Fabled Archives (Introduction ~ Chapter 5) (Patreon)

New Novel: Title is Pending.

Introduction

Eulogy of Artemvian Moneti Delacreu

Delivered by Emperor Theodus III the Pious

Found in the Tomb of Maxxus Bolivine

Many would ask me how I knew Artemvian.

I first met Artemvian when I was 6, right after I set the nursery on Fire.  My father decided that if I was old enough to set things on Fire with Magic, then I was old enough to learn.  It was then on that fateful day, covered in ash and soot that I greeted Artemvian Moneti Delacreu, my mentor, teacher and older brother in all but blood.

To those who did not know him very well, he had many titles. Optimum Magus.  Historius Daemonus Inquisito.  Mythos Peritus.

To those of us who knew him very well, he was many other things.  Comedic Philosopher.  Jokester.  And dare I say it? A pain in the ass

A brother.

But whenever someone asked him what he was, he called himself a Librarian.

It speaks volumes about Artem’s Character.

He was humble.  He was quick of wit.  He was as stubborn as a mule.  He fought for the preservation of rivers in the Eastern Steppes.  Not for political reasons mind you.  ‘Kappas’, he answered me when I asked him why.  He said, and I quote,  ‘Those Kappas haven’t hurt anyone and without homes they’ll hurt people.  You wouldn’t want that, would you Prince Theo?’.

–Wait for laughs here–

Artem was wise and more than that, he was kind.  Artem’s kindness knew no bounds for I saw him spend many sleepless nights, working by candle flame.  He wanted a better life for our people, for our children and for that cause, Artem never took wife nor lover.  ‘My life is for the people’, he told me.  He proved it.

As Optimum Magus, he was responsible for the creation of more than a dozen spells, designed for those born with the weakest of mana.  Spells to provide Clean water for those in the Endless Desert and those to create a warm fire, for those in the frigid North.

As Historius Daemonus Inquisito, he authored hundreds of books detailing daemon behavior and ecology.  Those books have become mandatory reading for our Equis, Academ and our Merchants.  I can personally attest to the fact that it has kept me out of trouble on more than one occasion in my youth.

I will save my breath, for Artem’s deeds are no secret.

But if I had to say one thing, it would be this.

–Pause for dramatic effect–

Artem, my brother.

I will miss you dearly.

Chapter 1

Artemvian Moneti Delacreu awoke with a single thought.

“By the stars and forsaken hellfire, I died a virgin.”  

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them, realizing that he was outside and it was raining.  Fat droplets of water continued to fall on his face with a melancholy cold with enough speed to sting.  Slowly, he peeked out of one eye and saw huge clouds covering the sky, hiding the sun and shadowing the world with shades of gray.

As he opened both eyes and sat up, he had another thought.

“Is this the afterlife?”

The last thing he remembered, Artemvian had been on his deathbed.  King Theo and his blasted Cronies had all been there.  Oh how he had wanted to set the godforsaken room on fire just to get it over with.  They droned on and on about how sad they were and Artemvian cursed them out endlessly.  But his accursed vocal chords were little more than mush and everything came out like a ghastly groan. His visitors used his room like some kind of social area, dumb fat nobles coming in to greet the king and show their blasted faces.

The people he had really wanted to see had not been allowed near him.

Tysha, the maid who cooked the meanest meat and egg pie he had ever tasted.  Her little brother, Tyson, the stable boy who always asked Artem for a story about demons and heroes.  The entire Equis Battalion Knights who frequented the Library weekly after realizing that Artem was the best chance they had of getting out of their next mission alive.  Craig, the little idiot boy –the Stars bless his soul– that Artemvian took on to clean the library after the famine.

Maybe it was been better that way.  Those innocent souls had known him as a somewhat cuckoo librarian who mouthed off to the king every now and then.  If they tried to visit him…

“No doubt Theo would not want them near me, afraid of the things I would say near my passing.”  

Artemvium had too many ghosts in his closet for a mere librarian.  One didn’t become Optimum Magnus by reading books and writing down other people’s stories… one became Optimum Magnus by being good at one thing.

Killing.

By the stars, he really should have set the room on fire.

Either way, he was dead now and there was no fixing that.

So Artem readied his heart to finally meet the Keepers of the Afterlife, of which there had been many debates about, and stood to his feet.

Which had been laughably easy.

Artem had gotten used to the creaking joints, the neverending back pain and the general clunkiness of his declining body.  But now…

He waved a hand, coalescing the puddles on the ground into one giant surface to look at his reflection.

“I’m younger again.”  He muttered.

Standing just a shade shy of six imperial feet, his hair was a mixture black and gray; just like Spice from the South and East.  He was slim, but not too much to stand out and even his eyes were the same.  A color somewhere between black and brown, unassuming in every way.

Yet, the wrinkles were gone and the whites were notably absent from his head.  Even his receding hairline was… proceeding? 

“Hellfire.  I would’ve died earlier if I knew I would get my hair back.”

Finally he looked around to see where he was.

“Everyone wants to know about the afterlife but no one actually wants to go check it out.”  Artem muttered under his breath.

He was in a small alley of sorts and around him lay smooth black knapsacks, stinking of spoiled food and only the gods knew what else.  He was fenced in on either side by a tall building, maybe three or four stories high.  The ground was made of some kind of black-gray material, looking burnt.  The buildings were made of bricks, though not the color with which he was used to.

Artem opened one of the black knapsacks and the smell made him gag.

“What did I do to deserve being in actual Hell?”

