Victor Hale continued down the uneven street, passing shuttered stalls and closed news stands. The wind carried the scent of brine and smoke.
He stopped outside one last bar. No sign, only a worn out door. Dim candlelight leaked through its gaps. He pushed the door open.
The moment he stepped inside, the noise dropped.
Heads turned, voices faltered. A few hands froze halfway to their drinks.
Victor didn't look at them. He walked toward the bar, unperturbed by their reactions. The moment passed and the conversations resumed, a bit quieter than before.
He reached the bar and took a seat, resting one elbow lightly on the counter.
"Southville Beer," he said.
The bartender, a bald man with a dented copper ring in one ear, poured a mug without comment. The foam crept to the edge, then settled.
Victor took it, raised it halfway, and drank.
His eyes moved as he did, sharply observing his surroundings and everyone present, their brief comments and gazes alike.
Near the back of the room, behind a string curtain, three men stood and slipped through, covered in black robes, hiding their faces. They moved silently.
Victor lowered the mug. "That area," he said. "What is it?"
The bartender wiped the counter with a grimy rag. "Invitation only." Victor didn't move. "How do I get one?"
The bartender gave him a slow look. "You don't," he said. "Ain't something you buy or fight for. And even someone with your reputation would be better off leaving it alone."
Victor turned towards the bartender and held his gaze. Then he nodded once, took another drink, and turned his eyes back to the mug.
Three inconspicuous men entering the backstage, covered in robes, hiding their faces? It doesn't take a genius to figure out that a secret Beyonder Gathering is taking place. Still… it's not that bad. His intuition had flickered the moment those three entered, signaling that he would at least gain something of value here.
Victor set the mug down with a soft clink and turned around.
To the left, three burly men sat slouched around a low table, their speech loud and uneven. One of them waved his arms too much, another had already spilled half his drink over his trousers and the third looked like he wanted a reason to start a brawl.
Jack found one for him. Victor flicked his fingers.
A scrap of paper shot forward like a card, slicing clean through the air. It clipped the edge of a raised mug just enough to shatter the handle. Ale splashed across the table, making the man who'd been leaning on it yelp as he lost balance and tumbled over.
"What the hell was that?!" he roared, scrambling back up.
His eyes snapped toward the man beside him.
"You think that's funny?" he barked.
"I didn't touch your damn cup!"
"You think I'm blind?!"
The table was slammed and the chairs were scraped, while screams arose. Several heads turned, while the bartender muttered something under his breath. A moment later, the bouncers moved in.
Victor stood still, face impassive as the scuffle began to swell. Around him, attention drifted towards the now ongoing fight. Now with the stage having a new performance, the marionette moved through the commotion at ease, hidden beneath layers of illusions to avoid onlookers.
Jack stepped through the smoke-hung curtain, invisible to the crowd.
Behind the beads, the noise of the bar dulled to a muffled hum.
The hallway was narrow. Lamplight flickered faintly on the walls. A few steps down, he found the door. A bouncer stood by it. Stocky, half-bald, arms folded beneath a stained vest. His eyes twitched once toward the noise outside, but he didn't move.
Jack smiled beneath the veil of Illusion. With a slow breath, he changed. The trench coat blackened. A high collar rose to mask the lower half of his face and his glove darkened
He raised his left hand. The door's surface rippled, like water, before he slipped through the door.
A single lamp flickered on a central beam. It cast a soft circle of dim gold, just enough to show the outlines of people sitting around the edges of the room.
Jack scanned them once.
Thirteen, maybe fourteen. Some wore coats. Others, plain robes, with their faces half-covered. All quiet, murmuring only when needed.
In the center, a few small suitcases had been opened. One displayed a curved bone knife wrapped in seals. Another held three glass vials of pale green liquid. A pouch rattled faintly as it was handed off.
Mid-to-low sequence deals with Beyonder Characteristics and artifacts.
Jack didn't blink. There was nothing of value to him.
He let his eyes drift to the man seated near the far wall. Bulkier than the others. Black cloak, face half-covered with a mask and a sailor's vest silhouette underneath. He tapped a pen against a ledger.
