by Noam Oswin
That was a bit inaccurate. It was a mercy to kill the cub, considering the alternatives were to leave it to die a slow death. It did not matter. No doubt the title would have benefits, and as long as they had benefits, I did not care what I was called.
[You have attained the Maximum Level (10) for your current species]
[You have attained the Maximum Level (10) for your next species]
[You have unlocked suitable conditions for evolution.]
As you are now in the Monster class [Undead], your evolutionary path will be based on accomplishments and hidden criteria. Failing to complete enough criteria to evolve will permanently end your ability to evolve, and will forever leave you as your current species.
I felt joy drain from me. The haunting words felt like a noose and an executioner’s blade all at once. If I lost my ability to evolve before I became human, or something vaguely resembling it, what would I do?
Evaluating Criteria:
Title [Genocidal] – Found.
Title [Merciless] – Found.
Title [Philistine] – Absent.
Title [Cain] – Absent.
Title [Gluttonous] – Absent.
Title [Wrathful] – Absent.
Title [Lustful] – Absent.
Title [Prideful] – Absent.
Skill [Fear Resistance] – Found.
Skill [Insanity Resistance] – Found.
Any Intimidation Skill – Found.
Any Magic Skill – Found.
Any Active Grudge – Found.
Kill at least 30 creatures as a Shade – Complete.
Remain unharmed during your time as a Shade – Complete.
Kill 20 Bats as a Shade – Incomplete.
Kill 20 Monsters as a Shade – Incomplete.
Kill 20 Vertebrates as a Shade – Complete.
Haunt 10 Beings as a Shade – Incomplete.
Possess 5 Creatures as a Shade – Incomplete.
Evaluation Complete.
I looked over the words, and uncertainty building up. There were things I should have, or could have done to aid my evolutionary path, and I did not know of them. Possession? Haunting? What was I supposed to haunt? Who was I supposed to possess? Then there were those odd titles and the information telling me that I should have killed more bats.
Evaluation Score: 10/20.
You have the minimum score to evolve.
I looked over the criteria and tried to commit them to memory. I did not know if they would change for my next species, but I needed to know them. I could not afford to be stuck as some legless, handless creature. Noting my titles, I was confused and bothered that both [Genocidal] and [Ruthless] were considered as criteria for evolution. Killing things and haunting things as well. Shouldn’t it be the opposite? Should doing these things prevent me from evolution? So far I had only killed animals, but, this system was set up in a manner as if it wanted me to go out and kill as many things as I possibly could.
Masakh eliminate suffering from the world of the living, by eliminate all those who suffer.
I was reminded of Janje’s words and found them... distasteful. I did not want to become some sort of genocidal maniac, regardless of what my titles said. If there was no one in the world, there was no point in riches, fame or success. No point in struggling or striving to be better.
At the same time, I did not want to remain as a weak creature. I did not want to lose this ability to evolve that so far had kept me alive. I would do whatever it took to keep it, but I needed to draw a line somewhere, somehow.
If I did not decide now the lines I was not willing to cross, it would be decided for me.
[You have completed enough criteria to evolve]
[Evolution Commencing]
Interlude VI
Archivist
“Fuck this is hard!”
“Language.” Entering the room, his gaze across the room to where six of the younger orphans gathered. The deck of cards Niha managed to smuggle out of the Lusty Mare seemed to be fully occupying them. He just wished she hadn’t gone to Lusty Mare at all.
“Royal flush bitches!”
“No way! You’re totally cheating!”
He also wished she didn’t teach them to gamble.
“Oi!” he yelled. “Language. Don’t let Father Goma hear you, or it’ll be the soap.”
They muttered and grumbled and he kept his ear out for any more swear words. He turned his attention to Niha. Her chocolate skin exposed itself through a small top and a pair of remodeled shorts. She sat with her legs crossed on the top bunk, papers and scrolls scattered across her lap. A quick drag of a bedsheet with his right hand obscured it all.
“Hey! What the fu –”
“Language.”
“Blow me.”
“First. That’s gross. Second, language. Third, you’re a girl – there’s nothing to blow.”
“Like you would know.” A cocky smirk landed itself on her lips as she made crude gestures involving her tongue, cheek, and rolled her eyes until they were nothing but white.
It made it easier for him to slam the pillow into her face. Perhaps with more force than strictly necessary.
“Ow!”
“You’re a horrible influence.”
“No, you’re just boring Mr-Play-It-Safe. Take some risks once in a while and live a little.”
The unspoken accusation stung. “You mean like following my best friend into joining the AAA on a whim?”
She rose her hands slowly in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying if I was the one there and couldn’t change Juma’s mind, I wouldn’t just have stood by and watched.”
“No, you’d have followed him, because you think jumping into a river with your hands tied behind your back is the same as helping your drowning friend.”
“Royal Flush again fuckers!”
He grabbed the pillow, spun on the balls of his feet and slammed it into the person who swore, before barking. “I said watch your LANGUAGE!”
