A young man burped loudly and laughed with the other drunkards around him. He felt at home in places such as these. The hopeless gathered. For a moment, he let himself go.

  He felt the echoes of forgotten memories fade as he joined in the merriment. Eventually, he became so drunk that he started mouthing off to impress the other drunks, “Claudius sees futures where he dies. He calls them ‘practice.’”

  — Eight, Drunken Tavern Ramblings

  Dante received no handshake or signed contract. All he felt was the vanishing of a weight upon his being. The Lightsea receded without noise before a gasp thundered out of his lungs. The blood trailing from his eyes, ears, and nose ceased, beginning to stain his flesh while his heartbeat restarted.

  The human fell forward, no longer held by Rasa, as he caught himself. Both palms faced the cold concrete beneath him as Dante felt a piece of him shift. It warbled and twisted, an unknown and insatiable energy doing the changing.

  Instinctively, he felt what had occurred. One had slid to his heart while his mind mulled over the Lightsea’s cruelty.

  After I set a Matchlock, I have to wait an entire day before using it. That’s... pretty bad. But with that comes power. Now, I can do things that were not possible before. A whole-body healing Tide is around the corner, though I’m just taking Stem to another level.

  But that was not all the changes that had been made. Such a development was the mere growth of Dante, though accelerated and made intricately specific. Empowering his stored Tides through time made sense, even to the human with his knowledge of Stigmata.

  No, the greater price was...

  That his life could no longer be extended. Well, not that it couldn’t, but that would break the deal. Doing so would...

  Dante gazed at his palm, the flecks of blood that he had coughed up. Then, he clenched his fist.

  He never intended to be one of those old monsters, rotting away with countless life extension methods, whether gene therapy or some other nonsense.

  The Penance would go when death came to claim him. No sooner.

  That didn’t mean he would go without a fight, however.

  Claudius cleared his throat, standing above Dante with his hands on his hips. The Judge laughed before stretching out his hand and saying, “I’m surprised that worked. I was... worried it would just kill you there. The vibe I was getting... the Lightsea fucking hates you, Dante. Like... despises you.”

  Dante took the offered help and rose to his feet. He didn’t press Rasa for the man’s threat. He didn’t even mock Rosa’s astonished expression as she sat, marveling at the success.

  He returned the laugh once on his feet, though undoubtedly wobbly. Several bones were broken, and it was only through the virtue of his augments that he quickly became outpaced that he remained mobile. The human’s vision blurred and shook, yet he took it all in stride.

  “That makes sense. No one likes humans,” Dante said without a hint of the laugh held on his lips.

  Neither Claudius, Rasa, nor Rosa had a word to share. Eight, however, did.

  He hopped from the large crate he sat on to escape Rejo and landed without issue. The young man nodded to Dante as he approached him and asked with an expecting tone, “So? What did you get? Anything fancy?”

  Dante shook his head, intending to keep his newfound powers to himself. However, the Judge saw this as an opportunity for information. While he was the conduit, he wasn’t privy to exact details.

  As such, he laid out an irresistible offer, “If you show us what you got, I’ll send you some money. You must be short on it. Rasa?”

  The Centurion narrowed his eyes but nodded, “I can do it.”

  Claudius’ exchange tugged on Dante’s weary mind, but the man still shook his head. The Judge already knew too much about him. He had to keep some things close to his heart.

  So, Dante waved to Rejo, who eyed Rasa with a non-zero level of vitriol. Upon seeing his crewmate’s misunderstanding, the captain delivered a clear order before he opened the safehouse’s door to the frozen world, “Don’t hold a grudge, Rejo. This was all part of the deal. Work with them well. I’ll see you soon, buddy. Get some good stories for me.”

  The two shared one final parting look. Then, the human vanished into the snowy landscape of Habituar B’s sole metropolis.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  With him gone, Claudius glanced toward his mentor. The Centurion nodded gravely before he said, “You two are opposites. An honored king and a dishonored peasant, if I were to make an analogy. However... one must not forget that all kings, even those born of royalty, still bleed.”

  Claudius bit his lip in thought. He nodded and asked, “Right. I know how different we are. But why did you say that earlier? That he would be a Centurion?”

  Against his question, Rasa shook his head. He flicked a thumb toward the Araki, saddled alongside them now, and said, “Dante is not like you or Rejo. Or Rosa. Or Eight. You all learn naturally. Things... flow into your mind. Men like Dante have to fight for every little scrap. But that’s not what makes me wary. It’s that he likes it. And that he’s still alive with such an attitude. You best stay away from him. He’s a catastrophe waiting to happen. Now, let’s get off this forsaken planet. We’ve got an incoming Praetor, and I don’t want to meet my new boss quite yet.”

  Eyes widened at Rasa’s announcement. Eight went so far as to shout, “He’s your new reporting Praetor!?”

  The Centurion nodded and sighed, “Yes. And he’s not happy that I’m avoiding him. Let’s not let him know I was here.”

  Nods circled the warehouse before they all packed their things. Rejo stood amongst them like a deer stranded in an ocean. He didn’t know what to do or what to think. So, he just started taking things from the half-opened crates to fit in.

  Eight saw this as he uncorked the wine bottle he had stolen without Claudius’ knowledge. A curse flew at the young man before he stood beside the Araki.

  “Y’know, you ain’t half bad. I need someone else around here to balance out all this... grime. Drink?” Eight asked with a mischievous grin.

  Rejo bobbed his head excitedly, not worried about a thing anymore.

  *****************************

  While Dante sat inside the building for the three hours the ceremony took to receive his Lightless Pact, the rest of the crew, barring Sonna and Archimedes, set foot on the planet.

