Chương 23: Omnimancer 18: Homecoming

It had been a difficult month on the road, what with the cold and the constant Nightswarm danger, to say nothing of the responsibility foisted upon Yas's shoulders as the leader of their little party. Which was why his eyes lit up at the sight of Takora's walls rising high along the mountainside, as did everyone else's. Of course, they weren't home yet. There was still the climb ahead of them.

A steep and exhausting ordeal, and made worse by the fact they weren't entering through the main gates but through the Dead Hands' hidden sewer entrance. As much as the Hearthgard Brotherhood was sympathetic to the Hands' affairs, even they got jittery at the thought of contraband smuggled right through their front door. Unfortunately, the steep, switchbacked trail to the sewer grate was covered in heavy snow and was dangerously narrow. The Ungifted struggled, but as a Tier II Mancer, Yas had little to fear.

Still, effort was effort. That didn't stop his group from grumbling.

"Come on, you sorry lot. We're almost there," he said, despite feeling much the same as they did.

"You've survived a full moon without a shower, without a hot bath or a comfortable bed. You can do this bit. And tonight! Tonight we feast! Tonight, we sleep well." At least he would, after being reunited with little Maka. As for the fat payout he was about to receive… the thought brought him little joy. His debt to the Brotherhood was not lightly paid, and one did not default on debts in Takora. He'd be paying it off for the remainder of his days. But this job would at least put a dent in it.

Maybe enough to buy some new clothes for Maka. His brother's little girl was orphaned far too young, robbing her of the luxury of childhood. Besides, winter was here. Maybe this time, with whatever was left of his earnings, he could give her more than just a nice meal. Maybe he'd even have enough leftover to give to Rat. His teeth ground at the memory of the skinwalker girl forced to sleep in the hallways.

The very same girl who'd saved uncountable Dead Hands lives thanks to her uncanny ability to go where no one else could. And then there was him. A Duomancer of the Second Tier, reduced to aiding smugglers. Two misfits who just didn't belong. At first, he'd thought it was just minor contraband. Stolen furniture, weapons, and the like. Nothing too heinous. That was the story they fed him until he learned of the darker side. Drugs, of the worst sort.

Forcing people into debt and blackmailing them when they couldn't pay it off. Yas had nearly attacked Hakan when he first learned of it. Of the Brotherhood's complicity. But it had been far too late to back out. Nobody left the Dead Hands. Not alive, anyway. Everyone knew that; they had the name for a reason. And so, Yas would be forced to carry their secret to his grave. One way or another.

Would there ever be an end to this horrible life, he wondered, deciding instead to focus on the warm bed and fine meal that awaited him. Small luxuries, to be sure, yet when one had little else, even the tiniest of things brought one hope. One foot after the other, they trudged up the mountain, eventually leaving the main road behind for the tight switchbacks leading to the sewer grate. The trail was too narrow for caravans, and so each man carried stretchers in a two-person team.

Most carried drugs, but some held random wares of gold, silver, and copper. Yas's idea. His little rebellion, so to speak. Their haul was already profitable enough, and Hakan wasn't likely to berate him too harshly. At least some of the goods would be sold to decent folk. Never mind that the proceeds would go to fund an abominable operation. Approaching the grate, Yas saw the telltale prints of foot traffic. Unsurprising, considering how long they'd been away. Was the other team present? Yas licked his lips.

If so, that meant an extra- large feast. He opened the grate and ushered his group of ten inside. There wasn't one among them who wasn't worn and weary. If not before the climb, certainly after it. Even the Biomancers suffered, and Yas had to physically prevent a few of the Ungifted from collapsing into the foul sewer trench. One slip, one injury was all it took to die if you couldn't afford a healer's services, and that was a steep price.

With slow, careful steps, they reached the secret wall—only to find it broken open. Yas blinked, his exhausted mind failing to register the warning for what it truly was until it was too late.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I trust you had a productive trip?" The voice came from a stranger wearing a bag over his head—a woven hemp bag with hastily painted circles and dashes forming a frowning face with a downturned mouth. Even Maka could've done better.

