“Who in the eight hells are you?” Emi made her aura shine brighter in a silent threat.

  It was the color of a heavenly white, wrapped around her body like a wavering cocoon. It felt like metal wind chimes during the summer.

  “I’m nobody special,” K said, slowly moving to stand on his feet.

  Wuhao sighed, cocking his pistol. “Alright, kid… wanna explain why you called us here?”

  “I’m a bet runner,” K recited the fake story clinically. “I was just doing some runs when I noticed a little discrepancy in the records.”

  If they were any less guilty, they would’ve noticed the obvious lie in K’s statement. Bet runners were scarcely given the privilege to peek at trade records.

  But Emi and Wuhao were too preoccupied with the crack in their operations.

  Emi looked like a cat with its hackles rising. “Discrepancy?”

  “Our stock of smuggled gold was missing a few units after being transported by Mistress Emi’s gang,” K explained.

  “You little rat,” Wuhao chortled, pointing a finger at Emi. “Master Banzai will have your head for—”

  “—And some units disappeared after they were stocked in Master Wuhao’s properties, too.” K finished.

  Both adults went silent. Their men stood motionless, guns still raised and poised for an attack.

  Emi was the first to speak. “Did you… tell anyone else about this little… discrepancy?”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” K scratched the side of his bandaged cheek. “I wanted to hear the truth straight from you two, first.”

  Wuhao and Emi shared a quick glance. A sneer formed on their lips.

  “The Acrobat, please.” K stated aloud.

  ‘I will have it on standby, Sire. Whenever you’re ready.’

  “What?” Emi barked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Ah, well. I’m happy to clear this misunderstanding up,” Wuhao laughed heartily. “Cme’re, kid.”

  He motioned with his hand, beckoning K closer. The boy obliged—

  As a metal pipe went whizzing toward K’s head.

  A few of his hair strands met the edge of the pipe as he jumped away in a perfect arch, feet landing solidly atop a table.

  Wuhao stared at him with wide eyes. His knuckles were white from his grip on the pipe. “Wh-What the…”

  K yawned again, spinning in place as the bandages wrapped around his body glowed a beautiful gold. It shrouded him in its aura— disappearing in a small poof.

  And K was no longer donning his beloved frock coat. Instead, it was replaced by the red and white, loose-fitting clothes of an acrobat. The only thing that remained were his bandages.

  K bent forward, performing a small pirouette. He reveled in the easy flexibility that his joints found.

  Everyone in the room stared at him, jaws slack.

  Before they gathered themselves and aimed their weapons at him. Several auras burned to life.

  “Ah, looks like you all want to kill me,” K sighed loudly. “I guess you’re all guilty, after all.”

  “Master Banzai pays us pennies,” Emi gritted her teeth, her white aura making her skin gather a metallic sheen. “The Saigo gang was willing to give us millions in exchange for a few units of gold.”

  “We’re tired of being Banzai’s slaves!” With the flick of her hand, gunfire rained down on K.

  But K simply kicked into the air, performing a wide double spin. He landed behind the register counter.

  “So it was the Saigo gang…” K drawled. They were one of the Triads’ oldest enemies. “Well, that’s all I wanted to know. I should probably get going, now. But Mistress Emi—”

  As if responding to her name, the woman leapt over the counter. She threw a punch toward K, yelling from the bottom of her throat.

  Emi’s aura was white— which meant that she most likely possessed a Metal Core. This gave her the ability to forge Paths related to the enhancement of her body.

  Her skin had become hard and leathery. It only took a few seconds for K to come to a solid conclusion: her Path allowed her to toughen the surface of her skin.

  Blades and guns were out of the question, if K was to retaliate against her.

  However, the toughness of one’s skin didn’t lessen the impact they could absorb.

  Spinning lightning fast, K slammed his palm into Emi’s face, using the force to pin her against the counter. Her body was now a shield, blocking K from the barrage of gunfire.

  The men didn’t stop firing, knowing that their boss’s skin ricocheted their bullets like a slab of iron.