  Snow drifted in the air, causing Lucius’ voice to crackle as he spoke into his comms first and scowled at the whirling winds, “Let’s get a move on. Head to where Eight teleported Dante away.”

  The soldier nodded to the bundled Anathema and annoyed doctor clad in her own arctic clothing. Astraeus went for burly cloth to hide his form, while Joan merely had a repurposed spacesuit. She didn’t mind how it would affect her movement, as she didn’t want to fight.

  Lucius wrapped himself in furs as he walked the street, eyeing the few other passersby of this frozen city. Night approached, for roughly seventy percent of every day on this planet was without sun. With the dying of the light, the temperature dropped further.

  More individuals retreated to their homes as businesses that weren’t essential began to close. Meanwhile, the three neared Dante’s vanishing point. Of course, they still received pings of his current location, but Sonna surmised that whoever was tailing him would have been lost from Eight’s Stigmata.

  As they reached the road that abruptly turned to the left with an alley, Lucius paused to search his surroundings. The two behind him did as well. After a moment, he tapped the side of his ear and said, “This is the location, right? I’m not seeing anything. Streets are clear now from the cold.”

  A crackling voice inundated the rest of their ears in response, young and skittish but confident, “Yes, Mr. Waters. Checking the cameras, I see a man here shortly after Dante and them. He appears... to not be surprised. I think... No. He must know about Eight’s Stigmata.”

  The ‘fireteam’ who was sent out into the cold nodded as they drew nearer, instinctively huddling from the possible threat. The mere fact that this pursuer is aware of Eight’s identity and powers raises their danger significantly.

  Lucius unlatched his hatchet while tapping the safety off on his pistol. Astraeus’ hands vibrated, bits of snow worming out from his sleeves into thin gloves over his actual gloves. Even Joan prepared herself, lowering her stature and reaching a hand into her bag.

  The three waited for more intel while investigating every little piece of the nearby city. Their eyes scanned frosted windows, searched open parking lots, and eyed even the rare passing vehicle. Nonetheless, they found nothing.

  Soon, however, the crackle returned, “Okay, okay. I see that he entered the parking lot northbound about two minutes ago. Then... he shit. He broke the camera with... something black from his sleeve.”

  Astraeus and Lucius instantly turned to face each other when they heard the word ‘black’ come from Archimedes’ comms. Then, they sprinted toward the open-air parking lot, filled with snow-in cars that likely would never move again.

  They moved with impossible swiftness, both cracking the ice below them and the pavement hidden under. The month they spent training relentlessly against the other bore many fruits, and the greatest was of their physical abilities.

  Despite Astraeus elevating his speed with bursts of Frigo from his heels, Lucius still outpaced him. The fruits of the Inferose seemed to have removed his limiters. With every day he trained, he grew stronger. Faster. Tougher.

  They left Joan behind, but neither worried for her safety. The doctor skulked behind them with caution, acting as their cover.

  In just a few scarce seconds, Lucius crossed hundreds of feet and leaped over the snow mound that acted as a wall to the side of the parking lot.

  He landed rough, sliding without much friction. The Martian remedied such an issue by slamming his hatchet into the ice below. A burst of snow and frost flew all over, but he stabilized his movement.

  Astraeus followed soon after but without any issue. The white gracing his feet was his and his alone. Their eyes scanned the snowy debris as they spread out, each taking one side of the lot.

  Sonna’s soon chimed as they moved. Staring at their vitals, locations, and through Joan’s camera on her suit with a clenched fist from aboard the ship, she said, “Careful, you two. This guy might be Friday.”

  Both Dirge and Martian agreed with her assessment. They had met no one else with anything that came close to Archimedes’ description. Furthermore, the man had some sort of grudge against Eight.

  But as minutes passed and more space was cleared, neither found the man. However, that did not mean they discovered nothing.

  Astraeus and Lucius met at the rear end of the parking lot as Joan approached from behind them. Her boots crunched along the ice as she walked with a slight wobble, not used to the terrain.

  The trio gazed downward at words carved into the ice, reading them aloud for Archimedes and Sonna, “I would like to speak to your captain. Alone. Meet me at Cao’s Garden in the morning. This is not an opportunity he would want to miss. Nor you, Astraeus, if you ever wish to see your mentor again. - your favorite Necto, Friday.”

  Lucius’ palm grasped Astraeus’ shoulder in a fraction of a second. He failed to calm the man down, but he managed to stop the Dirge’s outburst long enough for Sonna to say, “Astraeus! Relax! It’ll be okay. Dante will figure this out. We need to wait for him to return.”

  While the others worried about Astraeus’ trembling form, his anger overflowing and causing minor imperfections to his crying countenance, Joan frowned. She kneeled before the words embedded in the ice and added callously, “Don’t we have a Praetor after us? How will we meet this fucker? I, for one, don’t want to be caught with our pants around our toes.”

  A glare from the Dirge hit the doctor, but she didn’t budge. Joan met Astraeus’ frosted fury with a pointed, gloved finger and said, “How do you know she’s even alive? You said so yourself. She had used her Tide Reversal. Death was her only result if she lost against Joseph.”

  Tensions rose as Lucius tilted his head, finding wisdom beneath Joan’s sociopathy. She was right. Thanaris might not be alive, regardless of what Friday had written.

  It was two against two as Sonna continued in their ears, “Yeah, but we can’t just ignore it. We’re a crew. This is important to Astraeus. Very. If it were your children, how would you feel, Lucius?”

  Once more, the temperature of the mood plummeted. Archimedes remained silent, not wanting to tread into the frigid comms as things were one moment away from detonation.

  However, just before Joan opened her mouth again, which would have undoubtedly aggravated Astraeus somehow, their captain returned to their comms channel, “What’s going on here? Run me through it, Lucius.”