Vigor Mortis

“Fancy-looking place,” I comment, staring up at the massively wide one-story building that apparently serves as the base for the Broken Drakens.

I’m not entirely lying, either. Sure, the building is no lord’s estate or anything, and that’s certainly a fresh comparison in my mind after having been there this morning. Parts of the walls are cracked and stained, and patches of mold cling to whatever they can on the outside of the structure. To my sensibilities, though, it’s still a high-class location, sitting at the fuzzy intersection of the city that separates everything else from what I consider to be ‘my part of town.’ Comprised of wrought stone rather than clay or wood, it makes up for what it lacks in tallness with sturdiness.

The two hired killers escorting me snort derisively. Based on the standards of power I’m now familiar with, I suspect they’re fairly low-rung for any group that specializes in murder. Cheap hires, but is that all the Drakens could afford or is it just all they need? They’re above the average soul strength of the people in the building, although that’s not really saying a lot. There are only two souls of any real interest inside. Either way, while Squigs and Frigs are now weaker than I am they’re far from incompetent. They certainly do a good job of tracking me down whenever they want to, and they’re a lethal threat to any average person.

A pair of tough-looking muscly dudes guard the door, but their souls are so small and uninteresting I barely bother to glance at them until one puts his hand out to block me from entering.

“Weapons, please,” he asks in that polite yet vaguely threatening way that I’ve known better than to disobey for most of my weak, helpless life.

“No,” I tell the man, glaring up at him. I didn’t recently commit a genocide just to be pushed around by this moron.

The taller of the assassin pair puts a hand on my shoulder, prompting me to direct my glare his way.

“It’s just standard procedure, little lady,” he insists in that greasy way of his. “We want to make sure these talks are safe for everyone.”

“Well you’ll be safer if you don’t try to take my weapons,” I answer, shrugging his hand off my shoulder. “I was invited here to talk, wasn’t I? If you keep adding conditions to the conversation, I’m going to walk away.”

“Miss Vita,” Frigs pipes up from the other side of me, his tone lacking the condescension of his counterpart, “I realize you are a hunter and a young woman of the streets, but my compatriot and I lack the authority to allow you in armed. This is the faster way into the building, if you want to finish this business sooner. If not, we can certainly send your request higher up the chain, as it were.”

I frown, weighing the practicality against my desire to just get this over with.

“I’m keeping my stuff,” I eventually insist again. “I’m not talking to your boss without it.”

Frigs nods as if he expected that, turning to the door guard.

“Would you kindly go explain the situation? The boss has requested this young lady’s presence.”

The guard glances down and gives me the incredulous look of an idiot that doesn’t realize I can kill him with a thought, though he heads inside without a word. I wait in silence for the guy to eventually return, nodding me inside.

It’s been obvious for a while where I’m going. The largest souls in the complex are huddled together in the same place, after all. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s probably the boss and either his right-hand men or bodyguards. There are only two I’m confident I won’t be able to just casually pull out, though. I’m soon ushered into the same room as them, letting me put faces to the feelings.

The room is large and almost circular, with only one obvious way in or out. The entirety of the architecture and utter lack of most furniture seems designed to draw attention to the giant chair in the back of the room, a twisted, lopsided thing carved of wood and far too large for its occupant: the first of the two large-souled people. He’s obviously the boss, not only by nature of sitting in the fanciest chair but by how the others stand around him, ready to follow his commands at a whim. He’s a profoundly feminine-looking man, with short-cropped black hair, a thin, green-eyed glare, and a pale face that’s so impeccably clean-shaven I suspect he may not be able to grow a beard at all. Thin-framed and short (although still much taller than I am, as fucking usual), the chair is clearly designed to make him the tallest person in the room anyway, even when sitting down. His soul is white-hot, a glaring, painful brightness wrapped with spiky structures that curl towards each other like claws.

Standing next to him among a collection of other people that don’t really matter is a remarkably eye-catching young woman, partially because of her beauty but far more obviously because she has, for some insane reason, dyed her hair pink. Normally I’d assume it’s some kind of kynamancy or particularly wacky biomancy that creates the change in hair color, but it’s very obviously dye since, during the process, she seems to have splattered the left side of her face with the stuff. Pink splotches along her right cheek and around her eye mar what would otherwise be blemishless skin, an insane and careless use of expensive dyes made ever more wasteful by having not even been applied correctly.