There was no way this was the Afterlife for everyone.  There had been hotly debated topics of Nirvana, Vahalla, Elysium, Hades, Tartarus and whatnot… but this type of smell?

“By the gods, I’m in Naraka.”

Artem audibly groaned and began to ready himself, launching into one of his infamous long-winded whines which he often did in front of King Theo during Royal Court Hearings just to annoy him.

“S-Stop! Please!”  Someone cried out.  “Someone help!”

Artemvian had heard enough strangers crying out for ‘help’ in his youth for his body to move out of reflex.

He hid behind one of those metallic spoiled food containers.

And promptly realized he was naked.

“Never just rains… always pours.”

And watched horrified as three… things poured in.

One was a human, just like him.  Except… he was all wrong.  The man(?) had purple hair which shot straight up, defying the natural orders of the world.  He had also adopted a pair of eye-constructs colored completely black which brought up a whole host of questions about how he could see out of those things.  But the most horrifying thing was the thing attached to the man’s shoulder.

Instead of an arm, the man had this parasite made of steel acting as a pseudo-appendage.  It whirled and clicked like machinery, obviously moving in conjunction with the man’s thoughts.

Fascinating.

The other man was a lot more normal.  Normal for someone who sold his soul to the Devil that is.

Instead of a regular head, he had scales and an elongated snout designed to snap up fish.  His head was that of an alligator.  It wasn’t the most out of place here in Naraka, though Artem did have to question why a demon would choose to stay combined with the man even after he died.  Could it be possible that the afterlife had a whole new economy that fostered the deals between Souls and Daemons?

The third man who cried out for help was just a regular person.  No steel parasite on any of limbs nor any signs of daemon workings.  Just… just a very plain guy.

Like Artem.

Sighing, Artem came out from behind the metallic container.

“I hate to interrupt… but I wanted to ask for directions.”  He tried to smile and wave, one hand covering his private bits.  “I’m afraid I’m a bit lost here.”

Immediately, all three of them stopped.

And using that moment as a distraction the man who was being attacked slipped out of their grasps like a eel, running out into the streets without looking back.

“Aaaaand that’s what I get for trying to help.  Hells.”  Artem resisted the urge to rub his eyebrows with his hands, lest he reveal his private bits and shock the two poor souls with his Leviathan.

“Yup.  Middle name is Decency.  That’s me.”  

“The fuck?  This chap is naked? And we fucking lost our score! Fuck!”  The alligator-daemon possessed man started to walk towards Artem, his hand reaching inside his clothes and taking out a long metallic dagger.

But the dagger had no blade.  It was just a elongated cylinder.

What could the man possibly-

With a flick of his wrist, the daemon-possessed man called forth a blade of electricity which crackled with impending violence.

“No hesitation in attacking… possession of an enchanted weapon…”  Artemvian drawled.  “Unless you’re part of the militia or military organization here in the afterlife, I’m going to assume you’re a bandit.”

“I’m going to count to three.”  Artem finished.  “One.”

The other man with the parasite-arm approached as well, an ugly grimace on his face.  Instead of taking out an enchanted weapon, the man’s whole arm began to crackle with contained lightning.

“Interesting to see but not nearly as impressive as the alligator face.”  Artmemvian quipped.  “Two.”

Then promptly he released the mana he’d been holding in, casting his spell.

The two men slammed to the ground so fast that they both broke their jaws.

“Ugh… wha… ghkk…”

“.....Fu—ck…. What.. is this…”

They struggled but Artem’s manipulation of gravity continued to hold them down.

Bending down, Artem touched the alligator-daemon-man’s forehead.  He would quickly separate the daemon’s mana from the man’s own and perhaps he could come back to his-

Artem froze.

There was no Daemon Mana.

The man was just…

A man.

Moving quickly, Artem checked the metal-appendage as well.  If it was a parasite of some sorts, there should be-

Again.

No abnormalities.

On instinct, Artem reached out with his senses, touching upon the ambient mana in the air.  If this was the afterlife, it should be full of-

“Oh hellfire.  By the Stars.  By the Earth.  By the Sea and Sky and all things that’s holy and accursed, by the blasted First Emperor’s baby son’s DUNG!”  Artem cursed, quickly moving out of the alley and out into the main street.

Something sped by so fast that it summoned up a wall of water which covered Artem’s view for a split second.

And as the curtain of water lifted… Artem saw.

The roaring of metal carts with their top covered, moving at the speed of wind itself.

What he had thought were clouds were smoke, being belched out by large buildings resembling cannons.

People with metal parasites, blinding themselves with all manner of things and walking around with small smoke-rings coming from their breath.  More people that looked like they were possessed by daemons but that Artem knew deep inside were not.  They all whispered, passing him by and trying not to look at him but failing.

Artem grabbed the nearest passerby.

“Hey, what the fuck man? You fucking weirdo, I don’t have any doillies.  Try-”

“Where.”

“What?”

Artem walked close to the man, and unconsciously summoned his mana.  He knew that his brown irises would flash with a myriad of blue and green but right now, he didn’t care if people found out he was a Magus.

He needed to know where he was.

“Where am I?”  He snarled, grabbing the man’s wrist.

“Ow! What the- Geez! That hurts!”  The man tried to escaped Artemvian’s grasp but it was no use.  He finally relented.  “You’re in Nero City! Let go!”

“...Date? When?”

“2099! 2099!!”

Artem let him go and the man ran away.

He looked around again and another thought –more of a question– came to him, his natural penchant for swearing picking up the alligator-man’s vocabulary.

“What the fuck is a Nero City?”

