I watch Thatch as he paints. The expression on his face is pensive, and he stares at the canvas as if it owed him money. Frowning, he brings up a brush, then holds it in the air, indecisive on where to place it.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“Murder,” he says.
Humming, I nod along, spending a while longer watching him. He just frowns and paints, slowly, deliberately. It takes him a long time, but I just wait. There’s nothing for me to say yet. “I worry,” he eventually manages.
“About?” I ask.
“Losing myself,” he replies with a sigh. His fingers clench around the paintbrush, knuckles turning white as he draws another careful, graceful line. The motion comes smoothly, easily, and as he follows it, some of that frustration withdraws. Ocean waves, sinking back from the shore.
I tilt my head at him. “Why?”
Thatch doesn’t turn to look at me, but he does give a commiserating smile. He takes a deep breath in, then out, then draws another line, another stroke of the brush. “Because it’s all-consuming, Snow,” he says quietly. “Because I can’t deny it anymore.”
“If it’s too much, I can take some of the burden,” I tell him.
Finally, he turns to me, and this time, the frown is deeper. He’s even glaring. “No,” he says resolutely. “Don’t push yourself so much.”
A small smile finds its way onto my face. “You’re very kind, Thatch.”
Instantly, his scowl cracks, and returns to a small frown instead. He shakes his head. “I can’t even stay mad at you,” he mutters.
“Mhm, seems it. You’re a softie,” I tell him.
For a moment, he freezes. I can literally see our interaction replay in his head. Then he huffs, and shakes his head with amusement. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’m told,” I reply. Then, my skin cracks and blood pools. Kuro swiftly cleans it up, and I mend myself under a localized black-box. Thatch, of course, noticed.
But he doesn’t say anything. Just stares for a moment, then sighs. “I’m going to kill people again, tonight.”
“There’s a good chance of that,” I nod. Then, slowly, I tilt my head. “What are you angry at Thatch?”
The question lands like a bolt of lightning. He just stops, for a long moment. Eventually, he resumes drawing in silence, the scrape of bristles on canvas the only sound in the room. I wait, still, patiently, as my mana courses through the maze in front of me. Thatch sighs, and replies without looking at me.
“Powerlessness,” he says quietly. “I hate feeling powerless.”
- - -
I watch Thatch as he kills. The expression on his face is calm, controlled. A slight frown, just a tilt of the lips, that belies the depths of his rage. His fist fly decisively, coated in massive mirages, monstrous claws carving through flesh.
The way they cut through my shields is almost beautiful. They cut long, jagged lines into the items and I sigh gently, knowing that I won’t be able to reuse those. I can sell back knives rather easily, since they usually don’t break in the fighting, and the cloaks often survive, too, but when Thatch fully rends things, it’s harder.
Still, I play my part. Kuro streaks out, cutting through people. Thatch is good to fight with. He attracts attention. Somewhere between a tank and a brawler… and an area controller, I suppose. He hits harder than anyone else in our group, and he’s ruthlessly efficient about it, too, spotting weaknesses and going for them instantly.
For a moment, I think his movements are almost slow, but that’s not it at all. They’re lightning fast. Inevitable, almost. He just waits until people walk into range, then breaks them. I can see the way it wears on him, and how his rage lets it pass by. And, in the background, I help.
When someone gets too close, I sabotage them. When people begin throwing ranged attacks, I stalk through the darkness and kill them. I sink shadowed knives through throats. I let Kuro’s stygian form shape into spikes and chains, dragging them to the ground. From their corpses, I take the gear. Cloaks, made by me. Shields, made by me. Knives by me.
[Level Up! 78 > 79]
Of course, there are other things. A nice bow that I think I’ll hand to Sylves… once her arm is regrown. Some metal scraps I think about melting down. One by one, I pick them up, storing them in my cloak for smaller items, or tossing them onto a pile as Thatch fights.
Violence rages through the streets of Downpour for all of five minutes - and then they fall silent.
The noise is like waves, receding from the shore and back into the ocean. A hush falls over the empty streets, and the only thing that remains is Thatch’s breathing. Slow. In, and then out, and then in again.
I stand by his side, and gently lay a hand on his shoulder. There’s fear radiating off of him, remnants of anger that want to settle in his veins, and I break them all down. “It’s okay, Thatch,” I say quietly. “We’re safe. You can breathe.”
He stares for another moment, and then the menace disappears. The last vestiges of rage flow away, water trickling through sand. He slumps, a little bit. His fists unclench. And I see the monster disappear and leave my friend in its wake. Thatch brings up his hands.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“Painting,” he replies slowly.
I smile, gently, then pat him on the shoulder again. “Okay. Let’s get you home, Thatch.”
Letting him lean on me, we step through the wet streets, listening to the sound of howling wind and the flapping of feathered wings. I frown slightly as I see dark shapes dart through the sky. If Raven is preparing… then I should do the same, shouldn’t I?
Then, one of the birds drops a scroll. It lands elegantly in Thatch’s hand, seemingly unaffected by the wind. He gives me a glance, and when I confirm it’s not trapped and nod, he pulls it open and reads.
- - -
Sitting in our shared room, I hum as I deal with enchantments. Slowly but surely, I fix up the items that got ruined in our fight. Some of them need more work. I sharpen knives, iron out nicks, and stitch cloaks back together. Just enough work for no one to mistake the items as ones that someone would’ve worn beforehand.
Of course, I include back-doors for myself. Runic enchantments that other people wouldn’t be able to use, that require a specific signature to open. It’s an interesting exercise, coming up with ways to layer and hide things. Occasionally, I need to heat and reforge the metal, so I use my mantle to mimic Jess’ flames from the archive.
I forge and work things, making tools from solid mana, using them… and breaking them on the metal. Whenever they break, I simply recreate them, a little bit stronger, testing out more theories, working hard to make the constructs the best they can be. I mimic the way metal and wood are structured after peering into them with [Observation].
[Solidification 23 > 24]
My skills at making solid materials improve every time something breaks. I try to use as much of my mana as I can, not wasting even a drop of regeneration. Whenever my vessel fills up, I multitask, threading it through my mana-maze, working on my healing, anything I can think of.
Mana threads through cores, carving tiny inscriptions into them, elevating their efficiency, enhancing their mana-storage. It works well with my [Solidification], allowing me to create self-repairing constructs, to some degree. Slowly but surely, I work.
Tomorrow, apparently, Raven wants to meet with us.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll deliver them weapons as Yuki.
And tomorrow night, I’ll take the lives of some of their little birds as Kuro.
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