"Who in the blighted night are you?" Yas growled, letting his voice drop into its most threatening register. It had cowed more than a few lesser thugs, long before they even had the chance to learn who he was." I'm your new boss," the masked stranger said.

"And yes, I know you're a tier-two Luxarc. Believe me—" Yas scoffed. The man lacked Soulfire of any kind. Forget a Tier I—this man was Ungifted. Had he thought through things a bit more, Yas might've wondered how this seemingly powerless man had appeared here, in the Dead Hands' stronghold. Or how he'd gotten past the keyed grate. As it was, Yas acted before the man had even finished.

"Zhek waven…" Yas began, enunciating every syllable of the chant for [Greater Arc]. Lightning crackled around his hand as the spell formed…

"Yeah, that's not gonna help you here," the man said, muttering something under his breath, and before Yas could complete his cast, Lightning arced out from the man, striking the stone next to Yas's ear and ruining his concentration. Yas recognized it immediately. How could he not? For it was the very same [Greater Arc] he'd just attempted to cast. But that was impossible—the man had begun chanting well after him. The only explanation was [Lesser Arc], yet that made no sense either.

[Lesser Arc] would've barely singed the rock. This one blasted the wall open, leaving a four-foot crater and showering debris everywhere. His men recoiled, choking on dust, and Yas's half-finished spell sputtered out, zapping him in protest as it died.

"To arms!" Yas roared, beginning the chant for his Hydromancy Water Bolt spell. But in his panic, Yas had overlooked one small detail. A crucial, fatal detail. He only understood his mistake when the screams of smugglers filled the tunnel, and a sharp pain struck the back of his head. The world went black. Yas realized only then that the man in the strange mask hadn't cast [Lesser Arc] at all, but his own spell, as he'd guessed first.

He'd just cast it faster, somehow muttering it under his breath as though it were some errant curse. And so it was that Yas, Duomancer of the Second Tier, would die. Not in a blaze of glory, defending innocents against Nightswarm hordes, but in putrid sewers protecting a band of criminals… Maka… Dear little Maka… I am sorry… Or so he thought until his eyes fluttered open to the familiar stone halls of the Dead Hands' den. His arms and legs were bound and his mouth was gagged, but that was all.

No Lux siphon in sight. How careless of his captors. He went to work chewing his gag, trying to tear it off, bit by tiny bit. The moment he could speak, he'd cast Water Bolt, freeing himself. Then… then he'd run. Because beside him were the other members of his smuggling journey, and nearly thirty more prisoners. Most appeared unconscious, and all were members of the Dead Hands. Yas saw smugglers, logistics personnel, guards and runners among them.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Yet only he and the Second Tier, Nodin, remained awake.

"Well, I could knock you out again," the mysterious voice said. Yas jerked his head up to find the strange man still wearing the same frowny-faced mask, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed.

"But I won't," the man continued." If you promise to behave. Call it a courtesy for a Tier II. Will you behave, or do I have to cut your head off like I did Hakan's?" He jerked his head toward a pike, where a decapitated head sat impaled. Yas's blood ran cold. That was, without a doubt, Hakan's head. Leader of Takora's Dead Hands' branch. And this Soulfireless, chant-mutterer had taken him out. Which meant he had to be Tier II and likely a Trimancer. A strong one, at that.

There was no way anyone less could have pulled this off.

And, by the complete lack of guards, he must only have a skeleton crew. Ten men. Perhaps twenty at best. Unless… unless his organization believed him so strong as to handle all these Mancers alone? Unconscious or not… nobody would risk that without complete confidence in their strength. Yas gulped, nodding vigorously as his face broke out with cold sweat. Just what had he gotten himself into? Maka…

"Good," the stranger said.