Chapter 2

Artemvian Moneti Delacreu stalked back into the alleyway.

He still hadn’t released the two from the simple gravity binding, holding them in place with mental effort.

Artem pointed at the one with the purple hair, releasing him.

“You.  Undress.”

“Wha-what?”

“Don’t make me say it twice.  Undress.”  Artem rubbed his face, wiping the water out of his eyes.  “Quickly.”

The man took off his cloak with sleeves, which looked like a long sleeved tunic made of black leather.  Artem took it from him, which were followed by the man’s pants.  The man shivered, dressed only in his underpants and a white chilton.

“Give me that too.”

The man’s eyes widened and pointed at his underpants.

“Not that, you disgusting- ugh.  Your chilton! The chilton!”

“You mean… my shirt?”  

Artem’s eye twitched.

“No… he’s right.  I need to blend in.”  Artem muttered to himself.

“This is obviously not Naraka… or Helheim.  It’s not any afterlife that I know of.  And even if it is, people walking around the streets without being supervised means there’s a lot of autonomy.  I should just treat this like another Dimension altogether.”  

“Uh…”

“What are these things called?”  Artem asked.

“That’s a leather jacket… and jeans…”

“And your boots too.  Give me those.  What are they called?”

“They’re called boots…”

“Give it.”

It took a few minutes but Artem was soon dressed exactly the same as the man was.  He waved his hand again and formed another reflective surface out of water.  He looked at himself, dressed in a white t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans and black boots.  The fabric was soft, albeit a bit cold from the rain.  Artemvian debated using a simple mana exercise to get all the water out of his clothes but decided not to.

Who knew what dangers this world held.

“Do I look like I’ll fit in?”  Artemvian asked the purple-haired man.

“Y-yes!”

“Like a citizen of Nero City?”

“Yes!”  

Artem looked at his reflection again.  Something was missing…

“Give me those things on your face.”

“What?”

“Those things covering your eyes.  Give it.”

“My sunglasses?...”

Artem snapped his fingers and the sunglasses in question floated off of the man’s face and settled themselves on Artem’s face.  He looked at his reflection again.

“Much better.”

Afterwards, Artemvium grilled the man endlessly and the man answered without resistance.  

Trash Cans, Cement, Cars, Motorcycles.  Prosthetic, Exotics and the like.  The list of things to learn was endless.

Speaking of Exotics…

“Oh, I forgot about you.”  Artemvium walked over to the alligator-man-hybrid who had gone unconscious.  His jaw… or snout, was twisted at an odd angle and blood continued to mix with the rain around him.  If his partner was worried, the man made no protest.

Artemvium picked up the weapon that the man had been wielding.

“What’s this called?”  He asked, trying to channel mana into it.  Nothing.

“It’s an Electric Switch Knife.  Uh… you just click that switch there and-”

The dagger came to life, summoning a blade made of sheer energy which crackled and popped under the rain.  Artemvium tested it by bringing it to one of the plastic garbage bags, cutting through it with ease.  In addition, the cut was instantly cauterized.  Even better, it required no mana from him whatsoever.

“I’m taking this.”  Artem muttered, turning it off and shoving it into the pockets.  “Next.  I need gold.  Silver.  Copper.  I’ll take whatever coins you have.”

Artem stopped as his fingers brushed against something.  He took it out, a see-through rectangular object no bigger than the palm of his hand.  There was a single stripe running through it and looking closely, the stripe was moving.  Although the stripe itself was black, there were small green numbers –only 1s and 0s– constantly moving throughout.

“What is this thing?...”

“That’s… uh…”

Artem fixed him with a look.

“That’s a Doilly card! It’s money! Cash! Please don’t hurt me!”

Artem felt bad for the man.

Almost.

“Ok.  Last question.”  He jerked his chin at the unconscious alligator-man.  “You two gentleman obviously don’t make… doillies through honest work”

The man frowned at the word daemons but Artem ignored him.  He leaned in close, so close that the fog from his breath washed over the trembling man.

“I need a place with people who can answer questions that you might not be able to answer.  An Information Guild if you will.  You know a place like it?”

The man nodded like a parakeet possessed by a ghost who died by hanging.

“Riley’s! You’re looking for Riley’s Joint!”

***

Artemvian walked past cars traveling at nearly starspeed, all the while trying not to stop and stare at the otherworlders that walked past him.

Technically, he was the otherworlder.

This wasn’t the first time Artemvian had been placed in the middle of nowhere with nothing but his Wit and Spells to survive.  Back in his own world, Artemvian had served Magus Causas in his younger years, an agent of the crown.  He infiltrated demon strongholds, forged alliances with elves and more in the name of the Crown.  More often than not, it meant that he ended up naked with a nearby building on fire.

So, it wasn’t the first time he had turned the table on bandits.

He’d left those two alive for many reasons.  One, he had no idea what kind of consequences would follow if he killed other worlders while in their territory.  Two, Artemvian didn’t want to get into the habit of killing.  Perhaps spending all those years in the Library had made him softer, more romantic.  He regretted the choices he made as a young man and the blood he had spilled in the name of the Crown and for what? All he got in exchange was a nice office where he was kept under guard, fear that he might divulge state secrets.

Never allowed to wed.  Never allowed to make real connections.

Funny how it just started with him wanting to make the world a better place for people.

Riley’s Joint was a small building in the corner of nowhere, though to be fair, this place called Nero City was just bland.  Everything seemed to seamlessly blend in with one another, gray concrete buildings standing in rows, similar heights and even the denizens –despite their flashy attire– didn’t stand out from one another.  A Flamingo might look flashy when compared to crows and chickens but among a flamboyance of its own?

