In a crowded room of many floating platforms, with a number of highly consequential, yet seemingly casual conversations taking place between individuals dressed in all kinds of extravagant clothing, Madame Morleppe was one of the few people who wasn’t floating in the air. She swirled the win in her glass, taking a delicate sip. “I swear, high society is developing an allergy to the ground.”

  Ten men who were busy sucking up to her burst into laughter as if she’d just said the funniest thing ever.

  “That’s exactly right, Madame! Really, some folk could use a bit of grounding.”

  “It is impressive how well you handle your position, my lady. If I had even a tenth of your humility my wives would start asking if I’m getting sick!”

  “Indeed, there are few capable of your elegance and restraint, Madame. The empress is wise for keeping you close by her side.”

  It was a tiring ordeal. So much of her life was exhausting nowadays. She longed for the relaxed days of sitting in her little Pittersville office, digging through reports and searching for a fresh scoop.

  As the droll evening continued, it seemed as if it would be another waste of what little free time she had.

  Then, she felt something that nearly made her drop her glass.

  Her head swiveled, and she looked over to the entrance. She didnt spot him, but she could feel him among the crowd.

  Freddy Stern. He had just walked into the room.

  What the…!?

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said politely as she headed in the direction as indicated by her talent. She was frowning, genuinely bewildered at the suddenness of it.

  This dinner might have been nothing but a tiring chore for her, but it was a gathering of some of the most important individuals in Starhold, a bastion of humanity’s expansion into the interspace. Not just anyone could walk in.

  Her heart raced. For the first time in forever, she felt truly excited. She’d been tuning into the man’s life through a very narrow hole, but even through that, she could clearly feel the near endless violence.

  A grin appeared on her face. What would he look like? What had he achieved in this time? What kind of incredible tale would he tell? Was his body truly stolen? She could feel her fingers twitch, holding an imaginary pencil as they wrote the article with a mind of their own.

  It was a rare day when people saw her moving faster than a tectonic plate. But on that evening, she practically ran across the hall, until finally—

  A young boy, probably less than 20 years old, jolted at her sudden appearance. He was stocky and pretty in the face, but he wasn’t Freddy Stern. He stared at her dumbly, and she stared at him with a bewildered expression.

  “Dear heavens!” a man suddenly exclaimed. “It must be Madame Morleppe!” A chubby, slick man butted in, offering his sweaty hand to her. She ignored him. He looked between her and the boy. “Oh? Did you—are you—my god! D-did my son offend you somehow?” he muttered as he reached an angry hand over to the boy, grabbing him by the arm as if he were about to twist it off.

  She looked down at the boy, suddenly realizing something. Her talent gave a very vague signal, and it was localized somewhere in the young man’s torso. Madame’s eyes flashed open as she realized what was happening. “You had an organ transplant,” she stated.

  The boy chuckled. “W-wow. Yes, Madame! How could you tell?”

  The boy’s father smacked him on the back of his head. “Insolence! This is the Scorched Fleshmancer herself! Of course she could notice something like… my god, have I taught you nothing?”

  Madame calmed herself and put on an easy smile. “Excuse me. I lost myself for a moment.”

  She couldn’t deny the disappointment she felt. But at the same time, the mystery sparked her curiosity aflame, feeding her ravenous urge for a good old investigation.

  She opened her mouth, speaking before she even needed to think of what to say, “Pardon my uncouth behavior.” She chuckled pleasantly, hiding her smile with a poised hand. Her gaze grew predatory, and the two men stiffened at the evident hunger in her eyes. “I would like to ask you two a couple of questions.”

  ***

  Ever since the destruction of the Kraven Clan, Nahar’s life had felt empty.

  He had unfathomable wealth.

  Despite barely paying attention to Basilisk’s bullshit, he was able to make the money work for him. And work for him it did. Well enough that he would never have to work again. So he indulged. The Northern Belt was a cold place. People liked to stay indoors. Clubs in Ottawa were always full. And he was there all the time.

  Drugs and sex kept him company throughout most of his life. And now, he relied on them more than ever before. Day after day, he woke up with strangers in his bed. Or as a stranger in someone else’s bed. Rarely was it one person at a time, and never did he actually remember how he made it there.

  Every so often, he’d go out to the interspace and fight. He rarely fought anything strong enough to fight back. He was there for the power fantasy—to scratch the itch he’d built up throughout a lifetime of being groomed into a killing machine by his father.

  He woke up one day. He had no idea whether the sun was rising or setting. As soon as he opened his eyes, a profound boredom overwhelmed him. It was paralyzing. “Ah, that’s right,” he said, muttering to himself. “I should go visit Mark.”

