Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 40: Volume 2: Cloak and Dagger

The sound of boots pounding against the cobblestones echoed through the narrow alleys of the capital. Despite how cold the night air had become over the last month, it still burned nonetheless in my lungs while I struggled to maintain my breathing as I darted down the cobbled roads. My cloak Shadow Lynx cloak billowed behind me as I shifted my course to vault over a crate cluttering the path. In the distance, though not too far to my rear, I could hear shouts growing louder.

The gang's presence was everywhere—boots slamming against rooftops above me, figures darting through parallel alleys to cut me off. It wasn't unlike my fight with the dire wolves, that is, if I were fleeing for my life, instead of beside Mara kicking ass. The thought of her caused my heart to sink briefly before the gravity of my situation snapped me out of my sliver of a daydream.

I knew there would be trouble when I acted against them, but I was still new to this and didn't anticipate how coordinated and relentless they were. I needed a way to get out of this predicament; if their plan came to fruition, that would be it.

I spotted an opening, a low wall separating the alley from a quiet garden. Picking up my speed, I planted a foot on the wall and launched myself over, landing hard on the other side. The soft thud of dirt replaced the cobblestone and did something for my landing, allowing me to maintain some momentum. It was just what I needed to gain some ground on them–or so I thought.

Then an arrow whistled past my shoulder, embedding itself into a run-down wooden fence just ahead of me. "Oh shit," I hissed under my breath, glancing back. One of the gang members had taken up a perch on the rooftop, bow in hand.

I ducked and darted through the rows of flowers and shrubs, weaving to make myself a harder target. Another arrow flew, striking a stone pillar inches from my head and clanging to the ground. The alleys kept me confined and it wouldn't even take a lucky shot to take me down, and the garden didn't help, it was the barrel to my fish. Honestly, it was my luck that was holding up after the last two arrows. My eyes scanned the garden frantically as I ran out of room to flee. There was a trellis climbing up the side of a building that looked stable enough to hold my weight.

I dashed for it, gripping the wooden frame and hauling myself up as fast as I could. The wood creaked under my weight, but I ignored it, climbing until I reached the rooftop. I crouched low, my cloak helping me blend into the shadows and I praised Morgana that the moon was still so new. The only member of the gang who might have seen me would be the archer, but the shadows worked overtime to conceal me from him. I couldn't expect them to work for long as I scanned the area I had just lurked into. It wouldn't take them long to figure out where I'd gone.

I took this briefest of moments to double-check the pendant tucked into my satchel. The shadows peeled away from the black interior of my bag, not just allowing the limited light to spill in, but eagerly devouring it, holding it so that it could not escape. The golden intricate design was as breathtaking as it was when I first laid my eyes on it. The sheer size and overwhelming beauty of the sapphire within threatened to suck me into it.

A momentary flash of danger sparked through my mind and before I could even identify where the threat was coming from, the arrow was an arm's length away from me. My chances to escape were nil, but I hadn't spent my time here idle and had a few tricks up my sleeve, even if I wasn't entirely sure how it worked. The face of a young noblewoman flickered in my mind; she was strong, defiant, and seemed to be one of the good ones, but behind the mask she put on, it was clear she was terrified. She didn't deserve what these bastards had planned for her, and this pendant might be her only shot at a future.

In a blur faster than I could follow, the arrow split in two and tumbled harmlessly to the side. I still had a long way to go, but more often than not, the shadows were working on my behalf, instead of trying to consume me.

A gruff voice barked from below, pulling my attention in two. "Check the rooftops! He can't have gone far!"

I clenched my jaw, closing the satchel as I located the rooftop sniper. "There you are, you little bastard," I cursed under my breath before my frustration turned to morbid glee.

[Shadow Dance Activated]

[Mana: 80/100]

My training was well worth it, my previous delves into the shadow realm may as well have been at the pace of a geriatric tortoise trapped in a tar pit compared to what I was now. Even the grace of the lynx meant nothing as I pushed deeper into the abyss and took flight toward my target.

The world outside seemed to slow, the darkness parting in fragments to reveal faint outlines of reality beyond, seeming to blend with the formless void of the shadow plane. My vision locked on the rooftop sniper as I emerged from the darkness behind him, my blade already drawn and silent as the night.

Before I could react, I drove my dagger into the back of his head, steel sliding through bone as though it were cream. His body crumpled, bow falling toward the ground as I caught it with one hand and him with the other, gripping his collar before he could tumble over the edge. Lowering him quietly onto the rooftop, I rifled through his belongings. A few copper coins, a cheap knife, and no sign of anything useful. The rest of the gang would be on me in seconds, so I melted back into the shadows and activated the second use of my ability, letting their shouts and stomping boots guide me away from danger.