If Artem didn’t know better, he’d say the whole city was under an obscure spell.

The pub had big flashing letters that read ‘Riley’s Joint’, switching from yellow to purple to orange with a hypnotic pattern.  Opening the swinging doors, Artem walked into a pub the likes of which he had never seen.

Flowing purples drapes and tapestries made of red adorned the walls, combined with a wooden bar counter made of perfectly polished mahogany.  There were a couple of tables spread around the room in no particular pattern.  Yet, none of them had been overtly done.  The drapes weren’t real fabric but a non-physical imagery; what the man had called a ‘hologram’.  The walls had paintings of people smiling, frowning and just living life in general.  A mixture of refined tastes and a somewhat homely lived-in feel.

“Can I help you?”  said the pale-skinned woman standing behind the bar, polishing glass.

The woman was dressed in a black shirt that had buttons lined down the middle, with a red-colored sleeveless tunic.  Her hair was white, not pale silver or gray with age, but pure white that stood out against everything else in the bar so that your eyes were subtly drawn to her whether you wanted to or not.  She wasn’t what Artem would call well blessed by Aphrodite in terms of the curvature of her body, there was a sort of an elegant attractiveness to her slim profile.

Artemvian realized he was staring.

“I asked if I can help you?”  She arched an eyebrow, accentuating her gray eyes.

Artemvium stumbled over to the bar and took out the doily, passing it to her.  

“I’ll take a mug of ale.”

She stared at him.

Artemvium stared back, realizing that she was only an inch or two shorter than him.

“...Brant? Brant?! Get out here!”

“Yeah, coming boss!”

A tanned young man with smooth combed black hair stumbled out from an entryway next to the bar.

He was dressed similar to the woman, except without the sleeveless tunic.  There was a set of sunglasses resting on the top of his head, though unlike Artemvian’s they were joined together in one large reflective surface, not two rectangles.  He sported a goatee and intelligent gray eyes which looked at Artem in surprise.

“Oh, a customer.”

“No.  A weirdo.”  The woman sighed, muttering under her breath.  “Business is slow enough as it already is and the stupid rain emptied the place out today.  And now this cosplayer-”

“Roleplayer.  He’s not in costume.”

“Roleplayer,”  Riley corrected herself, rolling her eyes, “comes in and asks for a mug of ale.”  

“What do you think this is? A fantasy webnovel?”

Chapter 3

“I’m not a Roleplayer.”  Artem tried to explain.  “I’m a Ma-”

He stopped before saying ‘Mage’.  What if mages were hunted in this world?

“A man.”  He finished lamely.

“Wit as sharp as a rapier.  Should have retired to be a court jester instead of Librarian.”  Artem thought to himself.

“Look man, if you want to roleplay, go to a braindive bar.”  The woman crossed her arms. “They’ll have plenty of ‘ales’,” She held up each hand and stuck out two fingers in the air, folding them and unfolding them twice.  “Though I doubt they taste like the real thing.”

Artem studied the two silently.  The woman spoke in a staccato-like rhythm, too fast for him to catch everything she had said.  But he knew enough to know that she was trying to get rid of him.

“I'm looking for a job.”  He finally said.

Artemvian had been trying to scope out the place first and find out how much the doily card was actually worth by drinking some ale.  Depending on how much it cost, he could have a rough idea of the economic situation in Nero City.  Which could have helped him check to see if he was being fleeced or not.

What kind of place didn’t have Ale?

The woman frowned.  “Who told you about this place?”

“A bandit.”  Artem answered honestly.

Brant started to laugh then immediately transformed it into a series of coughing.  He looked sheepishly at the woman, explaining.

“Sorry boss.  That was just… so out of pocket.”

“So you’re the one in charge.”  Artemvian held out a hand.  “Artemvian Moneti Delacreu.”

She looked down at his hand like looking at a bug; reminding Artem of the time he proposed to the fifth princess of Shah.

“...Riley.”  She finally answered and then continued.  “That’s your real name? Really?”

Artemvium nodded.

“Fine.  Where are you from?”

“A different world.”

This time Brant did laugh and made no effort to stop it.

“If you don’t start answering me seriously, I can’t give you a job.  Yes, I’m a broker but I’ve just met you.  I can’t just send you out on a job for a client without knowing anything about you.  My reputation is on the line too.”

Artemvium sighed, scratching his nose.  He took off the sunglasses and placed them on the bar, contemplating.  He had answered truthfully but it was obvious no one would believe him.  Normally he would have prepared fake answers ahead of time but just in case that someone did know what had happened to him, he had answered honestly.  It seemed that Lady Luck wasn’t smiling upon him… if she was here in this place at all.

“Let’s just say that’s my real name.  As for where I am from, that’s not something I can answer.  Is that a problem? I’m fine with doing a simple job to earn your trust first.”

Riley studied him and Artem studied her back.

Through the years, Artem had grown used to people measuring him up.  For many reasons.  To see if they could use him in court intrigue, to see if he was a man of his word and to see if he was truly as strong as the rumors –legends at this point– really claimed.  In return, he had also developed his own eye for reading people.  Perhaps it wasn’t rooted in Science or the Arcane Arts but there was a saying: Never underestimate a Magus’ instincts.

And Artemvian had good instincts.

After all, being able to determine whether you could trust someone –and how much you could trust them– at first sight was a skill that kept him alive on more than one account.

“Fine.”  Riley sighed.  “Not like there are any customers today anyways.  I’ll play ball.  But you fail this job and I want your word that you never set foot in this bar ever again? Understood?”

