A week had passed since the Tale Artwork Competition. Jack was back to his rhythm. A dual existence split between the spectral and the solid.
Nights belonged to Jack Mystery. He drifted, unseen, through Sapphire City. A silent judge in a masked form.
His patrol was less about grand battles. And more about the petty cruelties. And small kindnesses that littered human existence. He would listen to whispers carried on the steam-tinged air. His Sight Modes highlighting the faint auras of karma.
He didn't find any villains worthy of his most severe judgment this week. No one who needed the full force of his wrath. Unleashed through a crafted nightmare.
He also found no one exceptionally praiseworthy. No acts of selfless virtue that demanded a divine dream.
The best he did was mild discomfort for a cheating merchant. And a pleasant slumber for a seamstress working overtime to feed her family.
His new trait, [Mysterious Anomaly], remained largely untested. He knew it enhanced the reality of the dreams and nightmares he induced. Making the terror or the bliss feel almost physically present.
But without a truly deserving subject. Someone whose soul was stained black with unforgivable deeds. Or white with pure, unadulterated goodness... the skill's true potential remained dormant.
His days were still spent as Jack Night. This week, It was his time for grinding. He took simple Mercenary Union missions for decent income, despite his secretly great wealth.
He would take delivery jobs within the city. Clear out troublesome low-level iron gremlins from factory basements. And fix some damaged steamrune equipment.
Other than missions, he still spent hours in the Mercenary Union Library. Devouring brittle-paged texts on many fields. Local lore. Geography. Steam mechanics. And also the fragmented, often contradictory, accounts of the supernatural in this world.
Knowledge was always a weapon. Maybe the best one.
Jack was rather settled with the routines.
This night, however, felt different.
He was gliding through the dense network of alleyways. Behind the fish market. The smell of brine and coal smoke thick in the air. Then he felt it.
A sudden, suffocating pressure. Like drowning in sorrow and bitter hatred. It wasn't a physical threat. But an overwhelming spiritual presence. Grudge. Pure, potent, and raw.
Jack stopped, invisible. He focused his spectral senses. Pinpointing the source. It was close. Drifting aimlessly near a stack of empty crates. He flew silently towards it.
He found a ghost. A transparent, flickering form of a child. It was small. Hunched. Perhaps ten years old. Its clothes were ragged even in death. The air around it shimmered with that raw, suffocating pain.
Jack drifted closer. Manifesting himself. His specter form appeared. The masked magician figure. Solid enough to be seen but still translucent. He landed softly nearby.
"Hey!" Jack said. His voice was a low, resonant echo only the ghost could hear. "Rough night?"
The ghost child flinched. But he didn't scream or phase away in terror. Unusual. Most things reacted poorly to Jack Mystery.
The ghost child looked up. Its eyes were weary in a face too young to hold such burdens. "Who the hell are you?" The voice was raspy. Blunt.
"Jack Mystery." He introduced himself. Holding out a hand – a gesture of peace. Though the boy probably couldn't grasp it. "I'm just floating nearby. Then, I felt... well, felt that pain grudge thing you have." He gestured vaguely at the boy's aura.
The ghost boy snorted. A surprisingly solid sound. "Yeah. Doesn't exactly feel good." He drifted slightly. His gaze fixed on nothing in particular. "Didn't expect a spook fancy as you to notice."
"Spooks notice a lot of things. Especially when they feel like yours." Jack kept his tone level. "You new to this? The ghost part?"
"Few days." The boy muttered.
"So, how should I call you? Ghost boy? Mr. Soul? Deathrunner?"
"The heck with those names?" He kicked phantom dust. "My friends used to call me Spider."
Spider. The name fit the wiry frame. The way the boy seemed to cling to the edge of existence.
"Spider?" Jack repeated. "Well, okay. Spider." He paused. "Mind telling me how you ended up like this?"
Spider hesitated. He looked Jack up and down. Or rather, through him. "Why? You gonna... fix it? Send me to heaven or hell or wherever?"
"Don't know where you're going, Kid. Don't even know if those places exist for sure, like the preachers say. Never been there." Jack was blunt. He didn't believe in sugarcoating reality. Particularly this one.
"I just collect stories. And sometimes, justice. How about you tell me yours, I tell you mine? Fair trade."