Jack activated his Spirit Vision, analyzing the man. Sequence 6. Low spirituality. He leaned against a post, arms crossed, watching.
The minutes passed.
Conversations wound down. One by one, attendees checked their belongings and prepared to leave.
Then a voice cut through.
"I have a commission."
Jack's gaze shifted.
A woman near the back had raised her hand, with a steady posture. Her hood had slipped, revealing subtle features that were easily discernible to a seasoned Faceless like Jack. She looked younger than most present, but older than her voice made her seem.
"I need a bodyguard. Someone to protect me… and travel with me until I return home."
The room quieted.
Someone scoffed. "Where's home, then?"
" I can't say. It's delicate."
A few snorts. One man rose to leave.
Jack stayed still.
He felt another nudge from his Spiritual intuition again, hinting him to something.
He lifted his chin slightly. "And the compensation?"
The woman turned toward the voice.
"You'll be paid upon arrival," she said.
Jack clicked his tongue. "That doesn't seem enough, Madam. Not many would accept such an effortful mission with such a baseless promise."
She stepped forward, portraying a sharp gaze. "There is a guarantee. Even if not by me… others can. You'll be paid. I promise."
Jack's eyes narrowed. A faint wave exuded from him.
He asked. "Can you keep that promise?"
"Yes" she answered firmly, without doubt.
He chuckled, then nodded once. "Then I'll take the job."
The convener stood. He clapped his hands once. "That concludes tonight's dealings. The rest of you may leave."
Chairs scraped. Murmurs rose again as cloaks were pulled up and masks adjusted. One by one, the attendees filed out, passing Jack without a glance.
Only two remained.
The convener stepped closer, voice low. "You'll leave last. She'll write down what she can. The rest is on you."
The woman nodded, pulling a small notebook from her coat. Jack remained by the beam, eyes steady, waiting.
A few moments passed.
The woman finished writing, her hand steady as she folded the page with ease. She looked once toward Jack, then turned away, handing the letter to one of the attendees still lingering by the doorway. A tall man in a gray coat, face mostly hidden beneath a low hood.
Without a word, she slipped out.
…
The street lights flickered above. Mist rolled along the gutter.
A short distance away, hunched against a lampost, the frail figure of an old man stood motionless.
Jack watched them leave.
One by one.
He ignored the loud ones. Passed over the bored ones. His eyes moved carefully. Then he saw her.
The same woman from before. She moved quickly, at a controlled pace, scanning her surroundings with a quiet vigilance. Composed and focused
She's observant. Taking in her surroundings without missing a detail.
Jack pushed off the post and began walking. He followed at a distance, with a slow rhythm and indiscernible posture.
…
The tall man approached. He stopped in front of Victor and extended the folded letter. The convener gave a brief nod. "You're done. You may leave."
Jack took the envelope and didn't reply.
The marionette moved. He passed through the hallway once more, brushing past a lingering curl of smoke and the faint tang of sweat and cheap incense.
He returned to the main bar and the noise had resumed. The brawlers had been expelled, a few chairs were missing and one table had been moved upright. The bartender stood quietly polishing the same cup with the same rag.
Victor's steps didn't slow. He reached the door, opened it, and stepped into the humid night.
Then, he blended with the shadows. He opened the folded paper as he walked.
A neat line, written vigorously.
"Café Andrene. Tomorrow morning. Corner of Vernis and Hollow."
He gave it a glance, memorizing it. Then flicked the paper with two fingers, burning the paper to a crisp. The marionette moved ahead, cutting a quiet path through the street.
The woman turned at the corner, casting brief, measured glances behind her. Jack trailed her from across the street, far enough to not be noticed.
A few more turns. A dim stretch of uneven cobbles. Then she reached an older hotel, modest but tucked cleanly between a bakery and a print shop. She hurried up the steps without pause and disappeared inside.
Jack stopped at the opposite corner. He glanced at the sign. Faded paint, no obvious markings. A fair walk from the Café.
Hm. Cautious and sensible. She chose distance and didn't double back.
His gaze lingered for a moment longer. Then he turned. He wasn't worried, Erynos had handled it.
Victor Hale had struck a deal inside the gathering. A Pact had been made. Devils didn't need contracts drawn in blood every time. Sometimes, even a simple promise, real or not, was enough.