I’m certainly irritated by that, but her soul manages to be so eye-catching I only give it a passing thought. One half of it is a dark, navy blue, cool and swirling like the mist below and clouds above. The other half is a deep black, though in a different sort of way than my eggshell had been. My darkness had been not just a lack of light, but the negation of it, a place warded from being seen. Conversely, the black of this woman’s soul is of depth, of vastness, like a cavern inside the island that stretches from end to end. These two halves have a jagged crack between them, like someone broke a rock in twain and rotated one part before trying to put it back together. They do not fit with each other, and between them, in those miniscule, crumpled, grinding cracks a third color grows. A festering purple, dripping and writhing like ooze.

I’ve met a fellow monster.

“So then, you must be Vita,” the boss says, and I’m a little startled to hear his voice sound exactly like a woman’s. That’s… jarring. He’s a man, right? I’m certain he’s a man. Didn’t someone tell me that, or something?

“I must be Vita,” I agree blandly. “I’m flattered to be brought to see you directly, sir.”

He raises an eyebrow, glare quirking into a smile.

“Oh? Well, you know how it is. A nobody kid with a volcanic rise in power like yours? In my territory? I’m always interested in the story of a person like that.”

“Volcanic?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I’ve never heard the word.

“Ah, perhaps I should say ‘explosive,’” the boss explains. “The point is, you’re growing fast. You’ve obviously awakened to quite the killer talent. I am, of course, in the business of recruiting such talent from our kind of background.”

I look around the room, unimpressed. Not much of a business if he only has one other person. The inhuman soul of the pink-haired woman starts to stir and I lock my third eye on it. She’s not about to blast me, is she?

“What do you mean, ‘our kind of background?’”

“The slums,” the boss answers, eyes piercing as he reads my reaction. “The streets. The background of starving with nothing while those with everything continue to take.”

I snort incredulously, glaring up at him. Fuck, that chair is designed to look like a throne, isn’t it? I just got that.

“You just look like one of the people that take to me,” I answer flatly. “Lyn and Rowan don’t even have enough time to protect their own kids from thugs anymore.”

“...Is that so?” the boss asks, his soul pulsing fury like a sudden gout of flame. “Well. It’s a busy time for everyone in the Drakens right now, but I can give them some time off if it’s needed.”

I scowl. Just like that? I’m instantly suspicious. As if to confirm those suspicions, purple threads start to slide out of the cracks in the pink-haired woman’s soul, snaking slowly towards me as they grow in length.

“And what do you want in return?” I ask the boss.

He just gives me a confused look.

“In return for giving a valued employee the time she needs to manage her family affairs? Nothing whatsoever. I don’t usually oversee every employee’s schedule personally, but I will certainly check with management on the manner.”

Ugh, he’s so prim and proper… yet in a weird, mocking way, as if it’s some kind of private joke. He wears a fancy nobleman’s suit, yet with the shirt untucked and the collar up. I’ve never seen an actual noble wear it like that, and I’m not sure what it means. Fashion is about the opposite of my thing.

“I see,” I murmur. “Well, on the subject of employees… who is that?”

I point at the pink-haired woman. While multiple tough-looking guards flank the boss of the Drakens, she is the only one that stands directly next to the boss’s fancy chair. She smiles vacantly in my direction, her apparent mirth masking the intense concentration I feel in her soul. Presumably, her focus is on extending her pathetic excuses for soul-tendrils. ...Well, perhaps I shouldn’t call them tendrils. They’re not really anything like mine, being far longer and almost imperceptibly thin. Though they are soul-structures, they’re clearly not designed for grabbing, holding, or pulling other souls. Especially noteworthy to me, however, is that she does not seem to be casting. Her fingers do not move, she makes no sound with her voice. The purple bits of her soul, and only the oozy purple bits, thrum with the use of a talent. I am, perhaps, not alone.

“Oh, please excuse my rudeness!” the boss exclaims, smiling jovially. “I haven’t even introduced everyone. I am Sky, the leader of the Broken Drakens. This is Capita, my right-hand woman. And this is…”

I stop paying attention. Capita, huh? I wait patiently as her purple threads finish leaking out of the crack in her soul, trying to worm their way into my body to reach at mine. To my surprise they pass in easily, barely even pinging my magic resistance. I probably wouldn’t have even felt them if I hadn’t been watching. I don’t have any intention of letting them complete whatever they’re trying to do, however.

Wrapping my tendrils around the threads, I gather them up and yank. They break off from Capita’s soul with all the resistance of a cobweb. The young woman’s pleasant smile evaporates as she staggers forward, clutching at her chest. I pull her detached soul-threads the rest of the way inside my body, slurping them up like anima spaghetti. They dissolve within me, destroyed utterly, reduced to nothing but power. It’s not even a remotely filling snack, but at least the taste is interesting.