[Shadow Dance Activated]

The shadows whispered to me as I moved, hinting at the positions of the pursuers below, teasing me with knowledge and power, tempting me to give in. They were closing in fast, and one of them—a hulking brute wielding a spiked club—seemed to have taken charge, barking orders as the others spread out. Against a normal foe, they would have had me, I'd give them that, but they weren't fast enough to match my tricks.

I descended into an alley, my boots landing softly on the cobblestones, not so much as a scuffle giving away my position. The damp, narrow space reeked of mildew and rotting wood, but it gave me the cover I needed. I crouched low, peeking around the corner to assess the group. Four men remained, including the leader. They were fanning out, trying to cover every possible escape route, but their confidence was their weakness.

With my dagger already safely tucked away, I drew my bow and took several deep breaths as I assessed the order of targets. As my thoughts settled in my head and my bow settled in my hand as I nocked an arrow, holding steady as I drew back the string. One last breath.

I released, the string snapping as the first arrow buried itself into the throat of the closest thug. He dropped instantly, his weapon clattering to the ground. The others froze for a split second, their eyes darting toward the source of the attack.

Before they could react, I'd already nocked and loosed a second arrow, this one finding its mark in the chest of the next man. He stumbled back with a grunt, collapsing against the wall as his lifeblood smeared behind him.

The last locked on me, eyes wide, blade raised. I didn't give him the chance to call for help. My third arrow was already on its way, slicing through the air and striking him cleanly in his right eye. He fell like a sack of potatoes.

Wasting no time, I slipped my bow over my shoulder and darted off into the shadows. There was no time for guilt, not after everything I had been through, not when the underbelly of the city was still hunting me.

The chaos in the alleys rapidly faded behind me and I moved quickly, slipping through the city's dark side like a... Well, you can guess.

Finally, I found a narrow space between two aging buildings, a haven from my pursuers. With my back pressed against the damp stone wall, I pulled the pendant from my satchel and turned it over in my hands. I wasn't about to let this fall back into the pockets of that scum, not when it could be put to far better use.

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Her face came to mind again. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. From what I'd pieced together, this pendant was her only proof of legitimacy—a link to her family's title before tragedy had struck. Without it, she'd be at the mercy of scheming nobles or left to rot in obscurity.

I pushed aside the pang of sympathy; it was important to maintain my humanity, but it was a distraction I couldn't be bothered with, not now. After all, I didn't just do this for her. Not entirely, anyway. There was a certain satisfaction in stealing from those who preyed on the helpless, and even more satisfaction seeing their faces afterward.

The rooftops above me creaked faintly as footsteps pounded across them. The tenacious beasts hadn't given up yet. I tucked the pendant back into my satchel and slipped further through the infected veins of the city, weaving through tight alleys and scaling low walls until the noise of pursuit dwindled into silence.

It took some time, but I found the manor. I bet it was spectacular back in the day, but after years of neglect, it was nowhere near what it must have been—cracked shutters, vines creeping over stone walls. The family that owned it had clearly seen better days, but it was still standing. A flicker of light caught my eye; it came from a single window on the upper floor.

I scanned the area, ensuring I hadn't been followed, then reached into my satchel and pulled out the pendant–once last time. Wrapping it in a simple cloth, I tied it carefully and hooked it to the edge of an arrow.

With practiced ease, I notched the arrow, aimed high, and loosed. The projectile sailed through the air, hitting the window frame with a dull thud before dropping into the room beyond.

She'd find it. She had to. And with it, maybe she'd stand a chance.

I didn't wait to see what happened next–I do admit that I might have strained my ears a bit to hear the window crack open and may have heard a squeal of surprise, but I didn't see what happened next. My work here was done, and there was still more to be done tonight. Soundlessly I faded into darkness, off to my next task.

The building was tucked away in one of the city's shadiest districts, nestled between a crumbling tavern and a boarded-up smithy. It appeared to be just another forgotten relic of the capital's darker corners, down to the faded sign above the warped wooden door, the bricks that had begun crumbling what was likely to be a decade ago, and windows covered in a layer of grime so thick they were nearly opaque. To Lucian, it was something else entirely.

As I approached the entrance, I stepped over a nearly invisible tripwire just before the door. I knew it was there because I had placed it, and many other precautions myself, including a nearby pressure plate—one wrong move, and the consequences wouldn't have been something one would be able to shake off in the morning. The lock on the door was unique as well, featuring a strange, magical shimmer that pulsed faintly in response to his presence. I muttered a string of practiced words under my breath, each syllable slowly coaxing the lock to release with a faint click.