The group of gamblers quickly gathered their cards and raced out of the room. “Kuri’s on a rampage again! Quick, hide anything fun!”
He retracted his extended arm, muttering softly under his breath as he picked up the pillow he’d used as a projectile, and turned back to Niha who let out a soft whistle. “Someone needs to unwind.”
“If I unwind, you’d turn this orphanage into a cesspit of booze and debauchery in hours.”
Niha placed her hands over her chest, looking scandalized. “I’m offended that you think I’d need hours.”
He resisted the urge to say something terribly biting, and instead, slowly began counting down from ten. 10, 9, 8 –
“Relax Mr. Inquisitor.” Niha said. “I can’t make shower the world with my awesomeness today. I’m busy.”
He rose a skeptic eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use those words before.”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ll let that slide because I really need your smarts for this.” She ruffled the papers atop her bed and grabbed one that was yellowing from age. “Just listen to this: Naturally mined from deposits of high concentrations of mystical power and/or nightmare essence, reminite is one of the major reasons for the geometric rate of growth experienced by the Alhamis Empire in the last two centuries. Discuss.”
She ran her hands roughly through her auburn hair and raised her hands in exasperation. “Then there’s this one: Mysticism is the art of manipulating the fundamental forces of nature governing the world of Alamir. Some have argued that there are no limits to the specialties of Mystic Arts because it was given to us by the Prince and his Nine. Others claim the lack of limits is inherent to the boundless possibility of human ingenuity. Using relevant examples, make a case for both arguments.”
He stared. No, he openly gawked.
“I know I’m fucking hot but you can stop staring now.”
“Language.” He said automatically. The use of the swear word brought him back to what made him stare in the first place.
“Those are COMMA exam questions.” He said. “Why do you have exam questions from the College of Mysticism and Mystic Arts?”
“I’m going to enroll.”
As with everything Niha did, there was a certain passion and certainty to it. As though the possibility of failure did not occur to her. As though the consequences and risks where irrelevant and meaningless.
“Your MAT scores are worse than mine.”
“I know – I know – but –” she began, “COMMA will accept people who create a new field of Mystic Arts... or people who place really, really high on their auxiliary examinations for the provisional courses.”
“You mean the Stop Courses.” He found his voice slowly rising. “For the Sycophant’s sake, why is everyone around me so desperate to die?”
“I know it sounds bad –”
“It’s nicknamed the Stop Courses because people who enter it usually stop living!” He yelled. “You willingly want to sign up to a place that once created Night-Witches?” he whispered. “A place that uses human suffering as a source of Mystic Arts?”
“Those are just stupid rumors.”
“Rumors don’t start without reason Niha!”
Niha growled. “This why Juma and I hate telling you about shit.”
“Language.”
“Fuck language! And fuck you! I asked for your help, not to sit down and listen to you fucking go off on another tantrum.”
“I’m the one throwing tantrums?” he asked. “I’m telling you the risks.”
“Because I’m too stupid to read about the fucking risks right?” Niha scoffed. “This is what you do – this is what you’ve always fucking done. We’d pitch an idea, and you’d be the first person to shoot it down because you think it’s bad, or you think it’s not safe, or you can find a million fucking reasons why it won’t work, or some other condescending bullshit, but you never – ever – come up with anything of your own.”
His throat felt tighter than it should have. Niha leapt down from her bunk, grabbing her papers and books and he found himself reaching out. “I– I just don’t want anyone to die or get hurt.”
“If you really wanted that, then instead of always fucking telling us how shit can’t work, you’d help us find ways that it could.”
She shoved him aside, and papers tossed into a rough satchel as she slammed the door behind her. The sound of it caused him to flinch a second time. The words played back over in his mind and the first thing he felt was incredulity. Why can’t they see it?
That positivity – that belief that things would somehow work out for them – they did not realize how naïve it was. Things didn’t always work out. People made mistakes, and some mistakes were costlier than others. This wasn’t the stories told to them by Father Goma about the Fabled Era where heroes and righteousness won the day. This was real life – and in real life – bad things happened to people with good intentions.
She wanted him to help them? Help them? Help someone charging headlong into something destined for catastrophe? Someone was willingly attempting to swallow poison and he was expected to make the action somehow more efficient?
Incredulity gave way to a slow burning in the pit of his stomach and a heavy lump stuck in his throat. Like Father Goma said, when you feel heat, count forward. 1, 2, 3, 4 –
He let his body move on its own. He left the room still counting, forcing his mind to focus on nothing but the counting. 21, 22, 23 –
Fine. It was fine. If Niha wanted him to help her damage herself, he would do it. If Juma wanted him to help in killing himself, he would do it. They would consider him as a better friend for it, and that was what they wanted, right? His support?
31, 32, 33 –
Making his way past the Orphanage, past the church and onto the streets, he kept counting. He would help them – since that was what they wanted. He’d get books and do as much research as he could and give them the information. He’d go to the Annals and checkout all the materials he needed to help them.