“No foot in this bar.  Understood.”  To make a point, he lifted both his feet off the floor, putting them on the stool’s footrest.

Juvenile, yes.  Worth the exasperated look on her beautiful face?  Also yes.

Brant smiled at Artem.  It was nice to know that someone appreciated his humor.

Riley snorted.  “Brant, bring me the bounties folder.”

Brant walked inside and came back out, holding a folder.  He passed them over to Riley who opened it and after shuffling through it, passed Artem a photo.

“A John Doe.  All we know about him is the fact that he used to be part of the wanna-be CyberFreaks crowd.  He’s suspected of a dozen kidnappings over the last year, always women or children.  So far, three bounty hunters went after him and all came back.  Two of them never even found the guy, the other got close but got spooked and decided to bail.”  She put her hands on the bar, looking down at Artemvian.

Artemvian studied the photo.

“Unless you’re confident in your skills, I suggest-”

“How long has he been a Werewolf?”  Artemvian asked.

Brant and Riley looked at each other.

“Are you for real?”  Riley put a hand on her hip.  

Artem ignored her and continued.  “You said a dozen kidnappings? All woman and children? When? I bet once a month and always around the full moon.”

Scowling, Riley tapped on the magical object again.  Artemvium waited, studying the photo.

Brant brought out a glass of water.  “You said werewolf? What makes you say that?”

“Look, here.”  Artem put a finger on the photo, right on the man’s neck.  “Semi-circular scarring and even from this painting, you can tell it was a bite mark.  Plus his eyes are bloodshot… lack of sleep.  His clothes are frayed at the sleeves, likely from dragging it across the ground after transforming.”

“Then there are the scratch marks all over his chest.  I bet if he took the tunic, –sorry, shirt– off you could see more scarring, reminiscent of claws.”  Artemvian shook his head.  “A lycanthrope wouldn’t have much of his clothing left after transforming.  Most of them lose themselves to the Beast Rage.  Not a Hexenwolf because he’s only hunting once a month and still has his clothes.  But even without all that, the bite mark is too telling.”

There was a moment of silence as Brant tried to digest the information.

“You’re right.”  Riley muttered.  “He’s been doing his kidnappings once a month.  So what, this guy is cosplaying as a werewolf from a B-rated horror film?  Some kind of new freakshow?  You’re saying he’s on drugs? Genetic engineering?”

Artemvian had no idea what she was talking about.

“Someone must’ve turned him but didn’t stick around to guide him.  Teach him how to curb his hunger or induct him into the Pack Society.  A mongrel then.”  Artemvian explained, then asked, “Where was he last seen?”

“The Southern part of town.”  Brant answered immediately.

Artemvian stood up, taking the photo with him.  “Do you have anything that belonged to him? Or one of the victims?”

“Nothing.  Only the police would have something like that.”  Riley gave up on trying to understand what Artemvian was talking about.

Artemvian looked into Riley’s eyes.

He’d spooked her.

It was evident that she’d given this job to him, expecting him to back out or fail at it at the very least.  But he could tell that the things he’d said spooked her and what spooked him in return was that she was unsure.  Both her and Brant held incredulous expressions on their faces, like they didn’t know whether he was crazy or telling the truth.  Everything he’d said about Werewolves, Spells and whatnot had flown past their understanding.

It was entirely possible that this world didn’t have magic or atleast the likes of magic that he was used to.

Whether that was a good thing or bad thing, that remained to be seen.  “Ok.  Dead or alive?”

“Either.  5000 doilies for an intact corpse, 3000 doilies for proof of death.  10,000 doilies if captured alive.”  Riley answered, relaxing once Artemvian was talking about something she understood again.  “Jonnsen posted the bounty.  The pharmaceutical, I mean.  They’ll be good for it.”

“Ah, got it.”  Artemvian turned around leaving the bar, then paused at the door.  He looked at the two over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face.  “How much for a glass of Wine?”

“10 doilies.”  Riley muttered.  “I thought you wanted Ale?”

“Ah, yes.  I changed my mind.”  Artem walked out into the rain.

Riley stared after him, making up her mind.  “Brant?”

“Oh no.  Boss, I really don’t want to-”

“He obviously has no idea what the southern end of town is or he wouldn’t be so cheerful.  I’m also curious about what he is.  I didn’t see any tech on him, so he’s not one of the Cybers..”

“Maybe a Talent?  You know how they’ve been popping up.  Boss, I think he could be just crazy or high on some weird new street drug.”

“Tail him and find out what he is.”  Riley cut Brant off, tapping her fingers on the bar  “I think he’s crazy too but my instincts are telling me something else.”

“That we might have hooked a whale.”

Chapter 4

Artemvian headed south, organizing what he’d learnt so far.

One.  This was not his world nor any version of the afterlife that he knew of.  He was actually in a different world with its own cultures, customs and people.

Two.  People here were unfamiliar with the subject of Monsters.  When Artem had briefly glossed over why he suspected that the man named John Doe was a werewolf, he had received blank stares.  He had a sinking feeling that the two didn’t believe him at all.  Not because Artem was a stranger or untrustworthy individual (the latter of which was impossible).  But because the two didn’t believe in Werewolves.

Artem had encountered people like that, usually those that lived in large cities.  They dismissed the notion that strayed far from the ‘Mainstream’ Magic Theory.  Basically, anything that could be dismissed as folklore, fairy tale or myth.  But it wasn’t limited to non-magical folk, this phenomena of disbelief perpetuated itself in High Magic Society as well.  Those who believed in the ‘hard’ Arcane Theories often refuted the existence of gods, daemons and faeries.