  K took the opportunity to look straight into Emi’s eyes. The play-pretend tone of boredom in his voice had completely vanished. “Your gang has been in the trafficking business for over 10 years. Children, women, and laborers are your biggest victims.”

  “You deserve no mercy,” K spat, shoving her onto the register. The metallic keys snapped with a loud twang.

  “And I won’t be stopping today, runt!” she seethed, smiling wildly as she gestured using her hand.

  ‘Behind you,’ Hun called out.

  Right then, a bullet raged past K’s shoulder, barely nicking the skin.

  K dropped to the ground in a defensive crouch. He left Emi sprawled atop the counter.

  When he turned around, Wuhao was there. The man didn’t have any Cultivational abilities to speak of. All he could do was fumble his gun, aiming for K’s forehead again.

  “You’re holding it wrong,” K called out to him blankly— leaning all of his weight on two palms. He straightened his legs upward, both feet knocking the gun out of the man’s grip.

  K caught it with acrobatic precision. He murmured, “The Gunslinger, Hun.”

  ‘As you wish, Sire.’

  Just like that, he was engulfed in his golden aura again, his acrobat’s garb replaced by a cropped, Upperland-style vest.

  K’s other hand raised to pinch at the wide-brimmed hat that suddenly appeared atop his head.

  Between his teeth was a single piece of straw grass.

  “Hands up, partner,” K drawled, spinning the gun he had caught on his hip— before firing a warning shot into Wuhao’s kneecap. “Yer days of channeling illicit goods through this here town is as good as done.”

  “For Xian’s sake!” Wuhao clutched his knee with a howl, falling to the floor in a heavy thump. “I-It’s him. I thought he was just a myth.”

  “M-Master Banzai’s top spy… the boy with a hundred talents,” Emi was back to standing. “The Golden Phantom of the Triads.”

  K stared at them with empty, bored eyes.

  “Get ‘im!”

  Just like that, the room erupted into a curtain of deflagrating gunpower. To the tune of some impossible dance; K switched between the light-footed skill of an acrobat, and the flawless aim of a gunslinger.

  He sniffed out the other auras in the room, deciding to take them out first.

  ‘Other Cultivators would make this messy.’

  Squinting one eye shut, K sought them out.

  It wasn’t hard to find them. The air around the Cultivators was warped in shades of green, bright blue, and bloody red. K took them down with a shot to the elbow, each.

  Cultivators needed intensive mental fortitude to channel their Paths. While a measly bullet wound shouldn’t be enough to stop them, these shoddily trained gang members weren’t the most headstrong.

  ‘You have five minutes left, Sire.’

  Hun’s voice was a little louder than usual.

  But K ignored that as he swept to the ground, back curving to dodge a kick from Emi.

  ‘Three minutes.’

  Three men finally rounded the counter, aiming for his head, shoulder, and leg respectfully— but K blinded them using the golden flare of his aura.

  Tossing his gunslinger’s hat to Emi’s face to shroud her vision, he shot at the men’s hands. They all dropped their weapons with a loud screech.

  Twisting his ankle, he was back to facing Emi. K jabbed at her neck, but she managed to bring a hand up to defend just in time.

  Her knee raised, striking K right in the stomach.

  ‘Two minutes.’

  K coughed up bile, staggering backward for a second.

  It was as if he was swallowing ice, so cold that it began to sting and ache.

  The frigid burn settled deep in his gullet, above the navel— his Core.

  His hands were beginning to shake.

  How many minutes had it been?

  ‘One.’

  Ah, well—

  Perhaps, that was why he transformed a little too late.

  “Gotcha!” someone cried, arms suddenly circling around K’s ankles.

  It was Wuhao, grinning up at him triumphantly. He was still laying on the floor, his blasted knee forming a puddle of blood.

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  His grip broke K’s balance, and the boy tumbled down.

  The moment he did so, Emi kicked his head. It was so hard, K could see stars.

  “He’s down!” he heard Wuhao yelling. “Damn, nobody’s ever escaped the Golden Phantom before.”

  ‘They will hurt you, Sire. Let me handle them.’

  “Hun…” K sputtered as one of the other men stomped on his ribs.

