"It's not Brian, Jenny the barmaid or Nell the pretty woman." Marcus reaffirmed. Brian looked weird at being spoken of like he wasn't there, but the man didn't seem to take offence. Brian never did. "The last of which also got brained with a pickaxe when accused, so just keep that in mind."
The air rushed by, the second day of the mountain town apparently a day for storms. It made sneaking around easier, though most people were inside. Not that it mattered now that their work was on pause. "So, what now?"
Marcus knew Brian didn't believe him when he'd told the man they were in an artifact. No one here did. Something which, apparently, didn't cause a reset if people just assumed he was crazy. But Brian also went along with it anyway, which was just as good.
"Now we find it, I reset, then I kill it. Four loops would be a very nice personal record."
Admittedly, this reset he wasn't actually going to do much. Drink, mostly, and complain to Brian about how unfair all of this was. He'd just have himself a proper day of relaxation and being drunk enough he didn't remember the horrors of war.
Those hit him hard now that he was no longer in immediate danger, and he wasn't even a real soldier. Marcus grinned to himself, realising that all of this was a far more effective, far more fucked-up version of that time his father had made him work in the papermill. And while his frivolous use of paper hadn't changed much after, Marcus wasn't going to be starting any wars unless there was no alternative.
He shook his head, smiling at Jenny the barmaid. She smiled back somewhat shakily, probably because he'd just beaten a man with a chair.
Brian had stepped in before the man's friend could join in and Marcus would have been forced to pull his knife. Oh well. This was supposed to be a day of relaxation.
The door opened, Marcus seeing a pair of guards enter from the corner of his eye. Of course. How silly to forget you can't just beat an asshole with a chair.
"You." One of them barked. He didn't look great, actually, and neither did his partner. Their helmets didn't have faceplates, Marcus spotting the dark circles under both their eyes easily enough. "We got a report about a stranger assaulting one of the citizens."
Marcus drew himself up, fixing a proper look of noble disdain on his face, but Brian spoke before he could tell the both of them to go fuck themselves. "And you wouldn't be here if I'd hit Lemm with a chair, Chris. The man was drunk and picked a fight he didn't win."
Before the guard could answer the tell-tale rasp of a weapon being unsheathed came from behind the pair. They whirled, hands going to their clubs, and the patrons there stared at them incredulously.
Marcus fought to keep a straight face, creating another illusion to the left. Then a scream just outside the door, high-pitched and suitably 'I'm being horribly murdered' levels of loud. The guards ran outside, Brian shooting him an unamused look.
"What? It was funny."
"A little bit. Though it won't be all that funny when they come back and accuse you of using magic."
He'd said that last part quietly enough no one else heard, which Marcus was thankful for. He didn't like the sensation of going from semi-drunk to stone-cold sober in an instant. But really, what else could he have done?
"So, the plan is to find the shapeshifter." Brian continued, trailing off and clearly hoping Marcus would continue. Marcus didn't, draining the rest of his drink and just knowing Jenny was watering it down. But Jenny also put another drink in front of him without being prompted, so she was a saint. Maybe she didn't like the asshole he'd hit really hard with a chair either? Brian sighed. "Are there any more details to that plan? You said using its blood to track it failed."
Marcus shrugged. "It did. But while I can't claim to be an expert on demonology, they are demons. No matter how well hidden, they will leak a very particular essence that I can scan for."
"So why didn't you, we, do that the first time?"
"Because it's going to be an absolute pain. How many people live in town?"
"About fifteen hundred, give or take."
"Huh. More than I thought. Anyway, I'd have to scan fifteen hundred people and come up with a reason for any of them to let me do that. Considering it takes about fifteen seconds each, and feels rather uncomfortable, I'll reset a lot. Or I make something new, but that will take time itself."
"Which shouldn't be a problem, right?"
Marcus sighed. "Shouldn't? No, it shouldn't. Except that nothing is static, and it'll most likely panic once it sees me scan people. Which will make it switch targets, and I've learned nothing is preordained. Big things will keep happening unless I do something drastic enough to disturb them, but small choices? It will probably choose a new victim every time because of a million small variables I can't control."
"I feel like there is an option you're not telling me."
