrown out of the equation, Hexlord was left to weave around large, controlled blasts of crimson-hot fire. Each movement was unnaturally graceful and swift, even for him, as he twisted and rolled around the much larger and bulkier Lung. His feathered cloak smoldered and smoked along the edges, but he seemed fine otherwise. Thank fucking God.
A massive bolt of flame and heat left Lung's scaled palm while my brother was mid-roll, flashing forward too fast to dodge, but Hexlord's own gloved palm lashed forward and batted the fire away. Instantly, half of the fiery attack was absorbed into his hand, and the remaining cinders exploded against the rest of his fire-resistant body.
Hexlord's head twisted in my direction through the smoke; the upper corner of his silver mask melted down to reveal one glaring eye.
"About fucking time," I heard him hiss through gritted teeth, right as he ducked beneath a vicious swipe of Lung's claw and disappeared in a swirl of twinkling, silvery mist.
I thought he was referring to me, but as I raced to reenter the fray and bring the hurt back to the dragon-
There was a sharp, piercing whistle.
And a massive shadow flew overhead.
"YOU-"
Whatever Lung was about to scream was cut off by hundreds of pounds of spine-covered, raging, salivating muscle and viscera slamming him hard enough into the ground to force cobwebs across the pavement. The creature was the size of our fucking van, if not bigger, and it snarled like a beast as it ripped and bit into Lung's body like the scales were nothing but an appetizer.
The dragon-man attempted to crack his clawed fists into the side of its snout, but the ground beneath him abruptly surged up, the scorched concrete breaking apart to allow a large, five foot tall hand of compacted dirt to lash forward and bodily yank his arm down into the soil. Hexlord was on the move again, walking from out of the darkness of a nearby alleyway, words of power emanating from behind his mask as he gestured his hands like a master conductor.
Unfettered and practically frothing at the bit, the massive beast continued its mauling.
This was our chance, and I'd be damned if I let it pass us by.
The bloodied steel of my massive blade glinted wetly beneath the moonlight as I dashed forward, forcing CE through my legs to blast me up at least twenty-five feet into the air. Aiming a falling weapon swing in real life wasn't nearly as easy as video games made it out to be, but with Lung temporarily restrained by magic and monster dog, I flexed my strength and arced my sword down straight for his gleaming, elongated neck. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Hexlord gesture in my direction with his left hand, and suddenly-
I felt bigger. Maybe not as big as Lung, but growing at a breakneck pace from whatever spell my brother had just cast on me. Nearly bigger than Bitch's dog. Heavier, more powerful, like I could crush anything in my path.
And in that moment of clarity , I could feel something. A pulse of power, of CE, from that pitiful amount inside me, surged forth. The world was bleeding to a razor's edge through the distant pain and the haze of concern: me, Lung, and my recovered sword.
What seemed like streaks of dark electricity sparked off my arms and blade as I raced forward, right before the impact of my swing against with Lung's neck. Normally, I don't think I would have had the strength to really cut through his silvery armored scales, or brave the heat that surrounded the gang leader. Here and now, though?
I was in the zone.
"BLACK FLASH!"
Fundamentally, Black Flash was a distortion in space when CE was applied to a strike within a millionth of a second of the physical impact. You couldn't count on it, not really. When comparing a regular strike to one that was Black Flash enhanced, it was night and day. Because in that moment, I felt the flow of energy coursing through my body like never before, the texture of my CE, the handling of how to control that flow…
More than ever, I was forced to realize that I was only touching the surface of Jujutsu's capabilities. That, more than anything else, made the gritted teeth on my face turn into a rictus grin, as the Buster Sword began to cleave through Lung's neck. Most people thought that the damage was only multiplied by 2.5 times, but this was a bit of a misunderstanding and mistranslation.
The damage boost wasn't multiplicative; it was exponential, raised to the power of 2.5.
It didn't seem like the type of thing that would make a difference until you did the math. For example, your average human punch delivers around one hundred pounds of force. With the boost from landing a Black Flash, that was raised to somewhere in the ballpark of 100,000 pounds of force.
With the magical size added to my body by Hexlord's spell? I couldn't even comprehend the raw strength that was behind my blow.
My sword sank into his flesh, and I felt it meet the resistance from those beefy muscle fibers and armor. But at the end of the day Lung was just meat, nothing I couldn't cut through if I tried, as I put my entire being entirely on the simple act of cutting down Lung. The pain from his eruption of flame didn't matter, or the way my heart was racing to the point of discomfort. It was me and the eruption of black sparks that propelled me forward…
Until the blade was hitting air once more, and the sound of something heavy and metal slapping wetly against the ground sounded out. My enlarged weapon cut through scale, bone, muscle, and finally slammed against the concrete with enough force to create a crater, cracks arcing out from ground zero and splitting into the sidewalk.