Funny how people who could shoot fireballs out of their hand didn’t believe in the existence of a horse with a magical horn on its head.

Artemvian continued to walk.  Nightfall descended upon Nero City, the darkness stifling out the rays of sunlight.  He gazed on in awe as the City itself came to life.  A dizzying array of lights lit up the sky, purple, yellow, orange, red and more.  Types of people he hadn’t seen during the day made their appearance, crawling out of whatever sewer hole they tucked themselves into when the Sun was out.  More piercings.  More metal appendages.  More… dare he say it? Wild.

Resisting the urge to stay and study this new world, Artemvian continued heading South.

The shadows seemed to stretch longer here, their shapes seemingly sharpened and jagged.  There were less passerbys yet Artemvian could feel more stares.  Watching his every move.  He saw a few people huddled around a trash can, a fire lit within.  Outwardly, they pretended to pay him no mind but Artemvian knew that they were keeping an eye on him.

It seemed no matter the era and no matter the world, there was always the ‘bad’ part of town.

A familiar pang of pain shot through him, nothing physical, purely an emotional response at seeing this decrepit place, obviously void of kindness and human warmth.

He grew up in a place not too different from this.

“Yeah yeah, enough sob story.”  Artemvian told himself out loud.  

Hearing his own voice brought him to the present and out of the melancholy soap drama he had been about to narrate in his own head.  No one wanted that, least of all him.

The most pressing concern of finding out what happened to him.  To find out what happened to him, he needed money.  To get money, he needed jobs and right now, completing this task for the Riley woman seemed to be his best bet for getting a foot in the door.

Artemvian drew a circle in the air with his finger, whispering, “Lupus, Lupus, Lupus.”

His finger emitted mana and as soon as he finished drawing the circle, it shone a dim-blue, like one of those lights he saw in the streets but much more muted.  It stretched and formed an oblong shape, like being tugged in a direction.

Smiling, he couldn’t resist saying for added benefit, “And I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.”

Following the circle that was being ‘tugged’, Artemvian found his target within minutes.

John Doe, the vagabond that was shown in the photo.  He had wrapped some cloth around him and was shivering, though the rain had long since stopped and the air had begun to grow warm,

“John Doe?”  Artemvian offered.

The man looked up, his eyes bloodshot.

“Yup.  Looks like it.”  Artemvian leaned on the wall, his hands in his pockets and stared at the man.

“W-What d-d-do you want?”

“You’re wanted for murder.”  Artemvian said blatantly.

The man frowned, barely getting his words out through clattering teeth.  “I-I-I don’t know what y-y-you’re t-t-t-talking ab-b-out.”

“And I believe you.”  His voice was quiet, sympathetic even.

“I-I don’t understand.  I-I-I k-k-keep h-hav-v-ing these b-b-l-l-black o-uts.”

“About a year ago, you were attacked by a mysterious beast? Perhaps lured into an alleyway by a beautiful woman? Or man, I’m not one to judge.”  Artem guessed.  

The man nodded.

Or started to shake harder.  It was hard to differentiate.

“You were bit by a Werewolf.  A real one, not one of those men cursed to turn into a wolf at the drop of a hat or a Skinwalker posing as one.  A Veritas Lycan, a True Werewolf with the blood of the Original running through its veins.”  Artem explained.

“Your blackouts happen once a month.  You have a fever because your body is not human anymore, not entirely.  Higher body temperature, higher metabolism and an onset of fever as the change continues to take place.  If you had been taken care of by a tribe, the change would have been quicker.  They have herbs for that, I believe.”  

“A-Are y-y-you some kind of d-d-octor? C,c,c-an you fix me?”

“No one can fix you now.  It’s too late.”  He pushed off of the wall then looked at the sky.  “You’ve killed too much.  Tasted blood before you could learn to control your wolf form.  It is practically a separate entity at this point, a split personality even.  You won’t be able to control its urges, the bloodthirst and its rabid disposition.”  Artemvian shook his head.  “The murders are proof of that.”

A full moon hidden by the clouds which were being pushed away by unknown winds and soon, like a curtain being lifted from a dancer, the Moon would reveal herself.

Artemvian pointed a finger at the man.  “...I have a  feeling if I brought you in alive, I’d be doing you a disservice.”

The world wasn’t kind to people like John Doe.  If he was captured alive, he’d be experimented on, kept in a cage and be treated as nothing more than a labrat for the rest of his life.

Of this, Artemvian was sure.  The world might be different but humans would never change.

He remembered Riley telling him that the reward for bringing in John Doe alive was almost double for killing him.

Well, Artemvian would make do.

Right as Artemvian flicked his finger the man took out a strange object from beneath his cloak and caused the mage to freeze instinctively.

And it saved his life.

The object fired once, then twice more within the span of a second.  A flash from the muzzle of the object nearly blinded Artemvian and the accompanying bark was deafening, ringing in Artemvian’s ears.

The mage stared at the three metal objects embedded into the air in front of him, having nearly penetrated the Mana Shield he put up instinctively.  They were no larger than his pinky finger but pointed and had managed to pierce through his shield halfway, causing cracks like spiderwebs to splinter across the shield.  All of that in a span of one second.

Immediately, Artemvian revised his assessment of this world.

This place was much more dangerous than he thought.

And in that moment the space between the two lit up with Moonlight.

The man turned within seconds.