46, 47, 48 –
He found himself reaching the Annals of the Middling District. The large building dwarfed most things around it, the walls were white and pristine, and mystic scripts could occasionally be seen glimmering around it. His increased his pace as he felt the sting return from remembering how many times he came here with Juma. How many hours was spent here, perusing books about the world? Researching random topics? Finding more clues to the stories told to them by the Fathers?
63, 64, 65 –
He felt himself pass the first Mystic Ward, the sensation of coldness washing over his skin as he approached the counter.
“If it isn’t my favorite little orphan?”
Just like that, he began counting faster. 77, 78, 79, 80, 81 –
He refrained from insulting the bespectacled Archivist in front of him, slipped his hands into his pockets and reached for a handful of coins.
The second he began counting the stipends he’d gotten from Father Goma, he lost his initial count. He lost his initial count, and the full weight of the lump in his throat was heavily discomforting.
He placed the coins on the counter. “I’m not little. Haven’t been in years.”
The Archivist grabbed the coins. A smile drew itself on her freckled face and revealed dimples on both cheeks. “So you keep saying. I’ll have you prove it one day.”
He restricted his first instinct again. He could not tell if there was a secondary meaning to those words, or if it was Niha’s influence making him read into it. Juma once said that he always felt the woman’s eyes linger on them. He dismissed the feeling. Was that, again, another moment where he failed to support his friends?
“You’re one manna and twenty-five vittles short.”
Not enough money. You always had just enough money... “I’ll pay the rest next time.”
“You know the rules Kuri.”
“I know, but... I need to enter – I need –” He stopped himself. Never beg. That was their motto. Sycophant Orphans Never Beg.
“Never mind. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
The Archivist gave him a lingering gaze. “Did you have a fight with your friend?”
He stopped to stare at her. “How did you know?”
“You usually covered the costs together.”
Oh. He realized. She’s talking about Juma.
“No – I didn’t fight with him. He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Gone.” Kuri said. “Enlisted in the AAA.”
There it was, the slight widening of eyes behind her oval shaped glasses. “Another young orphan joins the AAA. Another youthful soul protecting all of Alhamis from nightmares and savages and the Floater. You must be very proud of him.”
Was he? Should he have been? No – he spent his time believing that Juma threw away his life. No, not believing – he knew. He knew it was a bad decision. Perhaps the Archivist understood as well?
“Was that you being sarcastic?”
The Archivist straightened up. “I’m not being sarcastic. The AAA is to be respected. Every single member of the AAA deserves our respect.”
“Until they desert.”
“Well, yes.” The Archivist admitted. “Anyway you don’t have the entrance fee Kuri. I can’t let you in.”
“I understand. Sorry for wasting your time.”
The Archivist’s gaze lingered on him. She had a gaze that he often saw whenever a Penance was held and the deserter was someone that piqued interest. A deserter that stared at the crowd with apathy often drew speculation. One that laughed often drew curiosity. The Archivist’s gaze was a mix of both speculation, curiosity... and the last one. The one drawn by deserters with sensual bodies, rich breasts or large cocks. Father Goma called it lust and he preached against it. It made Kuri uncomfortable seeing it directed at him. Especially by someone older.
“What is it you want to know so badly?” she asked. “You came in here with a really serious look on your face.”
“It’s nothing to bother yourself over. Just... some personal matters.”
“Girl trouble?”
“No.” He was waiting for her to give him back his money so he could leave. Leave and go where? Juma and Niha where his only friends. The Orphanage and Church were his only home. The Annals were the closest thing he had to a hangout.
“Alright – I can tell when someone doesn’t want to share –”
“My friends are doing things that has a high chance to get them killed or maimed, and I feel like I’m in the wrong for not supporting them.”
“You’re talking about the AAA?”
“And joining COMMA’s Stop Courses.”
The Archivist frowned. “That’s intense.”
“How am I in the wrong for not wanting them to risk their lives – for not helping them risk their lives?”
“Did they or are they going to do it if you don’t help them anyway?”
Juma did. Niha most likely would. “Yes.”
“And what are the odds they die if you don’t help them at all?”
“Very high.”
“And the odds they die if you tell them what the dangers are, and help them prepare?”
He found the words making him pause. “It’s still high.”
“Is it as high as it would be if they went at it blind, alone and unaware of the dangers?”
There was no need to answer. The answer was obvious to both himself and the Archivist. The freckle-faced, bespectacled woman smiled at him. “A lot of times in life, friends or family people will make choices that we do not understand and cannot fathom. Still, it is their life, and as their friends, if we are aware of the risks and dangers, the least we can do, is make them prepared to face it.”
“No matter how seemingly stupid their choices might be?”
“No matter how much.” She confirmed.
“I don’t think that’ll work in all situations.”
The Archivist laughed. “That’s the thing about advice – it’s not all-encompassing.”
The throb in his chest and lump in his throat was still present, but he knew the Archivist’s words had merit. They were logical. Even if his chest didn’t want to admit it.
“...thank you for the advice.”