"Your buddy over there did the same. So, let's get started, shall we?" The man spread his arms wide, and Yas thought his words rhetorical, as though heralding the start of some play, until a short, familiar girl stepped around the corner. How had Rat ended up helping this madman? Nay, it mattered not. What mattered was how Rat guided the masked man past each bound prisoner, pointing at some, giving commentary for others.

"This guy's a Naksha," Rat said.

"He'll stab you in the back first chance he gets. I'd get rid of him." The stranger nodded lazily, as though deciding the fate of a man's life was nothing more than picking a flea off his sleeve. That was no ordinary thug he was dismissing—he was a Biomancer of the First Tier! A Lux-damned Biomancer! Yas grit his teeth, and his stomach churned. He'd seen it countless times, had he not? The hallmarks of a stone-cold killer? He knew the type, and he knew they were all rotten to the core.

More than any power the man might possess, this was what terrified Yas most. He'd fought and won against countless does with frightening abilities but weak minds, unable to wield their strength. He knew this because he'd once been the same. Before being forced to toughen up. To survive. And so he recognized this masked man for what he was. A monster. Down the line they went, the stranger nodding at Rat's suggestions, the unconscious prisoners having no clue their fates were being decided as they slept.

Yas supposed there was some small mercy in that. But to his mounting horror, however, the masked man nodded more often than not, agreeing with Rat's suggestions nearly every time. Suggestions that damned all but a small few. Finally they arrived at Nodin, the other Tier II Mancer.

"Well, you gonna kill me too?" Nodin growled through his gag. Yas could see the fury in his eyes. Nodin had never backed down from anything—a trait that had served him well. But not here.

"This guy's strong," Tala said loudly.

"Real strong. Even as far as Second Tiers go, he's pretty good. One of Hakan's lucky finds. One of three. Er, two now, after you offed the other one." She raised her voice pointedly, making sure both Nodin and Yas heard. Oh, he heard, alright, confirming his worst fear. The masked man had indeed killed Sinte. An Electromancer, which meant Second Tier, and likely one or two more schools besides. Yas might've stood a chance against a Mancer of that level, but against one that could cast so quickly? Not a prayer.

How did he do that?

"Let him speak," the masked man said. Tala removed the gag, and of course, Nodin immediately began spitting curses.

"Lux-damned crow-feeder! I'll have your neck for this! I'll tell everyone what you've done! You're dead—you hear me? Dead!"

"Zhek waven, che'na—" His chant, which would not have worked with the collar around his neck, was cut short by a loud crack. Nodin's eyes rolled back, and he slumped—dead or unconscious, Yas couldn't tell.

"Well," the masked man said, "that settles that." It was then Yas knew his fate was sealed. Not even a Tier II had been spared. Now it was his turn. He closed his eyes and prepared himself to accept his fate. How ironic, he thought, that the lowest among them, the one they'd treated like hallway trash, was the one to arbitrate their fates. It was, of course, nothing but the Great Cycle returning what was owed. Tears streamed down Yas's face. But not for his own life.

Yas opened his eyes and tried to speak, but only muffled words came.

"Remove it," the masked man said.

"We gave the other one a chance. Might as well offer it to him too."

"Sure," Tala said, untying Yas' gag. Instead of spewing profanities like Nodin, however, instead of begging for his life, Yas simply lowered his head to the ground.

"Please! Kill me if you must. But my brother's daughter… please take care of her. Promise me she won't be harmed. I… don't know what will happen to her." The masked man crouched down." You would dictate terms? To me? You, who makes a living committing crime after crime? Who smuggle drugs and all manner of goods that ruin peoples' lives?"

"Not by choice!" Yas said quickly.

"Please, you must believe me." The masked man looked to Tala, who to Yas' shock, nodded firmly.

"Pretty much what someone in his situation would say, I know, but in his case… it's true. He owes a life-debt to the Brotherhood. A debt he'll never be able to repay. He's on loan to the Dead Hands. From everything I can tell, he was forced into it." Yas couldn't believe his ears. Rat was defending him? Him? After the way he'd treated her? Feeding her the occasional scrap—too afraid to do any more, lest they increase his debt?