  “What is he saying?” Emi loomed over K’s writhing body.

  ‘Let me out. Let me offer you my power.’

  “Who cares—” Wuhao grinned, grabbing K’s cheeks as he propped himself up into a seated position. “I know Saigo wanted to pay us for the gold… but imagine how much he’ll give us for the Golden Phantom?”

  K sputtered— and laughed.

  K’s Core was tied to the Beast’s. If either of them perished, it would be the end for the other.

  If K died, Hun died.

  The power of the Golden Phantom dies with them.

  “Not like I have a choice...” K whispered raggedly. “Give me the Phantom.”

  He had run out of time.

  K could sense it from the sudden drop in his pulse and the frigid beating of blood through his arteries and veins.

  It was always so cold, when he snapped—

  When he channeled the Phantom.

  ‘Thank you, Sire.’

  Sunren had a theory, once: That every time the Phantom appeared, K would die. His synapses flared too bright in the face of improbability. His heart stammered and beat too quickly.

  In all definitions, the experience ought to have killed him.

  And it will. K could continue in a haze for infinity. The Phantom would thrash and fight until the end of time itself; and K was as good as dead.

  A mindless vessel did not deserve to be called ‘living’.

  “The hell did you say?” Wuhao spat.

  “I’m tired of this. Let’s make sure he doesn't wake up before we hand him over to Saigo.” Emi turned to the men around them. “Boys!”

  K was laughing, even when dozens of men crowded him. They each took turns, kicking his sides. Stomping on his chest. Some even tried to rip the bandages from his head.

  They were the first in a long while to see his face.

  That only cemented it in K’s mind that everybody within this room would never make it out alive.

  Hun’s power— his Beast’s Blessing, allowed K to accomplish two things:

  One, he could peer into alternate universes whenever he dreamed. K could see any life he lived, in any other universe.

  They came to him at random, and K had yet to find a method that allows him to see more dreams.

  Afterward, Hun could store that version of K in the back of the boy’s mind and call upon it during times like these.

  He only had about four unique dreams saved in his memory, but it was more than enough for his missions.

  There was only one downside, though.

  He could only tap into this power for ten minutes a day.

  Anything more— and he’d grow hungry.

  Mad for it. Until K had no choice but to give in.

  Hun kept his promises: the creature offered him his power.

  On regular days, K could only study one universe at a time. He was allowed a small glimpse of his alternate lives. But right now—

  He felt every version of himself squeezing into his mind. Hun’s power was calling upon every single version of K across the endless fabric of the universe.

  And it hurt.

  A hundred, thousand, million lives visible in K’s eyes. All at the same time, feeding him the endless talent and power they could offer.

  Everyone screamed in agony.

  But K laughed—

  He laughed as he tore himself apart, his heart stopping in the process.

  The 500th time, Hun had told him.

  First and foremost, K heard a flute.

  It was the melody of an old Binruan folk song.

  K shifted, pressing his hands to his ears. His head had been carefully placed in someone’s lap.

  His throat was ragged when he muttered, “You still play awfully, Sunren.”

  The flute grew silent as Sunren ceased playing. “You went past 10 minutes.”

  This was the only way the Phantom could be stopped. That was the reprieve that Sunren’s flute brought him. For a short while, Hun will be silent in K’s mind.

  He didn't know if it was worth a tooth, though.

  “Why did you waste so much time?” Sunren chided gently. “This could’ve been cleaner if you didn't snap.”

  K grunted as he sat back up. “They were smugglers. I wanted to teach them a lesson.”

  Raising a brow, Sunren said, “You’d make a great teacher, then.”

  Around them, the restaurant was now rubble.

  The tables were upturned and flat against the wall. As if a great wind had blown them away. The floor was cracked, ripples of tile and concrete foundation sliced to form perfect circles around K.

  But that was not what K cared about. Instead, he stared at the butterflies that were in the air.

  Their wings flapped up and down, like little flower petals. Royal purple, deep blue, and a clouded yellow— they all fluttered about in front of K.

  He counted them. Seventeen.