Once inside, the air changed. A narrow hallway stretched before me, lined with cracks and peeling wallpaper, but the floorboards didn't creak underfoot—not naturally, anyway. I knew that if I misstepped, an array of hidden warnings would trigger, and I didn't feel like resetting them. Besides, there were other considerations to take, ones that even I–as mortal as I am–would regret.

I reached the end of the hall where a shabby linen closet stood before me. I twisted the knob to the left a third, the right halfway, and a quick flick back to the left before pushing it inward, despite the hinges showing it was designed to open out into the hall. Behind it rested an impenetrable, highly-reinforced steel door; the final barrier to my sanctuary. It was secured by no fewer than three deadbolts, each with its own peculiar design, along with a magical ward etched into the frame. It was overkill, but then again, I've seen what the people after me were capable of.

I stepped inside his room and let out a long breath.

The contrast was immeasurable. Where the exterior and entryway had been dingy and crude, my room was refined and comfortable, unfortunately, Morgana's style had seemed to have rubbed off on me. Soft lamplight illuminated the room, reflecting off of the polished wooden floors while casting warm shadows on walls that were adorned with tasteful decor. A plush armchair sat in one corner near a small bookshelf stocked with well-worn tomes, and a decanter of amber liquid that rested atop a sturdy oak table, marred with countless scars and stains, indicating a wretched habit I'd had of not using a coaster. My bed was draped in silk sheets and an overstuffed comforter, and now more than ever, it beckoned for my embrace.

I didn't bother removing my armor. I let the door close behind me with a faint click, then staggered toward the bed and collapsed onto it. For a moment, I stared at the ceiling, counting my breaths and trying to steady my pulse. I had fallen into a routine to help calm myself, a form of meditation to keep the less desirable side effects of my abilities spilling forth.

My mind wandered back to the day I had dropped Mara off at the Academy. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been a month or so. I always thought about Mara at the end of the night, after visiting that inn we spent our last night in–-the place I knew she would go, the second she was able to escape the Academy, even for just an evening. I'd promised to stay in touch, to meet her in secret when I could, and that wasn't a promise I would break.

Then there was Morgana. I winced as the thought of her surfaced. She hadn't managed to bring me to her realm in at least a week, but the shadows hadn't left me alone. They nipped at me when I least expected it, tugged at my mind, and whispered things I'd rather not hear. Their strange language was becoming clearer with each passing day and I found myself longing for the days that I couldn't understand what they were demanding. The next time Morgana appeared, it wouldn't be to share pleasantries.

I rubbed a hand over my face, only to pull it away and notice streaks of blood. With a grown, I sat up slowly, body aching in protest.

Stripping off my armor was exhausting, but even so, I always managed it. As was customary, when I went through the process, I felt the pain of every single one of the bruises and gashes beneath. My shirt clung to my torso in places where blood had dried, and I winced as he peeled it away–exposing angry red wounds that hadn't been tended to in my frantic escape.

The large decanter on the oaken table held what I needed. I fetched a needle and thread, took a shot of whiskey for the pain, and one for the antiseptic, and made sure to grab the fresh bandages in the nightstand drawer by the bed. I worked quickly and efficiently, stitching up the deeper gashes with hands that had gone through the motion far too many times before. The sting felt good at this point, it reminded me I was still me. By the time I wrapped the last of the bandages around my midsection, my movements had grown sluggish. I wasn't sure if that was due to the following three or four swigs, or the state my body was in.

I poured myself one last generous helping of whiskey from the decanter and slumped back into the armchair by the table. The first sip burned as it slid down my throat. After that, I just had to pour a second last generous helping that was no less punishing. It probably wasn't the best way to handle my evenings, but it worked—numbing the ache in my muscles and dulling the whispers at the edges of my mind.

My gaze drifted to the satchel slumped against the bed that once carried that magnificent pendant as well as a handful of ill-gotten gains. I had gotten them using questionable methods and from questionable people, but was never able to trace them back to their owners. As was procedure, they now belonged to me–I had done my due diligence.

Inside, alongside my tools and supplies, lay a letter I hadn't dared to open. It bore Mara's familiar handwriting and the faintest whiff of her scent.

I closed my eyes, leaning back in the chair. "Tomorrow," I muttered to myself. "I'll deal with it tomorrow."

With the whiskey still warm in my chest and exhaustion pulling me under, I let sleep claim me.