Rosano adjusted the filters on his Ambion regulator mask, cursing the crude design and his lack of funds, which forced him to use such outdated tech. Earth was a green planet, abundant in all the necessary gasses and liquids to support type-2 life, the third most commonly found across the multiverse.

  As a human, it should have been perfect for Rosano, only the hundreds of operations and genetic experimentation he'd been forced to undergo made him the very antithesis of his former species. That was the only way he could see it- his former species- not the 'evolved human' as his psychotic master called it. He was more machine than flesh at this point, though no one looking at him would be able to tell at first glance; Lady Melania's mechanised flesh craft was far too advanced to look any different from nature's work to the casual observer.

  Rosano could feel the difference, though, as starkly as if he had woken up in another's body. It had been decades since he'd felt at home in his skin, which was unsurprising considering it had been replaced entirely with Melania's work around that time. Rosanno shivered at the memory. For all her insane genius, Lady Melania wasn't a miracle worker, nor was she a big believer in the dignity and comforts that should be afforded to her patients. It had taken her two weeks to rid him of the sensation that his muscle and tissue were exposed to open air and by that point, he was sure he'd lost most of his sanity.

  Sometimes, he wondered if it had ever really returned.

  After all, how else could he explain his current circumstances? For the first time in twenty years- since he'd been a dumb kid with no self-preservation instincts, in fact- he'd escaped from under the cruel thumb of Lady Melania. The reason why was even more absurd. Apparently, an Originator had appeared, a near enough mythical phenomenon already, only the Originator was rumoured to be a soul mage too, which elevated his value beyond most transcendent treasures.

  When he thought of it like that, it sounded ludicrous and he wondered if this was an elaborate dreamscape Lady Melania had cooked up as part of her latest experiments. He wouldn't put it past her. His master had a sadistic streak a mile wide and it wouldn't be the first time she fed her creations false hope.

  No. This is real. It has to be. The moment he couldn't differentiate between reality and fiction would mean he was truly broken, beyond all hopes of salvation. He turned to look at his partner in crime, Mysha. Once a dear friend, Lady Melania's treatments had been far harsher on her than him, and there was nothing left of the girl he'd once loved in her pitiless gaze. She'd always been braver than him, and lacking the self-restraint that had kept him alive hadn't helped her case at all. Where he had lowered his head and meekly accepted his new existence as a test subject, Mysha had rebelled.

  And so Lady Melania had broken her.

  It was always easier to destroy than create, and craftsmen knew how to break things down in ways that were impossible to repair. Mysha had lasted all of five days before she’d returned… Rosano didn’t know how to describe it. A broken puppet? Or a perfect one? It depended on who you were asking. Rosano was a broken man, but his mind remained human, the one part of him that still remained his own. Mysha’s ego had been erased and replaced with Melania’s will, as much an extension of the psychotic woman as one of her limbs.

  Case in point what she was currently doing with the poor sod they’d come after. The Originator’s scent had led him to this man and getting through the security Earth’s natives had set on the military camp had been as easy as taking candy from a child. Three minutes and seven quiet assassinations later, they’d reached their target with no one aware of their presence. Honestly, if you were to look around the dark room in the light of day, you’d be hard-pressed to notice the evidence of the violence and brutality that had taken place here. That was the usual result when the gulf in power between them and their prey was so vast they couldn’t even put up a token of resistance.

  Rosano idly read the information they had on him. He was called Matthew with zero affinities for magic and an above-average aptitude for physical combat. A middling existence whose only value lay in the fact that he was a childhood friend of the Originator. They’d come here looking for a lead and found nothing. Or, as Matthew had said, 'The bastard was too good to associate with common riff-raff now that he was someone special.'

  Rosano had to respect the way the young man had tried to protect his friend. It would’ve worked too if he hadn’t seen the same loyalty displayed a dozen times before. A few minutes of persuasion later, they’d realised Matthew truly didn’t know where Arthur Ward had disappeared off to.

  “Mysha, can you stop doing that. You're getting water all over my feet,” he asked in as polite a voice as he could muster. It was the only tone of voice she responded to these days.

  The woman in question had the entirety of her hand and half her arm in Matthew’s mouth, the poor kid's teeth removed and his jaw broken to accommodate the tight fit. With her limb inside the kid, she was able to get past the innate resistance a soul provided to one’s body and generate water directly into Matthew’s lungs. Mysha would then watch as his chest expanded far more than a human’s should have, ribs creaking dangerously before she’d stab him with a pointed dagger and watch in rapt fascination as pinkish-red water careered through the air to land on Rosano’s boots. A little healing and she’d start all over again.