I’ve found another animancer. I shoot her a pleasant smile not unlike the one she gave me, though on the inside I’m very annoyed. This whole debacle probably outs me as an animancer to the Drakens as well, but… what the fuck am I going to do, just let her stick her gross soul-hairs into me? No thanks. Now that I’m stuck in this situation, I may as well establish dominance in it. By all means, my smile says. Try that again.

I’m always happy to take a free meal.

“...Capita?” the Boss inquires, noticing his underling’s reaction.

“I don’t appreciate being invited here and having spells cast on me, Mister Sky,” I say coldly.

Tension passes through the room as everyone in it starts to become aware that Capita and I had a magical exchange that nobody else even noticed was happening... and I won. Capita’s soul is huge, certainly larger than mine and perhaps even Penelope’s. Sky’s is similar, though a bit smaller. But if Capita is just going to send tiny threads at me instead of bringing that full soul to bear? I have more than enough strength to stop her.

“...My most sincere apologies,” Sky says smoothly, languidly pulling his gaze from Capita back to me. “It won’t happen again.”

Yeah, I bet.

“So, what do you want from me?” I ask plainly.

“I want you to join the Drakens,” Sky answers, matching my tone.

“Well,” I drawl, “you haven’t exactly made a very good impression so far. And I’m pretty damn busy nowadays. So I think I’m going to say no.”

“Vita,” the boss of the Drakens begins, steepling his fingers. “I grew up starving in the slums I now call my territory, just like you did. From what I know about you, you came into sudden power and decided to use it, pulling your family up out of the jaws of death with strength alone. A hunter. A truly dangerous job, but one you have clearly taken to with aplomb. But you could do so much more!”

I roll my eyes.

“By all means, enlighten me.”

Sky doesn’t seem to take offense, only leaning forward with apparent excitement.

“Thanks to you, your family prospers. With me, you can help make the whole city prosper. Do what you’re doing to your family, but for everyone!”

“Really,” I growl. “You’re helping the city? The slums? I have lived here my entire life, and I have never once seen the Drakens do anything remotely helpful for anybody. You’ve been extorting and sucking money up from my family since before I met them!”

The boss raises a thin eyebrow.

“I have indeed been ‘sucking up money,’ as you put it, but there has never been extortion involved. The man of your house simply gambles all your money away. That’s hardly my fault.”

I blink, suddenly struck dumb for words as the anger I’ve built up for this conversation falls over and sputters.

“...Rowan?”

“Yes, that’s his name!” Sky agrees, snapping his fingers. “Rowan! He’s a gambling addict, my dear. Why do you think I keep such a talented individual at the lowest rung of our organization? We can’t tell him anything important. Why, I bet almost anyone could just come along and bribe him into spying for them, what with how much he owes us.”

No. No way. I don’t believe it. Rowan? He’s literally a con artist, he knows gambling is a sham! And he’s… he’s good. He’s the one always worried about whether or not I’m doing something wrong with my powers, he’s the one that brings home all the money that we buy food with! I mean, until I started doing that. And the amount he buys food with is always a lot less than the amount he keeps. And… he is in debt to the Drakens…

Holy shit, I’m going to murder him. Maybe not actually, but still. And that line Sky said about spying… does he know?

“I recognize that your… family isn’t fond of me, Vita,” Sky continues. “And I recognize you have good reasons not to like me. I would simply like to change that.”

I snort. Seriously? This guy thinks it’s that easy? He just wants to talk me into being cool with the people that fucked over my family for over a year? I don’t understand.

“You really expect me to just be happy with you out of nowhere? You’re not giving me any concrete reason to think you’re anything you say to be. You don’t care. You just want me now because I’m strong.”

“You’re not that strong,” Sky counters, smiling. “But at the rate you’ve been growing, I believe you will be. I won’t deny that’s why I want you. But I believe I have much to offer you as you have to offer us, perhaps even more. If, of course, you’re willing to listen.”

Oh. Oh. I see now.

“...You would get along really well with Penelope,” I realize.

“I’m sorry?” Sky asks, tilting his head and flashing an unamused smile.

“Penelope,” I repeat. “My teammate? Third Lady Penelope Vesuvius? You’re a lot like her.”

The boss’s face twists into sudden fury, and I feel talents activating from people all around the room.

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.