I was barely cognizant, breathing hard as the flames guttered out and my size reduced itself back down to normal. My grip on my sword tight, as if I wouldn't be able to pick it up if I dropped it. But I was alive and judging by the draconic head on the ground?
Lung wasn't. That was all that mattered.
[QUEST COMPLETED: DRAGONSLAYERS]
[LUNG SLAIN.]
[REWARD: 1x Minor Dominion Perk, 1x Moderate Might Perk]
I was barely paying all that much attention to the pop-ups from the System, as their rewards came unbidden.
The first of the new abilities was simple. I had a pretty broad working knowledge of how to use sleight of hand like your average, nonmagical magician. If we needed a way to make a living, I was fairly sure this would work. It was the second perk that was a bit more complicated.
My left arm felt tingly for a few seconds, which was all the warning I got before it's flesh began to warp. No, that wasn't enough of a description. It burned as my flesh warped and transformed underneath the Soul Eater, ridges and claws pushing out, bones cracking as they were reinforced and changed into new and unusual shapes.
I fell to my knees, breathing hard as I looked down at my left hand, only to see something I didn't recognize. Glowing lines cut through the inky blackness of the Soul Eater, revealing hints of the red scales that laid underneath. The burning was fading, but the sensation of something being profoundly different stayed the same, as well as a bit of instinctive knowledge on using my new arm to the fullest.
Naturally, this is right where my brother drew closer to my kneeling form, distracting me from staring at my new arm. "Ding dong, the dragon's dead. Aye, good cucciolo…"
Hexlord stalked forward, each step slow and confident as he held his hands up towards the snarling monster dog glaring down its bony maw at us. His pinky finger twitched, and the large, battered hand of dirt relinquished its grip on Lung's decapitated body, turning into a shower of blood-covered soil that dispensed across the ruined pavement.
"Heads up, fratello. Look strong," he murmured, his one exposed eye flickering towards me. Above, Corvo dove lower to lurk overhead. "We've got company."
Clearing my throat, I got to my feet, reaching for my canteen to take a quick swig of delicious, healing potion. Whoever we were about to meet, they seemed to have my brother on the defensive, which meant that I needed to back him up.
"Well then," I grunted. "Let's meet the looky-loos."
There wasn't much time to take in the new perks - not with Armsmaster and Miss Militia rapidly closing the distance between them and the melted, destroyed battleground that had once been Murdock Street. Corvo had spotted them from on high, but judging by the sound of their roaring motorcycle engines, we had less than a minute to get the fuck out before they were here.
I trusted my spellcasting against one of them, maybe both if I could get them together for a Second Level Shatter. Similarly, I knew that my sharpshooting trumped MM's wholly and indubitably. But Armsmaster had power armor, a mechashift halberd, and over a dozen little gadgets fitted into said halberd and power armor that were possibly designed solely to counter the new kids on the block.
Us.
I was brave to a fault, and slaying Lung had my murder boner going something crazy, but we had our win for tonight - there was no reason to get greedy and stupid, and risk being defeated because of it. The truth of the matter was that I wasn't 100% certain my remaining spells would do the job before Miss Militia blew us sky high, and I could tell with just one look that my brother was running on empty.
A plan. We needed a plan. My eyes darted left and right, but the dog had already bounded away onto the rooftops a mere few seconds ago. The Undersiders were fleeing in the direction of the Trainyard, which, coincidentally, was the same rough area our lab was based in.
I made a few quick calculations, and decided that we weren't getting away by speed alone. Not with motorcycles on our asses and Cavalier running low on juice.
"Get ready to play the game for a bit, brother. MM and Armsy, 6 o' clock." I whispered, gripping the long, wicked-looking daggers that the System had blessed me with. I could feel the magic thrumming through the glass-like metal, reacting to my own, and knew without a doubt that I could channel my spells through them.
So I began channeling one in particular. There was no DM to stop me from making a spell my held action.
"We talk, same as the first day we arrived. When I give the signal, run into the alleyway directly to the Northeast. It leads into a bunch of side streets too fucked for a motorcycle to effectively swerve through. If they follow, we'll lose them."
I spoke quickly and quietly, because they were at the end of the street now, two motorcyclists revving their gas as hard as they could. We would not have made it further than maybe fifteen feet before getting sniped down from afar.
My brother seemed a little dazed, admittedly. He kept looking down at his arm, understandable since it had taken something of a monstrous evolution after we'd slain Lung. I was faintly aware that the System could change us, but so far I'd been fortunate enough not to receive anything that was all that life-altering from it.
