Traveling across the mountain was an experience that would have been quite leisurely if not for the frequent number of monsters that would pop out to try and make a meal out of them. They would never come alone either, and though most had been teethers, they’d also had to handle at least a dozen gapers before they reached the first trade-hub in the region, passing a handful of tiny villages along the way.

The trade-hub was a town that actually looked decently outfitted to defend itself from monsters. Six wooden watchtowers, two gates, and guards moving about all over the place. And as soon as the place had come into sight, Sybil had pulled her hood right back on.

“I don’t get how you can be sitting under so much damn sunlight and still be wearing that hood and cowl without suffocating.” Damon grumbled, looking at Sybil as her eyes had a lingering smirk to them. “Teach me your secrets.”

“Icer seeds and a regulator piece.” Han answered. “Expensive stuff if you try buying it down south. Sucks up moisture, outputs it as chilled mist. The seed itself gets hotter as it goes until it shuts down for the day.”

“It’s rude to share the secrets of others.” Sybil’s voice had only a hint of annoyance but was mostly amused.

“Man, monster parts, monster seeds, it’s almost like they were made to be useful, however they’re killed.”

“Of course they were. The Nameless One would have his servants scour the battlefields to pick up the remains of his creations. That way they could use the parts to build powerful weapons.”

“Small lesson in religion.” Han piped up with a groan. “If you have a flame-sword and someone’s glaring at you as if they want to pluck your eyes out, they’re probably a follower of Janus.” He coughed. “Which is not how I met Sybil.”

“I know I detracted some points from this world for not having dogs, but I’m going to add a couple for there being such a thing as a ‘flame-sword’.” Damon proclaimed. “Exactly how bad-ass is it and how expensive?”

“Flamer monster bones are what’s used to make a flame-sword, and it is something that is mostly aesthetic and entirely useless.” Sybil stated. “The affront of creating weapons as the Nameless One did aside, the flame-sword only ignites when drenched in a special oil, and is likelier to burn the user than the target.”

“Why have them at all?”

“Because they are ceremonial weapons used in stage plays,” she said. “Often by whomever is taking the role of the Nameless One. Many foolhardy users spend their coin on a flame-sword thinking it is a sure way to appear ‘mean’ or ‘tough’.” This time, her tone took an edge of mirth. “In Han’s case, he was trying to impress women.”

“I did no such thing!”

“It’s ok, Han, people in my world spend ridiculous amounts of money on dumb things thinking it’ll impress the ladies too.” Damon chuckled. “They’re kind of like peacocks.”

“What’s that?”

“A kind of bird that has impressively large tail feathers. These feathers make the bird so heavy they cannot fly comfortably, thus making them easy prey.” A smirk followed. “The only use the tail has, aside from ensuring a quick death, is to impress the female peacocks.”

“That was Han.” Sybil nodded sagely, much to the complaints of the golden bearded sasin next to her.

“It was not!”

“The bluster nearly got him killed during his first monster raid.”

Damon quirked a brow. “I thought you’d been a user for longer than Sybil.”

“I am.” Han’s silver ears drooped as he turned away. “I just… didn’t spend as much time hunting monsters.”

“He was a glorified bodyguard.”

“I protected my clients from bandits and users.” Han declared sullenly.

“Nothing wrong about protecting folk from other folk.” Damon shrugged.

“As a bearer of the gift of Janus, users not fighting monsters is like a blade that never leaves the scabbard.” Sybil stated, crossing her arms with what little sternness was left in her. “As attested by Han nearly dying. He was rusty.”

“I only nearly died because I had to heal you rather than myself.”

“And that was because I was protecting you, the healer, when you specialize in shields.”

“Speaking of protection.” Han very quickly moved the conversation in a new direction, reaching into one of the boxes and pulling out a large cloak. “You’re going to be wearing this. And a mask.”

Damon frowned, looking at it with a frown. “Because I don’t startle people enough?”

“We’ve been thinking about that. It’s easier to explain away that you’re keeping your hymn blocked as a form of self-imposed training. And so long as people can’t see what’s under the cloak, they’ll assume you’re freakishly tall because you have some special grafts.”

“It will still be unnerving, and it will still draw attention. But less likely for it to be dangerous attention.”

“Because in this world I’m somehow a freak?”