  “Butterflies, this time,” Sunren remarked as one of the insects landed on his finger. “Well, they’re a lot prettier than they were back then.”

  “Do you still not know why that happens?” K asked. His bones ached.

  “I need to conduct a few more studies,” Sunren rose to his feet, pulling K with him. “So far, I believe it’s because you are not the true wielder of the Beast’s Blessing.”

  This was common knowledge. K rolled his eyes. “I wish we had a more concrete reason besides that.”

  “It’s true. Because the Blessing originally belonged to someone else— and was mistakenly passed on to you… your Blessing goes out of control and you end up extending your Path to these people, somehow.”

  “So… these are their alternate lives?” K stared at the butterflies. “How come I stay human, and they turn into these creatures?”

  “As I said, I need to conduct more research…” Sunren’s tone darkened. He curled his fingers around the butterfly that was lounging on his other hand. Like a cage.

  Slowly, Sunren whispered, “Say, how about we kill them this time? Now that your Path has converted them into this form, it would be easier than ever to get the job done.”

  K didn’t say anything for a long while. He kept winding back the strips of gauze that the men had ripped off his face earlier.

  “They were traffickers and smugglers. You said it yourself— they didn’t deserve mercy,” Sunren continued to muse. His grip on the butterfly grew tighter. “You’re Master Banzai’s dearest spy, aren’t you? And yet, all you do is lie.”

  K got up to his two feet. He straightened out his frock coat.

  “You pretend that you are killing your targets…” Sunren pinched one of the butterfly’s wings, threatening to pull. “But you make your Blessing do all the work. You turn them into frogs, bugs, or animals; whatever improbable form they fall into at the moment.”

  “You never kill.” With a smile, the man tugged at the wing. The butterfly writhed, its little body flexing as the wing was severed from it.

  Sunren dropped the insect to the ground. “Come now, they’re just bugs. If their lives didn’t matter before, they surely don’t matter now.”

  K stood statuesque, facing away from the man.

  At last, he spoke. “The mission is done. I have integral information to share with the Master.”

  “Ah,” Sunren nodded thoughtfully. If he noticed the shift in conversation, he didn’t mention it. “You’re right. So, what did you learn?”

  “It was Saigo. He was trying to take over our sector of counterfeit gold,” K’s tone lightened, thankful for the change in subject. “I still don’t know why he’d do such a thing, though. He’s carved out a good name for himself near Furukame’s border, last I heard.”

  “The Guos aren’t going to like this.” Sunren muttered, and went ahead. He grabbed his cane, which he’d left leaning against the entryway. His feet expertly avoided the cracks and sharp edges of the floor.

  “Neither will the Langs,” K added as he watched Sunren go, waiting until the man was completely out of sight.

  The Guos were their country’s second largest political dynasty.

  They mainly ran against the Langs; and they’ve been on bad terms for centuries, tracing all the way back to the Centrality’s warring period. Conspiracies, assassinations, and controversy were the lifeblood of these two families.

  While the Guos believed in the power of the currently reigning Ministry, the Langs wanted a revolution.

  But if there was something that both dynasties agreed on, it was this:

  Furukame, their neighboring country, was the enemy.

  In K’s eyes, they were all mad. But Banzai saw business opportunities everywhere. And ever since his deal with the Guos to turn the Triads into their personal army, the Triads had been thriving.

  Trade routes were decided on. Precincts were paid to keep their attention elsewhere. And money steadily flowed into the hands of his Master.

  K knelt on the ground.

  In front of him was the butterfly, flat on its back. Its spindly little legs were kicking back and forth for purchase.

  Gently, he scooped it up into his hand.

  A bit of rubble shifted behind the register counter as he did so.

  K kicked his leg outward, planting his foot atop a wayward pistol. The force made it arch through the air, where he caught it in the hand that didn’t hold the butterfly.

  He brought it to the level of his eye, surveying the counter.

  Without the form of a gunslinger, his aim wasn’t as sharp as it could be. But under the direct tutelage of Master Banzai, K was still a fine shot.

  “I told you to take your time.” K called out.