Cavalier couldn't say the same.
He gave me a slow nod, putting his sword behind his back, still cooling from Lung's blood. "That sounds fine," Cavalier agreed, tone low and subdued. He wasn't okay, yet now wasn't the time to have a breakdown, and he knew it. Until we got somewhere safer, I trusted he wasn't going to have a freakout. That'd have to do for now.
When the heroes reached us, it was with very clear trepidation that they dismounted from their motorcycles, popping the kick stands damn near in synchronization before they approached. Miss Militia's 1911 swapped gloved hands twice before morphing into a ball of writhing green energy, shifting into a military-grade shotgun with a underbarrel grenade launcher.
That was a lot more intimidating than the azure blue halberd that Armsmaster extended from the small of his back. The spark of electricity at the topmost spear point seemed paltry in comparison to the hellfire I'd just been dodging with my Gunsong, but I knew better than to underestimate the blue Power Ranger. Real life was a lot different than the books.
"Identify yourselves, now." Armsmaster took point, his voice coming out loud and authoritative. His visored head swung from Lung's corpse back to the two of us, as if he was having trouble drawing the connection.
I glanced between the two, my head tilted ever so slightly to the side. "Hexlord, and the man behind me is known as Cavalier. Beautiful night we're having, no?"
Cavalier gave the two veteran heroes a lazy wave. "Yo."
"You killed Lung," Miss Militia cut through my pleasantries before they could even begin. Her low voice sounded impressed and more than a little wary as she gripped her shotgun tighter and shot a dark glance at her partner. "They killed Lung. Are we sure-"
"Height and silhouettes match the footage and the files. The sword is a dead giveaway, as well," he replied in a disgruntled tone, hefting his halberd and aiming it directly at me, considering I was a bit closer to them than my brother was. Dimly, I could hear voices coming from his headset, but they were too muffled for me to pinpoint what they were saying.
"Hexlord, Cavalier, the two of you are wanted for eight cases of voluntary manslaughter, intensive property damage, possession of illegal substances and associated paraphernalia, and now… the death of Lung, who, while infamous, did not possess the sanctioned Kill Order." Armsmaster rattled off crimes as if reading from some list, his voice stiff and more than a little cold. "If you holster your weapons and come with us peacefully, there is a non-insignificant chance you'll be heavily questioned and offered a chance to serve this city in exchange for a lighter punishment. If you resist-"
My tired yawn cut him off before he could finish.
I smacked my lips, feeling the dry mouth from lack of hydration beginning to set in. "You'll be forced to resort to drastic measures, hm? Use your halberd to poke us really hard until we surrender. I have heard it all before, amico. We can dispense with the bullshit."
"Granted, I don't think they could make us surrender," Cavalier sighed, tittering softly. "They had trouble with Lung, let alone his killers."
It didn't seem as if they knew that we had unwitting assistance with killing lung - namely Monster Fido and Super Bug Girl. Bitch's dogs had made a hasty escape, for pretty obvious reasons, and I had to imagine Taylor had done the same as well. If things came down to a brawl, it was going to be us against them, and though there was potential in snitching on the other teenagers, it also went against my pride and code as a professional criminal. We would handle this like Bucciaratis.
Besides, it was only a matter of time until the streets talked. Bitch hadn't been very subtle.
Armsmaster and Miss Militia shared another glance as Cavalier's words seemed to fully soak into the atmosphere. Whatever they were thinking, I knew that giving her enough time to decide to use that UBGL was just fucking asking for trouble. And we'd gotten our names into the conversation, so no longer was being stuck with stupid titles like 'Bird Man' and 'Sword Guy' a worry. Normally I would throw more of my acerbic wit in the faces of the opposition, but arrogance was an insidious killer.
Plus my spell was ready.
I whistled, Corvo squawked, and Cavalier jerked upright at the obvious signal.
"Gelare."
"Shit-!"
Miss Militia tried to line up a shot, but my body was much, much faster than hers, even as combat-trained as she was. Armsmaster was in a better position, with his halberd already aimed towards us, but the grappling hook attachment grabbed nothing but air as I crouched down and stabbed Lich Bane into the ground. Magic surged from my body, powerful, roiling, and icy cold. It froze my tongue, forcing my breath out in a fog of mist, and the crackling of hoarfrost stuck to the sleeves of my suit as what could only be described as a hailstorm overtook the street.
The temperature dropped in an instant as thick, glassy blue tendrils of ice materialized from the cloying body of mist and fog that filled the air in front of me. The tendrils surrounded the two Protectorate heroes like branches from a tree, coiling around their limbs and freezing into their armor and clothing. Icicles formed in Miss Militia's hair, sticking to Armsmaster's exposed goatee, and frost and slush slicked down any exposed skin and turned it an agitated pink.
