One might ask Arcadia's inhabitants of its myths and fables—Lokim knew of such people. They came and went every once in a while. All of them shared a similarity—They sought to understand the phenomenon that was his existence. 

It was understandable. The God-born had long left Arcadia's borders, most of them forming isolated colonies outside of the continent. Any contact the Arcadians tried to establish was met with harsh resistance. Of course, being of a god's lineage carried certain rules one had to follow. 

The divinity in the God-borns' blood had been diluted far too much—and so divine orders were sent out from the holiest of churches, instructing anyone with even a trace of divinity to only mate with another of similar lineage. Meaning, one God-born could only love another God-born. 

No such rule had been placed on Loki's descendants, however. Very much like their father god, all who had Loki's blood coursing in their veins remained distant, only seeking to fuel their own interests. 

That was Lokim. Despite being born of a deity's flesh, he was the runt of the litter. His divinity was much too bleak that even he found it hard to believe he was the Trickster God's son. At least, that was what the other children and their mothers had told him. 

Still, his strength was more than enough to survive in Arcadia. Even someone like him had managed to inherit his father's abilities—namely, the ability to shapeshift into anything that wasn't as powerful as a deity. 

Thanks to his good fortune, even dragons found it difficult to stand up to his might. 

"Hey, did you hear, Lokim?"

The voice of an aged man could be heard from the other side of the room. Lokim sat up on the couch he was lying on and looked to the man. 

"Supposedly, the Hero's Party has been going around Arcadia's cities. They recently lost one of their members in one of their expeditions, and are looking for one to replace him."

"Geh," Lokim scoffed. "Was it Donovan? Or Lohan?"

The Hero's Party, which consisted of the fabled "divinely-chosen" savior of Arcadia and his companions, were quite a well-known band of individuals. One could ask any citizen in the continent about them and instantly be answered with entire books' worth of information. That was just how renowned they were. 

The party in question held five members. The first, and obviously the most recognizable, was the Hero Arthur. Blonde hair, blue eyes, heavy metal armor—the typical description for a Knight in shining armor. Not to mention, Arthur also wielded Excalibur, the sword prophesied to slay the Demon Lord.

Arthur also had his fiance, the Saintess Miriam. She was part of the Church Of Modir—or otherwise known as the Holy Church, and was one of its youngest, yet most powerful priestesses. 

Thirdly, was Donovan. A middle-aged half-orc who delighted in being Arthur's mentor in combat. He was known for his outstanding strength and devastating battle cry. 

The fourth was the elven Archmage Lohan—a weaver Arcadia often referred to as the best mage. She was quite old by elven standards, so she was sure to have ample experience. 

Lastly, and perhaps the most uninteresting, was Josef. The few who actually actively cheered for him knew him as the party's rogue. 

"Heh. If Lohan were to die, the entirety of Arcadia would've scrambled to find another Archmage. We can't appear weak to the God-born, after all."

"That's what you all want to think, but they're immensely stronger than everyone here," Lokim laughed. "A single one of the purebloods could smoke our capital city in an instant if they wished to."

"How many times have I told you to keep these things to yourself? Always ruining the fun, you."

"Can you blame me, Gerald?" Lokim turned to look at the window. "It's just in my nature to be a pain in the ass."

"Well, you'd better find a way to overcome that nature quickly. Not everyone can stand being around your insufferable mouth," Gerald joked. "Anyway, as I was saying, the Hero's Party is looking to recruit another member since—get this—Josef died."

"What?!" Lokim shot up from his seat. "That Josef died? The one famous for being immune to damage when in the shadows? Preposterous."

"That's what the paper says, at least. They found his body in Vasyl's sewers, mangled to bits. They had to use Time magic to watch the scene that led to his death."

"Hoh. That's a bummer. And he was my favorite of the group, too."

"Seriously? The rogue?"

Lokim stood up and began walking around the room. The Adventurer's Guild was still closed, so he had free rein to do as he wished until then. 

Gerald merely blinked for a second. His vision seemed to dim for a short moment, before eventually returning to their usual sight. However, something had changed. 

Lokim wasn't in his original form anymore. The long haired androgynous figure he once sported was now replaced by a much more masculine stature. His clothes, which used to be simple lounge wear, had now been changed to replicate the exact look of Josef's studded leather armor. 

No flaw could be seen. Even the material that gave the armor its signature black look—Blackstone—seemed to have been perfectly laid out in all of the corners. 

Meanwhile, Lokim's face was covered by a simple white mask with no design. Josef often liked to wear masks with nothing on them to make him look inconspicuous. 

If Gerald knew no better, he would've thought that he was standing right in front of the original Josef. Of course, that would've been so if he had no idea Lokim could shapeshift into anything he knew of. 

"That's creepy. You're defiling the dead by doing that." Gerald sighed. 

"Is that so? Should I defile Miriam's body instead?" 

Lokim donned a mischievous look, and in an instant, he had switched into the beautiful likeness of the Saintess Miriam. 

Wearing a simple temple gown, Miriam's attractive figure called forth the attention of any men who dared to look at her. Her body was said to be blessed by her god, making it holy. 

However, Lokim, being quite unfaithful despite literally being born of a deity, decided to do the most heinous crime he could think of at the moment. 

Bringing his two hands—now very much feminine in shape, he brought them to his chest area, where Miriam's breasts laid. Their luscious skin called out to him, and he began to take advantage of having access. With no shame whatsoever, Lokim began to fondle the pure Saintess' breasts while in the view of Gerald. 

"You're disgusting, Lokim. Get out of the Saintess' form."

"Fine, fine!" Lokim relented, and instantly, he was back in his original form. His long, unkempt hair dragged behind him, and his eyes—colorless, moved around. 

"I only wanted to have a little fun. It's not like the Saintess knows I'm playing with her body." 

"Even so, what you're doing is disgusting. I'm almost deterred from doing what I meant to do before."

"Whoa, hold on now," Lokim raised his hands in protest. "What was it you were going to do?"

"I was saying, with the untimely death of Josef, the Hero Party is missing a rogue. Someone who can get them into the most obscure places, someone with a million faces. Someone with… the ability to be a rogue."

As Gerald said that, he seemed to stare at Lokim a bit more intensely than he was initially doing. This told the latter more than enough about what he was going to say.

"You want me to join their party?"

"That's right." Gerald nodded. "You might be a blabbermouth who doesn't know personal space, but you're still useful. Being able to shapeshift into anything that isn't a god has massive perks in and outside of battle, you know."

"Geh," Lokim sneered. "Why would I do that? You're just trying to get me away from the guild for a few years while I journey towards the Demon Lord."

"That's precisely why!" Gerald shouted. "You haven't been taking any contracts lately. All you do is laze about the guild house, doing nothing. I would've been fine with it if you helped around, but you're not even kind enough to clean the dishes you eat on!"

"Which is why I'm recommending you to them," Gerald continued. "Surely you can solve the Demon Lord problem in a few years at best, given how strong you are. If you refuse, I'm kicking you out of the guild!"

"Now come on, isn't that a bit too harsh?! You want me to spend a few years with the Hero's Party? It's going to be a pain having to ignore the Hero and the Saintess flirting, not to mention the half-orc and the elf!"

"That's what you're worried about? Get your ass out of here."