  He had no love for the square-eyed freak. Sure, the clan had betrayed Nahar. But it was hard to get over the fact that Mark had destroyed his home. Slaughtered his clansmen.

  Stole the opportunity for Nahar to do it himself.

  He got dressed in whatever didn’t smell too bad. Whether it was his or not, he wasn’t sure. There was a number of people sleeping beneath the blankets of his bed, snoring away as he headed to leave. A buck naked man walked out of the toilet, wiping blood under his nose. He waved with an inviting smile, one that Nahar ignored as he kept walking.

  It didn’t take long to reach Mark’s room. He rang the bell, and a moment later, the doors unlocked, allowing him to enter.

  Mark was resting on his couch, looking a bit pale.

  The sight of the ragged man sparked a childish glee in Nahar. “Hey there, Marky Moo. Heard you got pretty fucked up on a mission.”

  Mark snorted. “I don’t wanna hear anything from you, you loser. With how rusty you’re getting, you’d have lost your head fighting the little two-star, let alone the main course.”

  “Excuses, excuses.” Nahar grabbed a chair and turned it around, sitting on it with his chest leaning against the rest. He cocked his head. “Did you get rid of those freaks yet?”

  “None of your business.”

  “How could it not be my business? You’d sold your soul to some demonic entity beyond the pale. I shudder thinking of the day you suddenly morph into a beast and start killing everyone.”

  Mark smiled. “That won’t happen.”

  “So you keep claiming.” Nahar leaned his chin on the back of the chair, smirking, “But I’m not so convinced.”

  “If you’ve come here just to be a prick then get the fuck out of my room and let me watch my show in peace.”

  “Don’t be like that. You’re growing cold on me. Boring. Where’s the fun little junior I could bully in peace?”

  Mark snorted at that, choosing to respond with silence.

  “Hey, let’s go out,” Nahar suggested. “You and I, like the good old days.”

  “No, thanks. I’m done living like a pig.”

  “Wow. Talk about a superiority complex. Are you slut-shaming me?”

  “Nahar,” Mark called in a sharp tone. “You’re letting yourself go. I suggest you stop frying your brain with drugs and get back to training. You’ll never leave the belt at this rate.”

  “And what if I want to say?” Nahar leaned back in the chair, pulling it just to the limit where he was about to fall back, but maintained balance. “What if I like it here?”

  “I don’t give a single shit about you or what you like. I’m just telling you the truth. Rot if you want for all I care, just leave me out of it.”

  “But what if—” Nahar started, but his chair suddenly floated off the ground and out into the hallway. The doors closed.

  He clicked his tongue. “I wish I had a talent like that.”

  For the rest of that day, he decided to take it slow. Mark was a prick, but he wasn’t wrong. The drugs really were frying Nahar’s brain. He was forgetting things all the time, and a constant, overbearing sense of anxiety and hatred followed him everywhere he went. The latter might not be the drugs, though.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He took a long walk that day. Sat in a few cafes, reading newspapers. Went to a theater.

  It was painfully boring. But he held himself back. One day wasn’t too bad.

  What was the harm of being left alone with his thoughts for a single day?

  That night, he struggled to fall asleep. But it caught up with him anyway.

  And when it did, he found himself standing in an all-too-familiar hallway, leading right up to his father’s office.

  “What…?” he muttered to himself, looking around. “I don’t remember taking anything for ultra-realistic dreams tonight.” He took a few steps forward, then tapped himself across his body. It felt real. Too real. Something was up.

  He walked forward, approaching the stone doors leading into his father’s office. They began rising, slowly, with the fake screeching sound.

  He rolled his eyes. As soon as there was enough space, he crawled under them and entered the office.

  There, sitting in his usual office chair, was his father. Well, clearly not his actual father, given the square pupils.

  Nahar smirked. “Yellow there, pops! Came back from the dead to bitch at me again? How nice.”

  The thing wearing his father’s face smiled at him. “Nahar. I’m—”

  “You’re a demon. You’re here to buy my soul. Blah, blah, look, let’s skip the bullshit and cut to the chase.” He leaned on the table, staring straight into the square-pupiled eyes. “What do you want? And what are you gonna give me?”

  His father’s face twisted into a massive grin.

  ***

  It was a rare sight for Repentawa to see a sunny day. It was even rarer for the temperatures to be above freezing. But during the few days of what could generously be called summer, there was a possibility that one might see both happen.

  On one such day, a large number of people dressed in black stood right outside the headquarters of Valhalla, watching the funeral procession. Sobbing echoed all across the yard. Of the many people who had cared. Of the many who had loved Thor Connel and the work he’d done during his life.