Neither the halberd nor the shotgun was spared, frozen solid in blocks of ice twice as wide as the weapons themselves. The duo was stuck fast by the cold magic, the parts of their body not frozen solid by the ice shivering violently in place. Behind them, for at least twenty or thirty feet in a cone, the road - previously melted and scorched by Lung's fire - was frozen over solid.
On my left hand, the Warmaster's Bracer felt warm, as if satisfied by its performance. I'd experienced its magic amplification during the battle with Lung, and it had been just as toasty then, too, when I was throwing around orbs of acid the size of watermelons and sounding my Toll the Dead.
Standing back up, I met the heroes' unblinking eyes, knowing they could hear me, but could do nothing until either the ice melted or they managed to free themselves.
Unbidden, a smile formed on my lips. "We make our father proud with the slaying of an angry dragon, and the inevitable subjugation of his undeserving kingdom. Let's hope the PRT feels the same, yes heroes? Buonanotte."
Leaving with the last words? Classic villain move. I was made for the role.
Twisting around on my heels, with Lich Bane held firmly in my grasp, I sprinted for the alleyway that Corvo had spotted before, following in the wake of my brother's footsteps. Corvo swiftly dipped down at my mental behest, cutting its talons into the shoulders of my feathered cloak as I moved.
"Don't you think you were a little dramatic?" Sal prodded as the two of us beat feet away from the crime scene. "The bastard could be right behind us after thawing through your ice. Tinkers are bullshit like that."
"What would you have had me do, fratello?" I replied as I beat my feet against the ground, pushing my Divine Physiology as far as it could go. The alleyway blurred around me as I pushed myself, and I could feel Corvo holding on for dear life. "If we worry that Armsmaster has counters for everything, we lose our nerve before the battle even begins. Live and dream a little my friend."
A chuckle escaped my lips as I ran, the wind flowing through my hair granting me a feeling of freedom that matched the pleasure of success that suffused my being. Lung was fucking dead, his gang would either fall in line or simply fall, and if the System was to be believed, I was now a fucking magical Adonis. Tinker thawing equipment or not, as long as we escaped, tonight was a monumental success.
Corvo trilled his agreement from my shoulder as we took a sharp turn into another narrow side-street. I pulled beside Cavalier, chancing a glance behind me.
So far, there was no revving of a motorcycle, and we were putting a lot of distance between us and them. I wouldn't feel completely safe until we were safely locked inside of the laboratory, but things looked decent so far.
"How much do you think you can push your CE before you're bone dry?" I asked him, speed-boosting spells ruminating in my brain.
A rueful chuckle came from my brother, as he reached out for me with his right arm, hooking it into my left. "To get away? I won't need any now. This eyesore is good for one thing at least."
Lifting his arm, I hadn't gotten a chance to get a good look at it before, not with the distractions that had been going on. Now, though, it was easy to see how drastically different it looked, even underneath the warped, black surface of Soul Eater. Scaled, red ridges erupted from the length of his arm, tearing his left sleeve to pieces. At the end, his hand was clawed, unmistakably inhuman.
I'd gotten fortunate enough to become more attractive. Whatever had happened to Sal had turned him distinctly more monstrous, and the process hadn't seemed painless. Opening my mouth to question him on it, Sal instead chose to hold out his palm, pointing to the ledge of a nearby rooftop. And then-
A ghostly, spectral shot forth, armored from the brief glimpse I caught of it. I found myself being pulled along with my brother's arm around my chest, shooting through the air as we were all but yanked up and onto the roof by it. Monstrous as it may have been, working as a functional grappling hook to lift us was a helpful power.
"It's called a Devil Bringer," Sal helpfully informed me as we continued our rooftop flight. "There's some other tricks, but nothing useful right now.."
"Woof," I grunted, quickly regaining my balance on the uneven stone of the dilapidated roof. Parkour wasn't something I'd done since I was a little kid running amok through the streets of Sicily, unwilling to settle into the role of mafia heir completely. However, old muscle memory kicked in fairly fast, and Quick Learning ensured the feeling was natural. "Ugly fucker, it is, but I've got to admit - it looks badass. We'll-"
I cut myself off as we leaped onto another rooftop, tucking myself down into a tight, controlled roll and bouncing back up into a swift sprint. "-Need to test it out, see what you can do with it."
Compared to me, Sal generally had more leisurely time with the parkour. I wouldn't say he was more physically capable, but his new arm was making the jumps a lot easier. Each time Sal triggered it, he was just yanking himself across the gaps with a spectral arm that'd taken a firm hold of something on the other side.