His jaw elongated, much too long to be a human but much too wide to belong to an actual wolf.  Gangly fur and hair sprouted from the man’s skin and he screamed, a horrible sound that was halfway between a throaty growl and a soul-splitting howl.  John Doe grabbed his head as his eyes yellowed, his body turning larger, his nails turning to claws and teeth turning to fangs.  Leaner.  More dangerous.

Deadly.

A creature meant to kill, designed by the gods themselves.

“Werewolves look the same in this world as mine.”  Artemvian muttered, assessing the creature.  “So I can’t be too far from home.”

The creature shook its head, plagued by memories of its human-self and the pain from the transformation.  It spun like a spooked animal, drawn to Artemvian’s direction by his voice.  It growled and began to lumber towards the mage.

Artemvian put out a hand.  “Down, boy.”  He ordered.

And a mage shield slammed down into the creature like a meteor, flattening it against the ground.

Artemvian strode forward, staying just out of reach and studying the creature.

The werewolf-turned-John-Doe snapped and spat, snarling and spitting, hateful eyes fixed on its captor.  Yup.  Exactly the same werewolf that he was used to.  Whatever this place was, his knowledge and power were still relevant.

“...When I was younger, this was my job.”

“Finding people like  you who were just unlucky enough to have a taste of the other side.  People who had been tricked, coerced and had no other option left.”  Artemvian shook his head, the taste of something bitter in his mouth.  “I want you to know, nothing personal.”

Realizing that he was stalling, Artemvian summoned up fire in his hands.  “I’ll remember your name, John Doe.”

The fire streaked forward, hot enough to be tinged with blue and pierced through the Werewolf’s head, leaving a smoldering, smoking hole in the lump of meat.

It was done.

Artemvian picked up the strange object that John Doe had fired with, pocketing it.

“Brant, was it? I know you’re there.”

Brant came into the clearing, his eyes wary.  “I wasn’t trying to-”

“I need help bringing this body back.”  Artem gestured at himself.  “You’re not going to make an old man –er, one man do this by himself are you?”

Chapter 5

Riley stared at the video that Brant had recorded.

She had to have played the video a hundred times by now.

“Again.”

Three huge monitors were before her, taking up the entirety of the wall.  This was the underground room beneath Riley’s Joint, a place where Brant and she did most of her work.  The behind-the-scenes tasks such as posting on the Deepweb, Surveillance and sometimes even amateur Cybertech Enhancements.

And of course, spying on her potential clients.

She watched as Artemvian turned his back to Brant and did something with his hands, whispering.  Abruptly turning in a direction and always careful to keep the camera angle on his back, Artemvian moved with purpose, unlike before when he was just walking South.

Then heeconfronted the John Doe.

The target must have been a Freak, a Special or some kind of genetic experiment gone wrong.  Figured that a bounty posted by one of the Pharmaceuticals wouldn’t be your typical thug.  But this was all things she’d seen before, what she hadn’t ever seen was what Artemvian did.

The rapid deployment of the Mana Shield.  Some kind of spell to keep the John Doe in place.  Bright glow of something like fire, shooting forward like a lance.

“It doesn’t matter how many times we watch it, boss.  He knew I was there, kept the angle to his back the entire time the moment things got real.”  Brant shivered.  “But I saw it boss.  He used a Mana Shield to keep the guy in place.  Then used Fire.  He’s an Elementalist, a strong one at that.”

“I’m not sure he’s an Elementalist.”  Riley muttered, her eyes glued to the video.  “He’s a Mage for sure though.”

“He used fire!”  

Riley rolled her eyes.  “Which was conveniently not caught on footage.”

“I saw it!”

“There are five different schools of Magic for Mages.  Biomancers.  Elementalists.  Mentalists.  Spatials and Outliers.”  Riley countered off on one hand, “So explain to me which of the five can do what he did?”

“A strong one.  Any one of them can use a shield.”  Brant answered.  “And I saw him use Fire.  He’s an Elementa-”

“How’d he find the target then?”  Riley interjected.

“...Maybe he’s an Outlier.”

“As a matter of fact, which of them can use a Shield to hold down a Freak or a Genetic Experiment?  Stop three bullets straight on?”  Riley crossed her arms, continuing her thought like she didn’t hear Brant at all.  “This guy is one of two things.  Not a mage or an extremely talented one.”

“I want you to put out a request to the Voyeurs.  Footage of the incident.  Anything.”

“You want them to keep watch on him? They’re going to charge an arm and a leg, Boss.”

“No.”  Riley shook her head, a smile starting to play across her face.  “Just the footage.”

“...Boss, do you think he’ll come back?”  Brant made a face.  “Are you going to take him on as a client?”

Riley grabbed a hold of the mouse over Brant’s shoulder and replayed the video.  “I’m counting on it.”

***

Artemvian woke up as the sunlight shone through his window and across his face, tickling him awake from the darkness of sleep.

“Rise and shine, Artem.”  He said to himself dryly, looking at the clock.

Everything in this world was so convenient.

No need for a physical cumbersome key.  A simple card sufficed.  Why carry around metal coins? Some plastic cards would do.  And if you didn’t want to carry around cards, you could put everything on your phone.

Artem leaned over, automatically reaching for the ‘tablet’ that Riley had let him borrow the day before.

After hauling the werewolf corpse –which turned back into a human on the way– he had been paid with 25 plastic cards, each containing 200 ‘doilies’, the currency of this world.  Riley tried to explain to him how a blockchain cryptocurrency worked but Artem didn’t bother.  Right now, he needed money and it mattered naught how they were untraceable, as long as they were untraceable.