  A shock of white hair peeked from behind the counter. And then a shabby uniform.

  It was the waiter, eyes wide in shock as he took in the flock of butterflies, the crumbling debris, and cracked floor. In his hands was a ceramic plate, fresh steam wafting from it.

  “Uh, I… blanched those endives,” the waiter said. “Their cores were too bitter. They would’ve been inedible.”

  K walked over to him, one hand cupping the injured butterfly tenderly. Once he reached the waiter, he peered down at the dish of endives. He did not lower his pistol.

  “I have to kill you,” K said emptily. “You’re a witness. And nobody escapes the Golden Phantom alive.”

  The waiter said nothing— something unnamable in his eyes.

  The butterflies continued to glide overhead.

  Fresh out of a battle like this, K was always bathed in blood. Clothes tattered and filthy.

  But the waiter didn’t seem afraid.

  How interesting.

  They stood, still and silent.

  Until K dropped his pistol to the ground.

  “It’s too bad you were in the cellar, blanching these endives.” K raised one grimy, blood-soaked hand to pluck one of the endives out.

  He lifted the edge of gauze over his lips and popped it into his mouth. “I didn’t find you, and you managed to escape.”

  K turned around, ready to depart. “What a waste, though. I prefer my endives as bitter as possible.”

  He half-expected the waiter to grovel at his feet for letting him live. Or maybe, he would remain shocked and rigid.

  Either way, K did not care.

  “That won’t survive, you know.”

  The waiter pointed at the butterfly in K’s hand.

  K looked down. For some reason, the words burned him.

  He knew it was foolish to reply, and yet—

  “I was aware of that. Butterflies only live for three days.” K breathed, tilting his head backward to stare at the fluttering butterflies. “They'll die soon enough, too.”

  Sunren called it mercy, but it isn’t. To have one’s body stripped from them—

  That can only be the work of a tyrant. A monster.

  ‘The ghost of two inhuman bastards.’

  “I think it’s wonderful… what you’ve done to them.” There was a strange conviction in the waiter’s words as he said, “You wanted to give those people the chance to live a beautiful life.”

  K jolted sharply.

  “A butterfly lives a life free from morality, pain, or guilt.” The waiter reached forward tentatively, scooping the butterfly from K’s other hand. “By turning them into these creatures, you’re giving them a chance to be pure. Absolved of their wrongdoings before they inevitably die.”

  A shudder ran down K’s spine.

  “It is both their punishment and their absolution.” The waiter smirked. “Did I get that right?”

  A nervous, maddened smile stretched across K’s cheeks.

  He whispered dangerously. “Perhaps I should have killed you after all.”

  The waiter just laughed.

  “I’ll give this one a proper send-off,” the other boy raised the injured butterfly in his palm, before turning away.

  It was not often that K could be shaken.

  And it was not often that he found his gun on the floor— while he wished so painfully for it to be in the palm of his hand, shooting a .45 mm barrel of metal into someone’s skull.

  How fearful it was, to be seen in such a way.

  But he hadn’t been seen in so long, that K only felt it was right to let this maggot stay alive. An unnatural weakness, a blip in this universe’s laws.

  It was once, and once only.

  K stood there for a long while, until he finally heard Sunren calling for him beyond the restaurant’s doors.

  So, he turned and left the crumbling restaurant.

  K did not know it—

  But this decision would be the cause of his final death.

  Alone within the kitchens, the waiter smiled.

  He shucked the blazer of his uniform, revealing a coiled wire.

  With a grunt, he tore the wire from his chest. A small metallic audio transmitter hung from the end.

  “What in the eight hells are you doing, kid?” A voice tittered into the boy's ear. “This was not part of the Master’s plan.”

  “I know. But what can I say?” the waiter grinned, dropping the butterfly to the ground. “I wanted to meet the Phantom before I make him my prisoner.”

  There was a heavy sigh on the other line. “Proceed to Phase 2, then. But if the Master retaliates against us… it’s your fault.”

  There was a satisfying crunch beneath the waiter’s polished shoes, the struggling butterfly smashed into grimy pieces.

  “Roger that.”