"Know what the plan is going to be from here?" Another jump, with my brother making easy use of his newfound addition. "There's still Bakuda, and she'll be sticking bombs inside people pretty soon, if not already."
Oni Lee wasn't a problem, not really. Bakuda was still very much a danger to both of us the longer she went without being handled. She was a crazy bitch from how Sal had described her, completely and utterly at ease with placing bombs in the head of innocent civilians and becoming a regional fucking terrorist.
In some ways, she was scarier than Lung. Bad for business. And, on a more moral scale, it was fucked up in every way, including Sunday.
Regardless, even my enhanced brain had trouble formulating good plans while fleeing via rooftop.
"Right now?" I chuckled, leaping onto a fire escape and bounding off of the railing. "Getting the hell out of dodge and recouping after killing Lung. Anything after that's gonna be gravy."
"Yeah, we're going to have the ABB on our ass, the Undersiders are gonna be pissed we made them patsies, and the Protectorate is going to try to tear us a new one with overwhelming numbers." Which was…fundamentally true.
One problem at a time.
With nothing more needing to be said, Sal continued spider-manning his way across the rooftops with me light and nimble on his heels, my childhood foundation of parkour slowly but surely turning into genuine skill the more I put foot to stone. The Docks didn't change as we moved toward our base - it was still the dilapidated cesspool that it always was - but brownstone apartments and cluttered housing slowly but surely transitioned into abandoned factories and scrapyard warehouses, a sure sign that we were getting closer.
As soon as our fucked up factory lab was in eyesight of Corvo, I intentionally underpowered my next bound and fell down into the alleyway below, crawling down the grimy wall for a few feet before kicking off and landing, in a crouch, in a luke-warm puddle of water.
Sal's descent wasn't much better. He used his demonic arm as an anchor point to pseudo-rappel down, but it wasn't all that neat. That sort of use wasn't something he'd gotten used to yet.
"Home sweet home," I sighed, stepping out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk.
Now that I wasn't fleeing at maximum speed and leaping across rooftops, I became vividly aware of my new state of being - and how my suit, despite going through the most asinine crucible of wear, tear, grime and fire… was perfectly spotless now, the dark purple and black material seeming to almost shine with the quality of its material. My shoes were similarly resplendent, and my cloak, as I reached down and touched the hem, looked and felt like it had been fashioned with real raven feathers. It was silky soft and spotless, shrouding my body like midnight black wings.
Definitely not natural. I thought back to my perk, Amazing Chests Ahead, and smirked. No more Prestidigitation baths needed for my clothes, it seemed.
In comparison, Sal's formerly pristine costume had been through the fucking wringer. We'd expected as much, given his role of dealing with Lung head-on was fraught with that sort of danger. His outfit was torn, burned, and destroyed or ripped in ways that exposed a bit of skin. If it weren't for the fact that we'd stocked heavily on potions, he would have been a broken, battered wreck.
Fortunately, my brother only looked somewhat messy and a little out of sorts with everything that had happened. It was not an unfair trade, given the threat we'd been up against or what had happened to him. At one point in the fight, I'd seen him chucked through a storefront, only to come sprinting back out mildly wounded.
"Do we have gauze or anything?" Sal asked, breaking me out of my thoughts. "I…can't turn my arm back, so…we'll have to keep this under wraps."
I clicked my teeth, resting my hands in my pockets and looking him up and down. My nose curled. "You… are a sight. Unfortunately not - all we've got at the factory are drugs, potions, and rats."
I turned as I walked, effortlessly transitioning into a slow, backward stride. "Probably for the best we lay low here for tonight. Maybe there's a curtain or blanket inside we can use to wrap your arm up until we can head out and grab some bandages."
"That's about the best we can hope for," he sighed, stretching out the massive, intimidating limb. "It's strong, don't get me wrong. Just wished I'd gotten something that didn't stand out as much."
It didn't take us long to reach the rusted gate of our factory base. I turned and scaled the chain link fence with supernatural agility, flipping over the rusted barbed wire and landing on the other side. "It's unfortunate. You'll have to masquerade as a burn victim 'till you can roll something that lets you hide it." I admitted. "Until I dedicate time and money to figuring out the creation of magical items, or you roll something fitting, bandages are all you've got."
"Nah, it's cool. I'm in my chuuni era now too," Sal joked. "Now I just need an eyepatch, and I'll be all set."
"Think I've seen that one. Arifureta, no? Hehe."
Corvo was not idle as we made our way back to safety, of course - he circled the factory, a constant shadow in the night sky, searching for even the slightest flicker of movement that would imply that they'd been followed back to their base by either the Undersiders or the Protectorate. Outside of the occasional aimless hobo slumming on the sidewalks, or stumbling through alleyways, our 'territory' was clear of villainous or 'heroic' company.