Spider seemed to consider this. He drifted closer. Wrapping his transparent arms around himself. "Alright. You first. Your story. How'd a ghost get so... fancy? Like that?" He gestured at Jack's masked form.
Jack shrugged. "Long story, short version? I investigate things. Died investigating a temple. Something nasty was inside. Giant snake. Woke up... like you." He gestured to Spider. "Ghost."
He omitted the different world, info panels, the traits, the leveling, the other forms. That wasn't Spider's business. "Then, I've just floated around. Saw many things. Learned many things. Then, got into some hocus-pocus incident. Evolved into... a specter like this."
He finished. Keeping it simple. An investigative death. A transformation. Enough truth to satisfy. Enough facts withheld to remain mysterious.
Spider stared at him for a moment. Then nodded slowly. "Okay. Weird." He kicked the phantom dust again.
"My story... it's not long either." His voice dropped lower. The bitterness was sharpening. "Me and my friends. Jolly. Mouse. Thumbless. We lived on the streets. Tough, but we managed. Had our spots. Knew how to survive."
He paused. A shiver was passing through his translucent form. "Then... this man. He grabbed us. One by one. Didn't see it coming."
His gaze became distant. Fixed on horrors Jack couldn't see. "Took us to his place. A cellar. Smelled like pig guts. Or worse."
Jack felt a cold knot tighten in his spectral core. He knew where this was going.
"He... he didn't keep us long." Spider whispered. His voice was cracking. "He was a butcher. Said he needed... ingredients and practice. Said street kids were 'lean meat'. Cheaper than anything."
He hugged himself tighter. "He cut us up."
The suffocating grudge intensified around Spider. A tangible wave of agony and rage. Jack felt his own spectral skin prickle. A cold, intense fury building inside him.
"Butchered?" Jack's voice was dangerously low.
Spider nodded. His spectral face twisted, recalling the horror of his last moments. "Yeah. Like pigs. Cut us up. Our meat. He boiled it. Our bones... he ground 'em up."
He choked on the words. "Said it was for his dog. Some kind of... big, ugly dog. Demonic. Said it needed special food to stay strong."
Jack stood frozen. The air around him grew cold and heavy. Kids. Butchered like livestock. Fed to some creature. This wasn't just evil. This was... twisted. Depraved.
The kind of act that left permanent scars on the fabric of reality. His inner judge awakened. Roaring for judgement.
"Who?" Jack asked. His voice was flat. Devoid of emotion. Which somehow made it more terrifying. "Who did that?"
Spider lifted his head. His ghostly eyes were burning with a hatred that matched Jack's own burgeoning fury.
"A pig butcher. Lives north side. Down by the docks. But set back from the main road. Ugly place with a big smokestack. Smells like burning fat and blood. They call him Mr. Boulder."
Mr. Boulder. The name tasted foul. "Address?" Jack demanded.
Spider gave him a street name. A general area. It was enough. Jack didn't waste another second. He shifted. His specter form was blurring. Becoming a nigh-invisible ripple in the air current.
"Stay here, Spider!" Jack commanded.
"No." Spider's voice was firm. "I'm coming. I want to see."
Jack hesitated for only a fraction of a second. He wasn't a babysitter. But this felt... right. The boy deserved to witness vengeance. "Alright. Follow me. But, stay back. Be invisible. Can you do that?"
Spider nodded grimly. He too blurred. Becoming a faint, almost imperceptible trail of sorrow. Floating behind Jack as the specter shot through the dark city streets.
They moved fast. Jack was navigating by instinct. And Spider's vague directions. The northern sector was a maze of warehouses and industrial buildings.
Steam vents hissing. Metal clanking. The air grew fouler the further they went. Mixing coal smoke with something sickeningly organic.
They found the place. It wasn't hard. A squat, ugly building. Set back from the street behind a high wooden fence.
A tall, narrow smokestack spewed greasy, dark smoke. Into the night sky. The smell... it wasn't just burning fat. It was rancid. Metallic. A scent that spoke of blood and decay.
Jack stopped. Hovering above the fence. Just in time. He was a large, brutish man lumbered towards the building's back entrance. He was built like a brick wall. Thick-necked, with hands like spades.
And he was carrying a sack slung over his shoulder. The sack wriggled.
"That was him. That bastard!" Spider whispered. His voice was cold and full or rage.