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  She'd been going at it for a while now, and the only thing keeping Mathew alive were the protections he'd placed on his heart and vital organs. Still, if Mysha had her way, the kid wouldn't remain amongst the living for much longer. His magic was good, but it couldn't hold up to the abuse his partner was dishing out for eternity.

  Mysha was disgruntled that her fun was cut short, but she listened to his request and stood up from Mathew's prone form.

  "Let's go, Mysha," he said. "It's clear going after the Originator's connections won't provide any results. Whatever his intentions, the guy made the right decision cutting these people off." It would protect both them and him from a whole lot of unnecessary trouble.

  He pulled a healing potion out of his storage pouch and poured it down Mathew's ruined mouth. It was epic-ranked, one of the seven that he owned. Even as he used it to save the boy's life, he wondered why he was wasting such a precious resource. Was he getting sentimental? No, that wasn't it. The kid reminds me of myself. Talentless with friends so much more lucky than me. It was that very inferiority complex that led him to the petty theft that had ruined his life, simply for making the mistake of choosing the wrong target. Don't tell me you think this altruism cancels out your sins, Rosano, he mocked himself. If there was a hell, he was destined for it as surely as the sun was a ball of flaming gas.

  Watching the boy's shattered jaw start regenerating, Rosano considered what he was doing on Earth. At level 213 with an epic class, he was a deadly warrior who should have been living in luxury in one of the resort planets. He was a terror in combat, doubly so with all the augmentations that allowed him to exhibit legendary potential for short bursts at a time.

  He looked over at Mysha, the girl he'd once loved. She was unrecognisable now, still beautiful, but in an uncanny valley way after all the cosmetic changes Lady Melania had made to suit her tastes. The broken puppet was fiddling with a camera she'd set up earlier and he grimaced as he recalled all the recordings she already had in her collection.

  "Mysha, you need to stop with that sick hobby of yours," he grumbled. "It's bad enough that we do all these crimes without you recording evidence against us."

  The woman just looked at him dumbly without saying anything. She smiled creepily, the grin too wide for her face before resuming whatever it was that had her so interested in the camera. Not for the first time, Rosano wondered what evil he must have done in his past life that cursed him with such a fate. His existence was a wretched one, His body was in constant pain, his health was never allowed to recover fully, his flesh carefully damaged and modified and his healing inhibited in specific ways to prevent him from rejecting the mechanised flesh Melania had fused him with. Most would have gone crazy with the pain by now,

  Sometimes he wondered if he already had.

  With their first lead running cold, they were at an impasse. Just where had Arthur Ward gone? Were it not for the guarantee that the Originator was still on Earth, he would have thought Arthur had long fled the planet by now. That was the way prey tended to react in such situations. Unfortunately, it seemed this particular prey was a little smarter than the others he'd hunted. While fleeing the planet looked great on paper, it was quite literally the worst decision the Originator could make.

  Remaining on the freshly evolved tier-1 planet meant that Arthur was still protected by integration law, though he doubted the soul mage felt that way right now. As long as he stayed on Earth, the Feytons would be limited in who they could send after him. For starters, no one beyond level 240 and no one who'd gained a legendary class at level 100. Rosano had researched everything he could about Originators. Knowing your target was half the hunt.

  The last time one had appeared, or at least survived long enough to become known as one, was two thousand eight hundred years ago, a graceling mage with an affinity for destruction magic called Kalliah. She hadn't sparked a tenth of the excitement Arthur had, though she had still been hunted for the standard six-month period. That was how long Origin Hunts tended to last, after which the System would grant them protected status enforced by three of the strongest factions; the Systemic Army, the Guild of Originators and the Elderling race.

  Going after them at that point was suicide with extra steps. You wouldn't even know how you'd died. The Guild of Originators in particular employed a scorched earth policy in these matters and they salted whatever little remained of the earth after their work was done.

  Arthur's case was a little special, though. If rumour was to be believed, Fatebreaker's daughter had somehow gotten involved with the Originator and had appealed to her father for help. Ezrial was a powerhouse no one wanted to offend, so when he intervened, his words held weight. The Origin Hunt's time had been cut down from the normal six months to a mere fifty-five days. Already, eleven had passed. Only forty-four remained before the Originator became a protected species. Forty-four days for Rosano to earn his freedom.

  He glanced down at his insurance. The weapon looked like an ordinary dull bronze dagger. It was anything but and had taken the work of a master illusionist to get it past the Origin Hunt overseer. The weapon wasn't illegal in any way, but it blew past the limits appointed Overseer, relic hunter Larthorn, had set for this hunt. If he were caught, it would be confiscated immediately and he'd be returned to Lady Melania in shackles, his magic permanently stripped from him. That was a fate worse than death. Still, it was almost poetic that he was hunting a soul mage with a weapon made from their magic.

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