“Exactly that.” Han nodded. “Acolytes attempting to train in odd ways is one thing. Rare, but not unheard of. But no one has ever heard of humans let alone seen one.”

Damon grumbled. “I hope this isn’t as bad in the larger cities.”

“Larger cities have crowds, far easier to hide the lack of a hymn there. But this is just a town.”

A sigh and a nod, he looked at the ‘mask’, a slightly curved piece of blue wood with two holes poked through them. Blinking for a moment, Damon’s expression shifted, a grin spreading across his lips, he searched for the piece of charcoal. “Okey dokey.”

 

---

 

Radka Garbi had a comfortable life considering the sort of task she fulfilled. The Master had a need for eyes, ears, and hands all across the continent, and Radka had been fortunate. The only thing she needed to do was keep oversight of the Blue Mountains within the northern regions, a place once bustling with activity from unearthed ruins. Now the north was nothing more than a blip on the map, notable only for the export of glow-wood and the severely lowered monster threat. Most users moving through her town came for an easy experience or with hopes of finding some ruin that had been somehow missed.

Thus, Radka’s job for the Master was to make sure the northern lands remained ignored. Quiet. All she had to do was make sure the stream of non-registered axons kept flowing and that was that. Sometimes, one of the assets wouldn’t meet their quota, and she’d have to send one of her men to convince them to keep up the good work.

But such events were quiet things, easily brushed under the metaphorical rug.

Until it hadn’t been.

The hagsier merchant with the clipped ear had assured her he’d get the knight back in line. Then proceeded to get eaten by a monster, and users came back with a recorded confession from the knight himself!? They’d contacted the order of the knights, put in requests, left a paper-trail, and worst of all, they’d discovered a place of power for Janus! Now the north was no longer going to be quiet and peaceful, no doubt a new wave of users looking for ruins would also start showing up.

It had been so fast there had been no opportunity to put a stop, prevent word from getting out. Nothing. Barely even attempt to delay things. Now the only option was to find a way to sink the investigation into the now-dead merchant’s activities. The Master would not tolerate threats to his operations. And Radka would be a fool to consider she could not be replaced if the Master deemed her unfit for the shifting circumstances.

Normally, Radka would have merely needed to put in a small word here or there, and the knight and his daughter would be executed by the order of the knights themselves. But the users had put in the blame entirely on the hagsier merchant. And thus, her problems were the knight and his daughter. So long as they lived, they could share information that could compromise the rest of the operation.

If they hadn’t already.

She expected the users she’d sent to be more than enough to clean up the mess.

Reclining inside her office as she worked on the parts tasked to her as a knight, she filled out the documentation and record-keeping of the town she oversaw. It was with a swift pen that errors would be corrected, taxes estimated, names and dates written.

She was corrupt, not sloppy.

She felt the presence of a familiar hymn approaching. Its nervousness caught Radka’s attention. She put aside the ledgers, allowing the ink to dry as she turned to greet the incoming report of what would no doubt be success. She expected they might have lost a user or two, but such would’ve been a reasonable expense to clean the mess.

There was no other explanation for the anxiousness in the hymn of the men she’d sent out to deal with her issues. These men were experienced in the task, trustworthy. But then again, what was that sense of underlying panic? The only reasonable conclusion Radka could reach was that far too many agents had died.

She approached her office’s door and unlocked it, allowing the one-eared sasin to burst inside. “We have a problem.” The first words that came out of Ulra’s mouth did not bode well, the fact that he was paler than a corpse made it worse.

“What is it?”

“We weren’t enough.”

Radka scoffed. “Have you lost any to the monsters? You were twelve strong.”

“And it won’t be enough.”

“Won’t be.” She locked on to the word, narrowing her eyes, her hymn scalding. “You haven’t dealt with them already?”

“The knight will die before the replacement gets to the village. But there is no way we can touch the gatherer girl. They have a… something with them.” Stumbling down, the man took the visitor’s seat and looked at Radka with exhaustion, his hymn frayed at the edges. “I wouldn’t call him a user. He is a beast.”

“Explain.”

“We planned to ambush them. Drew in over fifty teethers with some monster-blood. But it didn’t matter.” He swallowed. “The teethers didn’t stand a chance.”