And in that moment, she had made her promise.
Foolish. But common.
The Pact was sealed. Should she break her end, the consequences would follow. If the worst comes to worst, she could even die and if someone else was responsible for her, as she implied, then the reward would still arrive. Through them, if needed.
Jack smiled faintly beneath the dim lamplight. Even if her backers are powerful… even if one of them noticed the Pact…
They could blame Victor Hale and retaliate, but there were even more ways to make sure they didn't.
He kept walking. Victor crossed from another street. Together, they rejoined the main path through the district, passing through shuttered shops and quiet houses, heading back toward the Rainhaven Lodge.
…
Jack returned to his room. He morphed his figure back to his normal appearance.
Victor stepped forward, coming to stand beside him. In the next instant, both figures vanished and reappeared within Dylan Castle.
Silence greeted them, that familiar, oppressive quietness. Jack lifted his left hand. He curled his fingers inward, drawing against the Void. After a few attempts, he finally felt something.
A long projection appeared and settled into his hand. The Staff of Stars.
Jack adjusted his grip, closing his eyes.
A moment later, he formed a thought. Then, he formed another, an array of familiar figures in his mind. Then, hundreds of people appeared at once inside the cathedral.
Marionettes stood in staggered silence. Some wore merchants' coats. Others, soldiers' uniforms. A few bore faces that no longer existed in the living world. Each of them perfectly still.
Jack dispelled the Staff.
Hmph. Now where to put you all…
He raised his head. Above, the ceiling stretched into shadow. Nothing visible at first glance. No flicker of movement, not one trace at all. It reminded him.
Zaratul's collection. Bodies hung high, in an eerily fashion, capable of scaring any clueless chap who had the misfortune to encounter such a place.
One hand swept sideways and the marionettes lifted.
They floated upward, arms limp, heads bowed. In a breath, they hung like forgotten decorations of a dark christmas.
Jack chuckled once under his breath.
Loki won't notice a difference. And as for Loki… he could play with his little group a while longer. Jack lampooned. There was no need to interfere.
The marionettes, suspended above, remained within reach. Distance didn't matter here, this place belonged to him. A private gallery or a pocket of puppets!
He turned without another glance.
The glove on his left hand darkened and Jack vanished, alongside Erynos.
They reappeared back in the Room 302 of The Rainhaven Lodge, in Conant City. With the projection of Creeping Hunger vanishing from both their hands.
Jack left his coat draped over the nearest chair, and crossed the room.
He dropped onto the crooked bed, meeting the thin mattress and feeling the bed's wooden under. He didn't mind. He folded one arm behind his head and the other rested across his chest.
The ceiling was cracked in the corner, with paint peeling along the edges, showing its worn out state. He stared for a couple of minutes as he thought.
That woman… There is something related to her that holds some significance. It was more than once that my intuition stirred, giving hints to a development I couldn't yet confirm. it wasn't fear, not even danger.
Jack didn't feel nor sense any signs of danger even once. This means it won't bring me to impending doom. Even if there is danger, it's sufficiently manageable.
Even more so by having Erynos's 'Danger Premonition'. Having that and making him the focus of the attention, I can easily sense danger ahead of time, coupled with my own Intuition and Danger Sense.
A faint grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. Not only that, the Saint and Angel level Charms I have in my Traveler's bag is more than enough of a "hindrance" to give me the edge. And if I need other useful ones… Jack chuckled at the thought.
A magician never performs unprepared!
He exhaled slowly, then sat up. His fingers flexed once, then pinched the void, a ripple passing through.
From it, a projection slid out. A simple hardcover book. Golden letters pressed into the front.
"Emperor Roselle's Secret Chronicles."
He caught it easily and lay back down, flipping the cover open without looking.
The marionette stood nearby and moved. He raised his own hand and reached, attempting to summon something
Nothing. He tried again.
Jack turned the page. A small smirk flickered at the edge of his mouth.
Then again, the marionette tried and failed. This process would repeat, over and over.
Jack kept reading, one eye scanning the lines, the other half-lidded in thought.
It would be a quiet night. But productive.