"Well, yes." Marcus replied hesitantly. Brian had been laid back and friendly, but Marcus' doubted he would be agreeable about discrete magical slaughter. Or, if magic proved not to be an option at all, burning the entire town down the old fashion way. "Look, I don't want to ki-"
The door slammed open again, the two guards marching back inside. Marcus grunted, turning and noting they had weapons in hand. And he wasn't going to be dealing with that, so this pity party was going to have to be cut short.
Marcus tripped them both, but telekinesis wasn't nearly as subtle as illusions. Someone cried magic, the guards glared as they picked themselves up—Marcus blinked and found himself at the entrance to a small mountain town.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"~Where are you?~" Marcus sang, skipping through the mountains. Up ahead the man ran faster, though there wasn't really anywhere for him to go. "~Where did you go my love?~"
Luck. It really was a fundamentally fickle mistress, but this once she'd smiled on him. The shapeshifter had panicked. A stupid, instinctive mistake urging it to switch disguises. Which, being only twenty feet away from Marcus himself, had created a magical disturbance.
Not a strong one, which spoke to the experience of his prey, but a disturbance all the same. His mood was high, the devil was panicking and even the cramp in his legs didn't detract from the sheer exuberance in his soul.
Six resets. This one technically made it seven, but it would also be the last. Soon enough the devil would run into the boundary, which would limit its escape options, and then its instinct to flee would shift to the instinct to fight.
Marcus slowed, seeing it fall over in the distance. It was almost comical, really. This was what everyone had been so afraid of? This was his great test of… hmm? Of something. He was sure there was a lesson in all of this.
Discretion? Tolerating the intolerant? Something like that.
Brian had been helpful, distracting the guards without questioning why when Marcus went after it. He was going to miss the man. Not badly, they simply didn't know each other that well, but he was a good soul.
"We are trapped here!" The shapeshifter growled. It had dropped its disguise, standing eleven feet tall with a surprisingly thin frame. Strength and intimidation were etched into its form, from the dark-red teeth to the coils of muscle, and yet it was cowering. Its mouth unhinged like a snake, which Marcus would admit was unsightly, but still. The shapeshifter hunched forward. "Both of us, trapped!"
Marcus paused, humming. He conjured white fire in his palm, a warning, and spoke as it flinched away. "Elaborate."
"I was taken from the Hells." It said, teeth gnashing in agitation. "My mind is altered. Changed. I adapt, but it fights me. Where have you taken me?!"
It assumed Marcus' had something to do with that? A fair assumption, if wrong. Marcus switched languages. "What year is it in the mortal realm?"
It flinched again at the demonic tongue, even if it was one of the more common dialects. A mortal who spoke it was often a warlock or demonologist, though Marcus' learned it for different reasons than summoning and binding minions.
Devils could grow so old. The sheer breadth and depth of their knowledge could be astronomical. Knowledge that, if approached correctly, they could be convinced to share.
The shapeshifter ran a long tongue over its face, removing some blood. "The Imperial year of five hundred and ninety eight when I was last on the mortal plane. Why have you taken me, Abliosian?"
"Can you access the Hells?" Marcus asked instead of answering. "You must have taken that extra mass from somewhere."
It hesitated, eyes flickering to the conjured arcane fire. "I can and yet cannot. There is a barrier, and it does not let me pass, but my biomass is available. Some of it. There are restrictions, like parts of my mind are locked away. If you do not know this, mage, then you did not summon me."
"I didn't." Marcus admitted. "We're in an artefact crafted by the Archmage Balthazar."
The shapeshifter froze, clearly recognizing the name. "Which one?"
"The School of Life."
"Fǝùk Ḃǫrǧh, mȺlȻo ǧhɅt!" It cursed. Marcus didn't speak that dialect, though he was fairly sure he knew its meaning. The shapeshifter shrunk, going back to the form of the man he'd eaten. "Fighting you is pointless, mage. I am not the first of my kind to be sucked in here, though that is not truly what happens. Be done with it."
Marcus frowned. "What does happen?"
"Does it matter?" It asked. The shapeshifter sighed. "Mages. Of course it matters to someone like you. Fine. We are not really h-"
Marcus blinked, finding himself at the entrance to a small mountain town.