But it would be handy to learn for the future in case people tried to find him.

“Only if I end up making a name for myself.”  Already Artem was switching on the tablet which he’d used till 4AM yesterday, staying in bed with its blue light flickering across his face.  He hadn’t even needed to cast Magelight, the thing produced light on its own.

Next to his bed was the ‘gun’ which he had taken from John Doe.  He had spent precious few hours trying to figure out how it worked to no avail.  All he could figure out was that it must have some trigger mechanism, like a crossbow.  He could have broken it apart but didn’t want to waste it.

“I’ll ask Riley about it later.”

Then instead of washing his face, brushing his teeth or starting his day; Artem leaned back in bed and turned on the tablet, turning on ‘Meowtube’.

He snickered and chuckled.

“Ahahahaha! The cats of this world are hilarious.”

He scrolled through countless videos, some of them only seconds long.  It was only when he felt hunger pangs that he rolled out of bed.

“Barely a day in this world and I’m already addicted to it.”  He grumbled.

Artemvian quickly washed his face and got dressed, leaving the inn, which this world called hotels, with a couple of Doily Cards in his pocket.  Within minutes he was outside, walking the streets of Nero City and heading towards Riley’s Joint.  During the day, Nero City lost some of the charm it had during the light.  All its faults and flaws were visible.  

Young teenagers squatting in corners, smoking substances that Artemvian could only guess at.  Women wore clothing far too revealing and as a matter of fact, men wore the same type of clothes obviously designed for women.  He saw a thin woman with more bone than skin lead a man into a building with bright pink lights.  People with wild hair ranging from purple to yellow, all wearing some kind of eye-covering like his own sunglasses, laughing at something known only to them.

Quickening his steps, Artemvian strode into Riley’s Joint.

Besides an elderly couple enjoying a glass of wine at a corner table, the place was empty.  Brant stood behind the counter, cleaning a wine glass and widened his eyes when he saw Artemvian walk in.

“B-Boss! He’s back!”

“Nice to see you too.”  Artemvian muttered, taking a seat at the bar.  He took out a Doily Card and slapped it on the counter.  “Breakfast.  Now.”

“That’s not how you pay for things.”  Riley pushed the curtains aside leading to the back office and stopped in front of Artemvian, taking the card and giving it back to him.  “Those things are not actual Cash… think of them like a Voucher.”

Taking out another tablet, she tapped the card against it which made it beep.  “See? This is how you pay.  Also you’re supposed to pay after you eat, not before.  Who knows what you’re going to end up with.”

Artemvian grunted.  “Hungry.”

“Typical.  Renaissance man devolves to a neanderthal using monosyllabic speech the moment his stomach is empty.  What’s next? You forget how to use forks and knives?”

Artemvian ignored her, his gaze fixed on Brant who walked out from the back holding a plate laden with food.  Meat, cheese and vegetables stuffed between two pieces of bread.  Artemvian took a bite, decided he liked it and proceeded to take careful bits, talking in between.

“How much.”

“On the house.”  Riley stood in front of him, watching him eat.  “What kind of Mage are you? Brant thinks you’re an Elementalist,” She hooked a thumb at the young man who smiled at Artem, “But I got my money on Outlier.”

Kind of Mage?

What were they talking about?

“I saw you use fire, so I just thought…”  Brant trailed off as Artemvian stared at him.

“Well?”

Artemvian swallowed.  “Not sure what you mean.  If you’re asking whether I’m a Mage, yes.  I am.  A pretty good one in fact.”  

The fact that these two were talking about Magecraft so casually was reason enough to believe that Mages were common enough in this world and widely accepted.  So Artemvian wouldn’t need to hide.

Good.  He had enough of hiding who he was back in the Empire.

“So you don’t want to answer.  That’s fine.”  Riley brought out her computer.  “I’m assuming you’re new in Nero City?”

“Yes.”  He answered, taking the last bite of his food.

“Then these are the list of things you need.  A new identity plus the forged papers to go along with it.  You need an actual bank account for tax purposes, because eventually someone's going to start asking where you’re getting your doilies from and walking around carrying doily cards is an easy way to get mugged in a dark alley.”  Riley started typing on her laptop.  “You’ll need your own place to stay, preferably one with good security… and lastly, someone you can trust.”

Artemvian picked up a flat piece of food, brittle to the touch and popped it in his mouth.  It crunched audibly and he tasted a hint of vinegar? Salt?

He whispered, taking another bite.  “These? What are these called?”

“Chips.  Potato chips.  Salt & Vinegar.”  Brant lifted his head higher.  “I made them myself.”

“Potatoes.”  The former Historius Daemonus Inquisito’s voice had a measure of respect, reverent even.  “Wow.  Potatoes.”

“You must be a Potato-mancer.”

Brant made a face.  “I’m not-”

“Hey, are you listening?”  Riley snapped and the woman’s voice made Artem focus.

“I heard you.”  He said, sighing as he put the chips aside.  They were good but not that good.  He had to focus on what Riley was saying.  “You’re saying I need gold, -er I mean money.  Money and a place to stay.  Plus forged identity papers and a friend.”

“We’re not friends.”  Riley said without missing a beat.

He opened his mouth to say something witty but the tone in her voice and the look on her face made him pause.  Then he shrugged.  “An acquaintance.”

“You need a broker.”  Riley put her hands on the counter, leaning forward.  “I actually don’t care what type Mage you are.  I decided it doesn’t matter.”

She put out a hand, obviously for a handshake.  “How would you like to make a deal with me, Artemvian Moneti Delacreu?”

***