  Among the pallbearers carrying the casket was Freddy, a dark shadow over his face. He approached the hole, and he, together with the other three men, one of whom was Travis, put it down so they could lower it into the ground.

  The man playing the trumpet upped the volume, making the song extra sad and criable-to.

  A woman standing right above the grave carried a portrait of Thor, bawling her eyes out. Apparently, she had been his girlfriend. Freddy had never met her before. Hell, he didn’t even know she existed.

  They lowered the casket. They grabbed the shovels. They buried the hole.

  It was right in the middle of the main yard. A statue had been commissioned. It would be placed right on top of his grave.

  Travis leaned on the shovel, looking at the packed mound of dirt with a distant expression.

  Freddy stood right beside him.

  “Thor once said he wanted his funeral to be on the most depressing day possible,” Travis said, snorting and shaking his head. “A gloomy, rainy day—preferably with thunder echoing his departure.”

  “He’d died on such a day.”

  “That he did.” Travis gave Freddy a forced smile, and then turned around, heading to a group of people who were talking to the side.

  Freddy sighed and walked on over to someone who was waiting all the way in the back, far from the crowd of people. She stood wearing clothes just slightly off for the occassion, her still-sickly-thin and kinda short blonde hair done up to the best of the stylist’s ability.

  She waved at him awkwardly. “Hey there. All good?”

  He smiled at her. “All good, Sophia. How are you feeling?”

  “This is actually so freakin’ depressing! I just came back from the dead and the first thing I go to is a funeral?”

  Freddy laughed. He walked over to her and stood right beside her, still carrying the shovel. He planted the shovel into the ground and leaned on it slightly. The two of them watched the crowds mingling, people giving each other condolences and comfort in difficult times.

  He was still an outsider. And he probably always would be. But that was fine. He could come to terms with it.

  He had updated Sophia on everything that had happened during her absence. And it was everything. He didn’t keep much hidden from the girl. She already knew a lot about him, and he felt comfortable having at least one person he could share his true self with.

  For the most part, she took it all pretty well. Well, it was more apt to say that she was so overwhelmed by everything that she hadn’t processed it at all. It would probably hit her one of these days. Maybe.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked her.

  “I was thinking of maybe a walk. It’s a nice day. I haven’t seen the city yet.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He looked at her. “Where do you want to go from here?”

  She froze at that, then awkwardly scratched her cheek. “Honestly, I just want to go home.”

  “Your home is long gone.”

  “Well wow, thanks for reminding me so delicately, asshole.”

  He chuckled. “I get where you’re coming from, though. Part of me still misses that dungeon.”

  She eyed him strangely. “That place did some weird stuff your brain, didn’t it?”

  “Oh you have no idea.”

  She took a step away from him, still giving him an odd look. “Are you like… safe to be around?”

  “Not if you piss me off.”

  “Huh. Well that isn’t at all vague and kind of threatening.”

  He laughed, shifting his posture to lean an elbow on the shovel’s handle. “You have nothing to worry about. As long as you don’t throw me off a cliff again.”

  She squinted her eyes at him. “Is that why you named yourself Freddy Cliff?”

  He froze at the question. “No. It was just the first thing that came to mind.”

  Silence settled between them for a few moments. Then, Sophia asked, “And what about you? What do you want, Mr. City-owner?”

  Freddy glanced at her, suddenly remembering his final conversation with Insanity.

  ***

  Freddy took the spirit ability, accepting it into his soul. It was a similar process to how one accepted a prime vestige.

  He slowly breathed out. “Mmh. I can feel my soul tightening. Is that normal?”

  “That’s normal, yes.”

  “Wait”—he turned around—”No affinity? I thought I’d get another affinity.” He vaguely gestured to the side. “The other two unique spirit abilities gave me an affinity.”

  “You got the other two by directly implanting two spirits into your soul. Unfortunately, the much lamer, non-insane method doesn’t come with such benefits.”

  “Damn.”

  “Figure out what to do with your unique affinity first before looking for more,” Insanity said.

  Freddy winced at that. “Any tips on that? I’ve tried a lot of stuff, but nothing seems to work.”

  “Keep trying. And no, I don’t have any tips. That is not a part of your reward. Speaking of which, I believe you’ve received all you were owed. It is time to leave.”

  Freddy sighed. “Yeah. Okay.” He turned around. “Uhm. Any portals?”

  “I have one final thing to say to you.” It approached, getting well into his personal space. The lumberjack’s breath stank something fierce. “You’ve endured a lot. More than most would be able to. You’re beginning to think you have infinite willpower. So let me give you a warning. Willpower is much like a heart; it keeps beating forever—until it doesn’t.”