Radka nodded in consideration. A drawn out fight was the best approach against experienced users. “Fifty fresh teethers should have exhausted two users well enough. Even experienced ones.”

“There were three.”

“I fail to see the difference in outcome. Twelve fresh users against three exhausted ones.”

“You do not understand.” He declared. “They needed just one.”

“One?”

“The third user. Tall, taller than any man I’ve ever seen.” His hymn shook violently, hands reaching for his head. “He killed them all. He killed the monsters. On his own. The others watched, amused, as if it were normal.”

That gave Radka hesitation. None of the reports mentioned… Her eyes turned towards her ledgers. The two users had come to inform of a user that had killed the knight. Radka had thought it would be one of the two, could it have been a third?

“Describe this third user.”

“A man and a half tall, with round pink ears and brown hair. He had no grafts I could see, but…” There was a shudder. “I could not hear his hymn.”

“A stealth graft, then. Expensive and rare, no doubt.” A slight nod. “So why did you not attack? Killing that many monsters should have exhausted him.”

The green eyes were wide, the hymn shrinking from the fear, his voice a whisper. “It didn’t. He killed them all, and then walked, keeping pace with the carriage.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I AM TELLING YOU!” His voice rose in a crescendo of panic. “I watched him kick a teether on the gut and it exploded as if it had swallowed an air-cannon. I saw him swing a club that would take anyone else topple over from the weight as if it was nothing more than a rapier. I saw him rip the leg of a teether with his bare hands just so he could pummel another to death! He bathed in their blood like there was no way to amuse himself other than by facing them all at once! And he. Just. Kept. Going! We threw them four more monster ambushes, and nothing would slow it down!”

The man crumbled back onto the chair, staring at Radka with shaking hands, the hymn speaking of the horror he’d witnessed far more loudly than his words ever could have described.

“How would you propose this be handled?” Radka pushed. “We do not need to- Where are you going!?”

“We’re done here.” There was a pause as he looked at her with a scowl.

Radka whirled, shocked. “What!?”

“I don’t know why you need that girl, but-.”

Knock knock.

They both froze at the tapping against the door. There was no hymn there, there was no one near the door. Was it some foul prank? A monster? She grasped at the hilt of her sword, checking on the condition of her men. They were still standing guard at the entrance of the building, but they were nervous.

“Hello?”

“He’s here.” Ulra whispered, going pale as his hymn screamed, the tone no different than that of a scared villager girl about to get eaten by a monster. “He’s here, we need to… I need to…” His gaze turned to the window, as if seriously considering his options by jumping through the glass.

There was another knock.

Radka felt herself tense, sharpening her senses as much as she could. There was nothing there, not even a mute little chirp of emotion. An empty void of nothing. She looked at Ulra, he’d stuck with his back to the wall and had gone still like a statue.

The door opened just a little, enough to show a sliver of the corridor behind, and of the figure taller than the door itself that was behind it. “Is it ok for me to come in? Or is it a bad time?”

Ulra looked at Radka, begging her as he shook his head. Her hymn flashed, warning that she was busy and unwilling to meet a visitor.

“Uh, you guys ok?”

The door opened, the hooded figure bent down to pass through the frame, ignoring Radka’s hymn. The cloaked figure stepped inside and straightened out to stand at his full height. Radka had to twist her neck up to look upon the mask the thing wore. One made out of blue glow-wood, drawn upon the mask was a crude circular face, one with an impossibly wide soulless smile with too many sharp teeth and hollow eyes that allowed the thing to look upon her from the darkness under its hood.

It was as if he were staring through her.

As if she were nothing.

Ulra held his breath, clearly unwilling to risk detection.

The creature loomed closer to Radka, silent, its presence invisible if not because she was looking at it with her very eyes. It was impossible, how could something so big be so… quiet? “What… what are you?” She gasped, feeling a shudder run through her.

“Just a user.” The voice spoke with an inflection that lacked any accent, but she could sense the smile in the male’s tone. A smile much like the mask’s, amused at the thick layer of fear in the room. “I was told to report to you. The route north has been cleared of the rebirthed monsters.”

North.

To the village with the knight.

The teethers.

Suddenly, Ulra’s warnings felt like knives stabbing into her chest.

This was the giant man that tore monsters with his bare hands as if they were little more than amusement.