"Fuck." He muttered, the feeling of hatred only coming properly some seconds later. "Fuck. I know what this level is supposed to teach me. Yeah. Balthazar had a deep hatred for shapeshifters and rural mountain towns, so he's trying to install that same deep and endless rage into all his apprentices so that they wipe both from reality."
The old man, the one who caused his very first reset here, looked at him strangely as he passed. Marcus paid the man no mind, moving through the town with confidence. Backwards, isolated and illiterate it may be, but at least the small town was easy to memorize.
"Hi Tom." Marcus greeted. The man backed up as Marcus pushed inside the house, drawing the knife on his hip. Before the surprised Tom could do more than flinch Marcus drew a thin slice over his arm, collecting the blood. "Thanks Tom. One second before you call the guards."
Marcus spun up his new, invisible spell matrix and confirmed that the blood was entirely human. Which wasn't a surprise, especially considering that one time they'd been tricked, but he'd tweaked the spell to have hair-trigger sensitivity.
If a devil had so much as come near the man it would be going off.
As good as the shapeshifter was, and it was very good, it couldn't mimic people entirely. Not every last drop of blood, every last strand of hair and every last flake of skin. They had limits, and some part of them always remained demonic.
A small, often invisible part, but something. Marcus stepped back out of the house, ignoring the angry—but very human—Tom.
"Not Tom." Marcus mused, his rage having gone as quickly as it had come. It appeared even his emotional state was growing used to the constant disappointment and tomfuckery. Marcus snorted. "Tomfuckery. Heh."
But, as Tom started calling for the guards in a reasonable response to some stranger stealing his blood, Marcus looked at the town.
Last time it had been Tom. Now? Now it could be anyone. But, as Marcus ghosted through with a generous amount of illusions to evade the guards, one question remained. What did it want?
Blood and violence was a given, few devils didn't revel in those, but this was an old one. Centuries old, at least. Those usually had their own homes, ambitions and wars back in the Hells. Now, of course, this one had apparently been taken here against its will. But even so, there must be a purpose.
A plan, goal or mission. Something for Marcus to disrupt or uncover. Nothing so far. Just a shapeshifter running around wantonly commiting silly murder and trying to scare him with a skeletally thin visage.
As if he hadn't been staring into the abyss of the Hells since age fourteen. Amateur.
And yet, hours later still, there was nothing. No monster, no more killings, no demonic blood. He'd even doubled back, testing those he'd already tested, and still nil.
Marcus grunted, entering the tavern with a slump and only a split-second of hesitation at the threshold. This really was going to take a while, wasn't it? At least the place seemed pretty empty.
Jenny was there, of course. The somewhat suspicious barmaid poured him a drink when Marcus flicked money her way, which was all the interaction he really wanted for the rest of the evening.
"Not having a great day, honey?" Jenny asked. Marcus looked at her, finding the barmaid more bored than suspicious. Huh. Must be because it was empty, or something. "If you'd like something stronger, I have something cheap you can mix in your drink."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, silently offering his mug. She smiled and smoothly fetched a bottle from under the counter, pouring a generous amount in his drink. Marcus hummed. "Thanks."
"My pleasure. Can't very well ignore one of my only customers, can I?"
He glanced to the side, the three other patrons absorbed in their own conversations or nursing their drink. "I suppose you can't. Jenny, right?"
"Jenny the barmaid." She confirmed, eyes flickering to a side door. She leaned closer, offering a conspiratorial grin. "And while I'm not the owner, the old man who is does more sleeping than managing."
Behind her to the right was a pile of money, one side a mess and the other neatly stacked. A sheet laid next to it, Marcus raising an eyebrow. "Leaving you to do all the work. Some might say you deserve something extra for that."
"Some very well might." Jenny replied innocently. "What about you, stranger? What are you in town for?"
"A hunt. The shapeshifter, you know? I was hired by the governor to take care of it."
Her mood dampened, though she didn't move away. "Ah, that. Ugly business, though I've never known the governor to spend money when he could order the local guards to take care of the issue."
"He's having a party soon, or so he said. Probably doesn't want his rich and powerful friends to needle him about unresolved issues on his land."
Thank you, political upbringing. Jenny seemed to accept that, relaxing. "So you're a good fighter, then? You must be if you hunt dangerous monsters for a living."