He continued his constant, tireless vigilance, even as we made our way inside and secured the padlocks behind us. I tugged my mask off as soon as we stepped into the dark, mildew-scented atrium.
"Be honest with me," I said, turning around and looking Sal directly in the eye, "How much different do I look, on a scale of 1 to 10?"
I could tell things were different just by sliding my tongue along my teeth and touching my skin. My teeth were straighter than before, perfectly straight, and any lingering baby fat or small, minute asymmetrical alignments in my jawline smoothed out and sharpened into a chiseled cut. I'd never in my life been someone you could call 'ugly' or 'unattractive' - my pretty boy looks had been a big reason why I'd pulled so many older women in my previous life - but I could tell that this was a big change, different than when I'd gotten Divine Physiology.
That had simply cleaned up my skin, removing a few health-related blemishes.
This one, though? This one was magical.
Putting his hands on his hips, Sal began to circle me, looking my new physique up and down. "Hmm…" He hummed softly, head tilting from side to side. It was a habit he'd picked up from Ma', who had the same general mannerisms from when she was trying to think over something.
"I'm going to say that you're probably a bit past supermodel hot now. Like, an actual 10 out of 10. It's…probably bridging into the Stranger rating territory, like a Stranger 0, as it's affecting how you present yourself to the world," he continued. "But they'll probably slap you with a higher Master rating since we're villains."
"Can you dampen it…?" He asked. "Because if you can't, there might be some problems."
I hummed, closing my eyes. The text from the perk came back to my mind as I tried to… ease down my appearance, but there was nothing in my body that felt like a trigger or dial to control it, unlike other perks I'd gotten. I opened my eyes after about ten seconds, and shook my head.
"No dice. It shouldn't fuck with the mind, though. The perk just describes it as 'a painting made reality'," I frowned, scrunching my brows. "Explain it to me. Is it something notable, like Victoria's Aura, or…?"
If it was, that would be a bit of a problem. But considering the System hadn't fucked us with disingenuous descriptions before, I was willing to bet that it wasn't anything so overt.
He shrugged. "It only seems aesthetic so far. Though, since it's making your clothing and items all pretty, too, there's something funky and magical going on. Nothing that I think should be a huge deal. Hopefully."
Only aesthetic.
I can deal with 'only aesthetic'.
"That's fine then. Check it- these are from my other Perk," I sighed, reaching into the loops of my belt and drawing out Lich Bane.
Now that I could see them in the relatively safety and peacefulness of the factory, my previous description of them being 'made from glass' seemed accurate. The hilts were made from a burnished golden bronze, a dark gem inlaid in the center of the guard, and the blades themselves were fairly long for daggers - twenty inches, maybe, and made of a transparent, glass-like material that gleamed a darker silver closer towards the tip.
It almost seemed to hum in my hands, and as I waved them gently in front of me, I noticed a sheen of raw, chaotic crimson magic follow the slow movement like a heatwave.
"They're called Lich Bane, and they are powered by my magic. As I cast spells, or use magic in general, they become charged. Says they can disintegrate bones once that charge is unleashed." A hooked smirk pulled at my lips as I peered at them closer. "They seem pretty energized already. I played a bit of League of Legends, so it's cool to actually hold these in my hands…"
I hadn't been very good at the MOBA, but I'd used Lich Bane before. It was one of the strongest AP items in the game.
"Do they keep the energy between usages, or does it eventually dissipate?" This was a good question since if they worked as limitless batteries for magical energy, I could simply continuously dump spells into them to charge them up. If not, I wasn't sure what the drop-off rate was.
"Didn't say. They still seem charged from Rime's Binding Ice, and that was about fifteen minutes ago."
I palmed both daggers, flipping the hilts around in my hands and feeling for the chaotic magic in the blades. Lich Bane reacted to my intent, vibrating even more against my palms. That ghostly red heatwave became an angry, violent, blazing aura of crimson. The glass of the blades came undone on the edges, fractals and shards floating freely in that fiery blaze, ready to tear apart whatever target I sank the daggers into.
I swallowed at the projected lethality, and drew back on my magical feelers.
The blades settled.
"So, how do they feel? You're getting all the sweet gear, so you'll have to tell me." He had the Buster Sword, sure. It was mostly an oversized cleaver though, rather than anything inherently magical.
"Feels like I can't use these on anyone without a Brute rating, unless I want to kill them in a horribly brute-al fashion," I smirked wryly, going to sheathe the deadly blades in my belt. I stopped, however, my common senses tingling, and unclasped my cloak in order to wrap Lich Bane in the thick, downy cloth.