"I see," the masked man said, staring at Yas with that freakish mask.

"Still, a Tier II is dangerous. Too dangerous to leave alive, I think." This was it. Yas knew it. No matter how he begged, no matter how much Tala vouched for him, his fate was sealed. His very existence made him a threat. Power was, after all, a two-edged dagger.

"But," Tala said, scratching her head like she often did, "I can say one thing. Of all the people in the Dead Hands, he's probably the best. He's no saint, but… well, he wasn't so bad to me."

"I see," the man said thoughtfully. He crouched again.

"Then will you pledge your loyalty to me, Yas?"

'I will! By Luxor, I will!' was what every fiber of Yas' being urged him to say, and he nearly did, his lips parting to say the words. Instead, however, his mouth ran itself, and the words that came horrified him to his core.

"Will you see to it that my niece is taken care of?" The man said nothing. No doubt shocked at the sheer arrogance of the words.

'How dare you make demands in your position?'

'As I thought, this one is no good.' Yas resigned himself to the inevitable rebuke as the silence stretched. And yet…

"Such things can be arranged." The reply that came was so unexpected, so… impossible, Yas doubted his ears. And yet, there was no mistake. The man had said the words. Yas' elation quickly deflated, however, as he understood what would happen next. He'd known he was playing right into the stranger's hands by revealing Maka's existence. She would be the noose slung over Yas' neck. A bargaining chip, should Yas ever step out of line… But that was fine. Yas had already sold everything else in his life.

If this deal ensured her safety, he wouldn't dare betray the stranger. If he didn't… well, Yas might die, but that didn't mean he couldn't take this craven creature with him.

"I accept," he finally said.

"Good," came the curt response. It was followed by a sharp crack, and as Yas's body seized and darkness swallowed him, he understood his second mistake. He should have known better than to trust the honeyed words of a murderer. Closing the heavy door behind him, Jax wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, and it was all he could do to slump against the wall, heart pounding like mad.

"God, that was intense. You think I did alright?" he asked Tala. The girl narrowed her eyes, opening and closing her mouth, clearly unsure how to respond.

"As I said, treat me like a friend, alright? Or if not a friend, at least an equal."

"But you're not!" the girl blurted, before covering her mouth with her hands.

"Sorry, no! I meant…"

"How'd I do?" Jax asked in the slow, patient voice parents used on their kids. Tala's shoulders drooped.

"You did exceedingly well," she said, before adding.

"In my opinion."

"Really? I dunno, I felt like such a sham. I thought for sure they saw through me."

"If I may, I find that hard to believe," she said, looking at him suspiciously.

"You had Yas shaking in his shoes, and he's not an easy man to rattle. If any of the others were awake, they'd be trembling too." Jax gave her a reassuring smile. He appreciated that she was talking to him now that she knew she wouldn't be a slave, but it would take time to break down the walls she'd developed since childhood.

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. Acting like a villain is so much harder than I thought," Jax replied. He'd gone with the 'shut up and look imposing persona', because he definitely didn't trust himself not to fuck it up. It seemed like that was the right call.

"R-right…" Tala replied, chuckling nervously. Oh, right… If she genuinely thought he did amazing… Shit.

"I'm not!" Jax said. And despite Tala's compliments, he felt like his performance had been off.

"I'm uh, gonna have to rehearse that a bit."

"Well," Tala said, clearly still unconvinced.

"You'll have plenty of time to practice. But if you ask me, I'd say you don't need to act."

"Gee, thanks," Jax said dryly.

"So, er, what now?" Tala asked after a while, her eyes searching his.

"Now?" A smile spread across Jax's face, and this was one he didn't have to fake.

"Where I come from, we have an ancient tradition. A day where every self respecting person cleanses themselves and their homes. We call it Garbage Day."