"It's not all about fighting skill, though it helps." Marcus replied, taking a more cautious sip of his drink. Not too strong, and it actually tasted better than before. He raised it in approval at her silent question, continuing. "It's about information. What it is, does it have weaknesses, can it be killed by conventional weaponry, that sort of thing. A well laid trap removes a fight from consideration entirely."
Jenny snapped her fingers. "Like how we catch mice. Put poison in the cheese and they'll smell it. Feed the cheese to the cat and it'll do the work for you."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, which made Jenny blush, and she turned away. Busied herself as Marcus tried not to laugh, because honestly she was closer than she thought. It was the whole basis of summoning both demonic and other entities. Make them do the work for you.
"Well, perhaps not like that." She muttered, offering him a slight smile. "It's been a long day. I must be more tired than I thought."
One of the other patrons shifted, dropping a handful of coins on the counter before taking his leave. Jenny scooped them up, adding them to the uncounted pile before cleaning the man's spot. The other two were still quietly talking, and while Marcus spotted clubs with them they seemed perfectly fine keeping to themselves.
"That was a nice touch." Marcus admitted, stretching. He tapped the floor, taking another sip from his drink. "You're an old one, aren't you? The floor feels solid, the drink is real and the people act like people. Impressive."
Jenny turned, confusion on her face. "Pardon? I'm only twenty seven, thank you very much. Don't I look twenty seven?"
"Oh, Jenny is quite beautiful. I'm sure she's quite adept at using it to her advantage, too, considering your social skills. So, what is it? I guessed two, maybe three hundred years before, but now I'm thinking double that. Conventional demonic shape shifting skills must take at least that long before they can mimic an entire tavern, let alone with animated patrons."
The pair behind him fell silent, Jenny turning to him slowly. Her face turned resigned, two shadows starting to loom behind him. "You're a perceptive one, aren't you? But why would a mage willingly walk into a trap like this, I wonder?"
"You don't remember our previous conversation? A shame. It would have been nice to complain with someone who understood."
Real confusion spread over Jenny's face, turning to concentration then pain. The tavern shuddered, stilling after a moment. Jenny turned to him, eyes missing their pupils. "We have talked before? I do not remember, but I should. I have the strong urge to kill you yet not. To talk yet devour."
"Probably your subconscious remembering before everything else." Marcus suggested, slowly crafting a spell matrix. If the shapeshifter noticed, Jenny said nothing. "You did mention you were adapting to it last time. I'm no expert of the demonic realms, in truth, but that seems somewhat unfair. Adapting to having your memory wiped by the School of Life, I mean. Don't you know Archmage Balthazar made it?"
Jenny flinched, just like it had done last time the Archmage was mentioned, but unlike last time it didn't cower. Didn't try to bargain or plead. Instead it fell silent, only speaking after a long pause. "If that is true, and I strongly feel that it is, nothing we do matters. Nothing I do matters. Except that isn't quite true, is it?"
"Oh?"
"Yes. The School of Life is a cruel artifact, for it does not dull the physical sensations. And while that was merely a rumor for a long time, since the Hells are vast and the artifact but one of many, I see from your expression it is true. So what happens if I break you, little mage? If I shatter your mind over and over and over, never giving you the death that would grant an advantage? How long would you last? Minutes? Hours? Days?"
"Probably minutes." Marcus admitted freely. "I dislike pain, though I probably won't shatter mentally until after a few hours. But this brilliant, confidence filling trap of yours has one flaw, Jenny."
She leaned over the counter, tilting her head. "Do tell, dear patron mine."
"You let me step foot inside of it."
Marcus ignited the matrix, arcane fire washing out and away in a circle. The whole tavern recoiled, fighting against the flame to reach him regardless. Marcus sighed, knowing the heat was rapidly consuming his limited air supply.
No way out, but he'd take a quick death over being tortured for Gods know how long. Marcus destabilised the matrix, the explosion vaporizing him in an instant. Him and the tavern both, then probably a good portion of the town.
Marcus blinked, finding himself at the entrance to a small mountain town. Someone threw open a door down the street, the woman shooting him a bewildered and hateful look before vanishing around a corner.
Marcus stared as the shapeshifter disappeared, spinning up his detection spell and noting an almost immediate spike of demonic influence as it changed bodies.
"Well, fuck."
Afterword
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