"Doesn't seem like the magic runs out. Not that it matters too much if they did; I'm sure cantrips would charge them just as well. They react off of intent, but that intent seems to be 'I wanna stab you' rather than 'I want to stab you and use the magical effect'." I gathered the feathery bundle beneath my arm.
"So it has a charged state, though it doesn't really matter how much or how little you actually use in the way of magic?"
I grunted in affirmation. "It requires magic. Point, blank, period. Don't think the hungry fuckers are all too picky about what kind."
It matched the video game's version, as well. Lich Bane, in the MOBA, was an AP item that magical 'basic attackers' tended to use the most - Champions like Fizz, for instance. You activated an Ability, used that ability, and then poked the enemy to 'proc' Lichbane. It didn't matter which Ability you used as long as it was something other than a 'basic attack'.
As it happened, that suited my Bladesinging 'subclass' perfectly, considering I switched between magic and weapons interchangeably as part of my Song. Only now, I had to get a little closer to my enemies to make use of my new daggers.
It sounded fun enough.
'I wonder if I can tie them to a couple handguns…'
I waved the thought away for now. "Don't pretend that I'm the one getting all of the cool shit though, Sal. I'm not the one with two crazy tentacle-demon arms shoved onto my body. You clearly have a type."
In return, Sal gave me a scoff, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "It's not my fault the System understands that I'm a dark and tortured soul that craves power. I'm waiting for the opportunity to let loose with my anime bullshit. You'll see me pull one of those 'Sorry master, but I'll have to let loose, just this once'."
"You're just jealous that I don't have to worry about spell slots," he smirked. "I've got the chad shonen powerset, while you've got the support character powerset."
I snorted derisively. "Less 'spell slots', more 'limited pool of energy'. And the sting gets taken away the more I collect this 'sweet gear' that makes each spell even more potent and useful. That 'bell' thing I was doing, that was giving Lung super-syphilis? Toll the Dead, a cantrip that takes no energy to cast. Just a little finger snap, and boom."
I snapped my finger and grinned. "Projectile vomit, curdled skin, dead cows, dying crops, the plague - all of that."
We walked as we bantered back and forth, heading down towards the lab. Distantly, the sound of glassware clinking and liquid bubbling revealed that my Statue was still working on potions, which was a genuine surprise. Our reagents had to be dwindling to the single digits now, and I hadn't given him any further recipes to work on.
Altogether, we were at the limits of what my production could do with the rudimentary equipment at our disposal. This was all salvaged from a drug lab, but with actual high-quality chemistry equipment, reagents, and a proper workspace, I could see my product quality skyrocketing. As it was now, we could sell a good portion of our massive stock of healing potions to get a head start on acquiring capital.
To that end, an independent merc like Faultline was the best option for our purposes. Selling to the Empire was bad for all sorts of moral and logistical reasons, and the Undersiders had a couple reasons of their own to dislike us at the moment - main one being we used their dog as support to murder a cape in broad public.
Faultline, though? She was a mercenary, and selling products that could save her crew's life on jobs was invaluable. She'd play ball fairly easily.
Even if we low-balled the costs, given how cheap they were to produce, we'd far defeat any possible overheard. Unlike most other Tinkertech, my creations didn't have a significant decline from age or lack of maintenance. They'd be fine sitting on a shelf for ages if they weren't contaminated, they didn't spoil or go rotten, and to top it all off… I made them with love. And cherry flavoring. So they went down really easily, too.
Once our production was boosted, who knew where the limit was? There were factions like Toybox that would probably love to buy our products and market them across the world, likely at hefty markups, and I knew in the core of my being that it was only a matter of time before I cracked how to make Wondrous magical items. Lofty ambitions for the future, whereas our current situation was a lot more tenuous. Nothing was wrong with taking a couple moments to dream, though.
"Sal," I said as we stepped into the chemically-scented laboratory, my voice thoughtful, "How do you feel about visiting the Palanquin? Say, in a couple days."
It would give the PRT time to get off our nutsacks, but more importantly, it would give us the opportunity to excise the now-useless tumor that was Skidmark. With a more direct path to money guaranteed in the form of alchemy and modified narcotics, he and the rest of his homeless gang of druggies was just another Quest waiting to be cashed in on. We needed men to run our shit on the street level, and while Squealer was passed-around trailer trash… she was also a Tinker, and a useful one at that.
A few recipes for Potions of Cure Disease flickered through my head. Hawkfeathers and 'Mudcrab Chitin', though I figured the chitin of a normal mudcrab would work just as fine. If not, I'd baste it in so much magic that it wouldn't be able to tell the fucking difference.