  Insanity raised its hand, pressing two fingers together, just leaving barely enough space for them to not touch. “You’re this close to completely losing yourself.”

  Freddy chuckled. “What’s this? I thought you’d like the idea of me losing my mind.”

  It grinned at him. “I do enjoy driving people to death. But you should keep for your enemies.”

  “So what do you suggest? I should go on a vacation?”

  “Let me ask you a question—what are you working so hard for? What do you want?”

  Freddy looked hesitant.

  Insanity poked him in the eye.

  “Ow, what the f—”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” it said, taking an aggressive step forward. “You are afraid to have things. You are afraid of rewarding yourself. You only keep thinking about the next hurdle you have to overcome. You fear that, by actually giving yourself what you want, you will lose the desire to keep working. You fear that any time you spend on actually enjoying your life is a waste because you can’t afford it.”

  “Well am I wrong!?”

  “You’re a moron!” Insanity shouted, spittle flying everywhere. “An absolute idiot!”

  “Why?”

  “Because you fail to realize that what you’re trying to do goes against the nature of your species! Let me tell you something—there have been creatures added to the Great Labyrinthe who were the embodiment of reason. Pure utilitarianism. Absolute dedication to anything they set their minds to. So they must have become immensely powerful, right?

  “Wrong! They went extinct after other species crushed them! Do you want to know why they lost? Because perfect order can’t stand against chaos!” It took a step back. “Your body and mind have desires. You have things you want. From those you’re biologically programmed to crave to those you personally desire. That is the secret to true power. That is what will drive you to greater heights.

  “But you refuse to give yourself the things you can already have. And while you can pretend all you want, your body and mind can’t be lied to. Your drive is going to weaken. Vanish. You are going to break. So tell me. What do you want?”

  Freddy paused at that. “I… I don’t know.”

  “You do know. You might not want to admit it, but you do know.”

  Another long pause, and then, he felt his voice spill with a crack, “I just want to have fun, man.”

  Insanity was right.

  He did know what he wanted.

  He knew it so well it hurt to say it out loud.

  “I want to date. I want to travel to nice places.” He took a deep breath. “I want to be famous. I want everyone to know who I am. I want to party like an animal. I want to… I want to have friends. People I can hang out with. People I can be myself around. And how am I supposed to have this, when I am chased by danger wherever I go?

  “I don’t want to keep losing things. It’s always the same story. It’s always the same tragic tale. I’m tired of it.” He took a moment to catch his breath. “But I know myself too well. I can’t give up this fate I have been cursed with. I don’t want to lose my chance at greatness. But how can I let myself have things when I’m so fucking afraid that they will be taken away from me?” He choked. “I… What do I do, then?”

  Insanity smiled at him. “Do it anyway.”

  “What?”

  “Just have things anyway. Even if you lose them. Even if you’re afraid. Sometimes, to make sense of the world, you have to be a little insane.”

  He stood there frozen for a long moment. “I… Wow. Never did I expect to hear reasonable advice from the literal concept of insanity.”

  “That’s because you still can’t separate Insanity from lack of reason.” Then, it shot him a mysterious grin. “But I wouldn’t be worried about that for long if I were you.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at it and then coughed. “Well… thank you, I guess. I appreciate the advice.”

  “Now get out.”

  A portal appeared behind him. He groaned. “Wish me luck.”

  “No,” it said as it kicked him in the ass, pushing him through the portal.

  He turned around. The pitch-black entrance to the dungeon was gone. Forever.

  Deep within the darkness of the cave, he smelled the toxic fumes and heard the screaming of the monsters scurrying in the distance. One of them jumped out of a thick mass of growth and leaped at him. He instinctively swatted it out of the air like a fly. It flew at the wall with surprising speed, smashing into it with enough force to break half the bones in its body.

  “Not bad,” he said, eyeing his hand. He chuckled. “Well then. It’s time to go.”

  [1% Lifesteal]

  [Book 3]

  [END]

  [IMPORTANT PART, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THE REST]

  You can follow me on Patreon to get right into reading book 4! (Do note that the chapters are a bit behind what the tiers say because of many reasons, and that's exactly why I'm pausing here so I can catch up!)

  exact same physiological response. With an obvious difference in intensity of course. And, notably, it doesn't affect everyone the same way.

  something about how my work is doing, ya' know?

  positive review, mind you, but a good one, one that actually provides solid arguments for what's good and bad about the story and gives me some insight into what I could be doing better). I also love seeing you poor poor souls helplessly squirm as you try to predict what happens next, it's so cute. I especially love seeing someone actually guess a future plot point and then rewriting the whole plot just to make sure that their guess doesn't happen. Not that I've actually ever done that, haha... Or have I?