Radka’s eyes widened, nodding mutely, all color draining from her face.

He’d found out. Somehow, maybe he’d followed Ulra, the fool dooming them both. It didn’t matter. He could have just as well picked off the hymns from the conversation. Someone with this much control would no doubt have incredible sensitivity. Radka had heard of such users, able to pick out hymns from the other side of a valley, impossible to detect save when they wanted to be seen.

Radka knew they were going to die.

Their hymns screamed in terror. Would her guards make it in time? Could they even stop the hooded figure if they did? Was there a chance of survival if she fought along with Ulra? Her henchman appeared entirely rooted on the spot, caught in place, frozen.

“I-I-I will make sure you are properly repaid.” Radka proclaimed. She had to buy time, something, anything that might give them an opportunity.

“Just send the gold to the needle-shoe inn and I’ll call it even.”

Bribe! He was looking for a bribe! This was more to her speed. “Yes! Of course, wh-what name should I… send it to?”

“Just Damon. They know who I am.” He leaned back, standing tall enough his head nearly brushed against the ceiling, looking around the room for a moment and focusing on Ulra. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.” A chuckle followed, as if the sasin’s hymn crying of terror was nothing more than amusement. “Nice to meet you.”

A hand emerged from the darkness of the cloak, Radka was surprised it wasn’t a claw or some graft. No, it was pink flesh, a large strong hand that could grasp one’s skull and crush it. A hand Ulra took with a trembling grip.

“Have a good day.” He’d turned to leave, but halted. “I almost forgot.”

Turning to face Radka again, he bowed. “This user greets the knight and wishes for a shining future.” It was the traditional way for a user to show respect to the local authority, but it was all wrong, the bow was too shallow, and the hymn had not even shown itself to reveal sincerity. Radka instantly knew it to be nothing more than a mockery, as if to make clear he held little regard for the corrupt knight in this forgettable town.

“Y-yes…” She said, mutedly watching as the user, Damon, turned to leave.

The door closed with a soft click.

Radka collapsed on her chair, shaking like a leaf in an autumn storm. She reached down for the flask of spirits she reserved for only the most strenuous of occasions and took the longest swig she could. Next to the bookshelf, Ulrid had stumbled to sit on the chair, looking at his not-crushed hand in disbelief.

“It was like being held by stone.” He swallowed, turning to Radka. “He knew. He must have known we were going to ambush him.”

“And spared us all anyway.” She nodded grimly, pouring a glass and passing it over as she took another long swig from the bottle. “The Master will not be pleased.”

“Fuck the Master.” Ulrid declared. “We shed the leaves and put in a new graft.”

Radka frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

Ulrid spoke quickly. “This user couldn’t have come out of nowhere. I think the Order of knights sent him.” His hands were trembling as he pulled the glass up, downing it in one go. “And they’re letting us live, despite knowing what we’ve done.”

Radka tried to scoff, but her words came out as a weak whisper. “They can’t know, we’ve been careful.”

“They must at least suspect. You had a knight killing users right within your territory!” He spoke in a harsh whisper, his hymn was desperate, looking for a way to survive. “I say fuck the Master. I say we go straight and narrow, bow to the Order, cooperate, ask for protection. Pray to Tora or Janus or whatever Gods have mercy left in them to never meet that thing again.”

She took in the words, swallowing them as a horrible realization dawned on her. “You must leave.”

“What?”

“The knight! I sent users to kill the knight. We have to stop them! If he does care, and finds out, we could be dead already!”

Ulrid shot to his feet, nodding, determined even if the hymn was drowned in a sea of fear. “I’ll find the fastest cloppers and set out immediately.” He rushed to the door but hesitated as he opened it, peeking on the other side as if to confirm the cloaked figure had truly gone. Only then did he break into a run.

Radka could only pray to the gods that she wasn’t too late. That the users she’d sent to end the knight had not fulfilled their task.

If this cloaked creature was protecting his daughter, then their life would be forfeit the moment the knight’s was taken. Of this she was sure. Ulrid was right, the Master be damned, her best protection would be the Order of the knights.

 

---

 

Meanwhile, walking across the town, Damon grumbled inwardly as he reconsidered his options.

It was clear the smiley face was not helping make people any less nervous around him. Maybe he should put something else?