"I can't see anything wrong with that plan," he agreed readily. "Uh, do we want to do anything about the little girl getting kidnapped in a few days, though? Because Coil's going to snatch a child and addict her to drugs pretty soon."
That stopped me.
"What?"
Sal's eyebrows rose, as he clapped his hands together. "Yeah, didn't I tell you that Coil was bad news? He's like, prone to kidnapping or strongarming Capes into his service. Dinah Alcott is one of them in the story. She gets like…"
He worked his jaw back and forth, distaste clear on his features. It was as if even mentioning what had happened was disgusting to him. "She gets kidnapped, and he strings her out on drugs so he can use her precog abilities. It's a whole thing. He's also blackmailing Tattletale into villainy with the threat of the same, if not worse."
We weren't saints, but I'd like to imagine that I had limits for what I'd do for power. Lines I wouldn't, couldn't cross, lest I fray my already tenuous morality further. But some things were already beyond the pale for me, and what was being described was probably one of them.
The kidnapping children part, that is. Blackmail or coercion under threat of violence or death was nothing new.
"Do we know the exact day?"
"The…14th, if I remember right. Coil has the Undersiders do a bank job and fight the Wards to keep the authorities distracted while he snatches Dinah."
I clicked my tongue, even as I wordlessly brushed my Statue aside and began checking up on his most recent work. "We're not heroes. Fucking with Coil's shit this early on could very well bite us in the ass. But… Fuck him. Wouldn't really be able to call ourselves Bucciarati men if we let a little girl be kidnapped and tortured in our city, eh?"
It was a tight schedule, but we could make it work. Plus…
"We've changed things, besides. It's possible he delays the move on account of the Undersiders being under a lot of heat."
"True. I'm not so hot why, but I think it was planned for the day most of the Protectorate would be out of the city." News to me, at least. That sounded like something valuable to take advantage of for ourselves. "I mean, we could probably split up and manage a goal each if there's something we'd want to do in that window of time. Like saving Dinah, while also handling something else."
We didn't have a time crunch on anything. Not really. But with the ABB being our only other rivals in the docks, and Bakuda, the terroristic bomb-planting maniac scheduled to be getting frisky soon…
"Aye, this city does not sleep, does it?" I chuckled, not an ounce of bitterness in my voice whatsoever. "We need more hands. There are only two of us, fratello. Though, I do not think there's anything overtly pressing that day outside of Dinah's kidnapping."
Sal nodded in agreement. "It's about time we got a start on recruiting some people. Putting the nail in the Merchant's coffin could be good, if we want to just kill Skidmark and recruit Squealer."
A dark smile formed on my lips. "I was just thinking the same."
Killing Lung was hard. From what I understood, Skidmark had a power that would have actually been very effective against even Endbringers…if the man knew what to do with it. Right now he was squandering his potential, and taking him out wouldn't be losing the world much.
Squealer on the other hand, was a Tinker. Even with specialties that were kind of weak, they all had potential to grow from that point on. It just took the right materials or schematics to turn a nominal threat into a massive one.
"Just a matter of finding Skidmark, then."
I held a bubbling red potion up to the dim light squeaking through the boarded up windows. "Leave it to me. In the meanwhile, see if you can schedule a meeting with Faultline? I'm sure Corvo and I can flush out Shitstain by the fourteenth, so sometime after that would be good."
Power meant respect, and respect meant going through the proper channels. Faultline's Crew held decent power in the Bay despite not being a territory-holding gang, and she was undoubtedly a busy woman with her stressful schedule. Walking right into her club and disturbing that was ballsy, but it was also telling her, 'I don't give a fuck about your time.'
Not the best first impression with a first, and hopefully returning, customer.
"I'll rustle up a meeting with her somehow," he acquiesced, shrugging softly. "We'll figure it out, if you want me to handle the meeting myself. I can't imagine it'll be all that hard to manage."
It was a kind gesture, and one I'd normally entertain accepting. However, something felt off about not being there to sell my own creation. FOMO? Nah, mostly a warm pride. I, quite literally, could stopper death with my own knowledge and magic. I wanted to see her reaction to such. This first time, at the very least. I hardly wanted to personally sell every instance of my healing potions.
That would be impossible.
"Next time, maybe." I chuckled, sliding the finish potion over to my Statue just as it finished bubbling. Wordlessly, he grabbed the hot glass bottle and stowed it away in the freezer.
I noticed the discarded propane tanks placed nearly in the corner, and the overflow of potions stacked on top and behind the mini-fridge. We really did need proper equipment.
For now, though, we'd simply work with what we had. Spending the night in this hellhole would hardly be comfortable, but at least it was fairly silent. Enough for me to finish my scribing, at the very least.
What a busy fucking day.