PoV: Snow Okiyama - Ion
I shake my head as the rest of the memory bounces through the fog in my mind. The world is blurry when I open my eyes, everything looking messy. Shapes are hard to make out but…
Ah, yes. I’m in an alleyway. One of the dark, narrow corners on the fifth floor, Downpour. An aptly named city, as mana-infused rain comes down from the sky in a torrent. The wind cuts through the remnants of rubble, tearing right to my bones. Underneath me, there’s a puddle of red.
Kuro laps at the blood as the rain washes it away and I grimace. It hurts so bad. With shaky fingers, stiff from the frost, I reach for my stomach, wrapping my hand around the handle of the knife. Then, in one agonizingly swift movement, I tear it out.
More pain. Blood spurts from my wound, pouring out of me. I don’t heal it. Instead, I use my mana, stretch it thin, and staple the wound shut.
[Solidification 20 > 21]
I smile at the level, at how my skills have grown in the three weeks I’ve spent on this floor, when a boot slams into my one remaining arm, sending me sprawling to the side with a grunt of pain. My skin tears. More blood pours from me.
“The fuck’s youse smiling about, filth?” the guard spits. He’s wearing the windswept, adorned armor of a sixth ringer, and his authority is thick in the air. “Share it with me ya bastard, or I’ll kick youse again!”
Looking at his face, I school my expression back into neutrality. It doesn’t stop him. The boot comes down into my stomach, slamming into the wound, and I gasp in pain as I’m knocked aside once more. “Ah, Tower’s Wrath ye feck. Stained my boot with youse blood. How are you gonna repay me for them, huh?”
He reaches down, picking up his ornate dagger from the ground, then holding it to my neck. “Scamper off into the gutters, ye rat fuck. If I see your face again, I’ll give ya another thrashing. Don’t you dare try to sneak into the monolith. Pay like everyone else or rot, fallen feck.”
With that, he spits on the ground next to me again and stomps off. I groan as I slowly pull myself up into a seating position. Kuro expands out from my cloak, draping their cat-centipede form across my lap and giving a small whine. Gently, I reach out and pet their head. “You did well,” I say quietly. “Black box, please?”
The shadow critter gives a tiny purr, pressing their head into my hand, I smile faintly at the gesture, and a moment later, their darkness spills outwards, my cloak billowing into a cocoon of shadow. We crawl further into the alley where no one can see, and then I press my hand to my stomach.
[Biological Restoration 21 > 22]
I smile at the small notification, the relief coursing through me palpable as my skin and organs stitch back together. The faint white-gold glow is consumed entirely by Kuro’s cocoon, and I leave signs of the wound to make it less obvious.
If people hear of too much healing going around, I’ll have recruiters on my ass again. And I don’t want to work for either Respitia and her oversee-pawn, nor do I want to work for any of the gang bosses in the fifth ring. So I hide it.
A small, self-deprecating snicker leaves my lips at that. Hiding it. As I always do. What a theme.
With a simple thought of mine, Kuro curls back around me, setting into the familiar tenebrous cloak. I sigh with relief as some of the pain disappears. There’s still a jagged cut on my stomach, stapled closed with solid bits of mana, but I manage to stand again. I’ve replenished a good amount of blood.
“Thanks bud,” I say quietly to my cloak, and Kuro chirps in happiness. The fabric wraps a bit tighter for a moment, before getting loose again, and I take a breath, stalking back to the inn. None of the others are there, so I simply walk past Zinc, who eyes me with a raised eyebrow and wave her off.
Instead of doing anything else, I settle into the room, and work on my enchantments again. There is much to do, and we’re still stalking out the premises. Getting established. Just when I think about it, a raven lands on my windowsill, pecking at the glass and cawing until I pull it open.
The feathered fiend quickly barges in, landing on my bedside table, pecking at the remnants of my dinner. With my stiff finger it takes me a moment or two to pull the roll of parchment it carries from its legs, but eventually, it comes loose. The bird squaks at me with indignity, but then disappears out the window again.
With a soft sigh, I unroll the parchment. Letters appear on it when I break the seal, and course my mana into it. The demands are only visible for a short moment.
Meet me at the den tonight after dusk. Bring the items. We need more runic weapons. And shielding enchantments. Don’t be late.
A moment later, the letter burns into flames, and I sigh as I sprawl out on the bed. Then, I pull on the enchantments I’ve been making and click my tongue. It’s rudimentary, mass produced stuff. I don’t even imbue it with my skills - I’d have to be extraordinarily stupid to sell those unique rune combinations.
Instead, what I give them is adjusted items. Simple things, making barriers or getting sharper when fuelled with mana. Next to more common enchantments, like cloaks of warming. Those sell well to flobs, especially, so I’ve been setting up a small shop with Zinc’s help.
This letter, though, is a bit more sinister. I sneer at the words. “Alright, Kuro,” I say, stretching my raw muscles, feeling tiny arcs of pain shoot through me. “Let’s get this dealt with.”
It’s hard to get into the higher rings without owing at least someone a debt.
So at least, I’ll be sure it’s to someone halfway agreeable. Someone I might even be able to, say, stir up some trouble for. But for now, I’ll make sure the meeting doesn’t go too wrong. Would be a shame to die after I survived my daily stabbing.
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