January 20th, 2022
***
Morning rose sooner than expected. Or did it? Eyes open, eyes closed; Richter's room stayed just as dark. He pulled the curtains back to look outside — dawn was approaching.
Unlike the Sun's bright yellow, Carson II's star shone a soft, pale orange. Nature had long adapted to the differences. Various plants grew undeterred in small displays or hangers outside of shops. Darkness didn't matter.
He rolled out of bed toward the shower with a lighter step than usual. Why was he so rejuvenated?
Richter couldn't wrap his head around it. A long, late training session and yet the short night of sleep put him in peak condition. He'd love to sink into the foam mattress for another few hours to investigate; shame his body didn't want it.
Cold water cascaded from the nozzle down his shoulders, washing away built-up sweat and grime. The hotel's complimentary soaps smelled fruity but he put up with it. In hindsight, he didn't have a single toiletry. Some shopping was in order, though he'd need to make money first.
"Get up you idiot."
Clare's voice sounded in the hallway by his door. From the moment she entered the hotel, to her feet shuffling around the ground floor — He knew. If only she could bother somebody else for once.
Their words carried through the thin walls.
"Do you know what time it is?" Richter grunted.
"Yes, that's why I'm here. Hurry up!"
Another day, another headache. He shut the water off and grabbed a towel from the cupboard.
"Not so loud, you'll wake up guests. Now if it were my sleep disturbed, I wouldn't want to beat a random kid, but if they're undisciplined—"
"Shut up!"
He shifted to the right - nearly slipping - as her left hand tore a hole in the back wall of the shower. Clare's eyes peeked through from outside with a blue radiance.
Mana.
And there were tears on her cheeks.
"I'm not a kid. Just...get out here. I'll be in the lobby." Her heavy footsteps retreated.
Richter had expected a lighter reaction. Hell, he'd been stalling for time to check out his second reward. While not the superstitious type: omens can take many forms. Her interruption may have saved him a lot of regret — best not to upgrade Harden a second time so soon.
He opened the closet to find a stocked wardrobe prepared for him. Richter had to hold back a string of curses.
If only the clothes fit.
He squeezed into a tracksuit one size too small then locked the room behind him. Nobody had poked their head out to see the commotion. Such reserved people; it felt weird having privacy after dealing with Rio's antics.
'Ahh, Rio.' Richter hadn't thought about her in a few days. Was she stalking somebody new? Who knows how fast she snitched on him. As long as they couldn't track him to Carson II.
They...couldn't, right? But a small worry ate at him as he entered the lobby.
Clare was sat on a plush sofa near the reception desk. Antagonizing her wasn't for fun, it's to understand what ails her. Richter wasn't heartless, nor was he selfless. There may come a time when she tries to kill him be it of her own volition, or Father's orders. The more he learns the better.
"Is it time for the gym?"
Clare nodded, leading him into the streets. She didn't trust herself to speak at first.
Her voice was shaky once she did.
"I'm not a kid."
Richter glanced at the back of her head, his Sense shooting out like a needle burrowing beneath the skin. Brief, just fractions of a second spent analyzing her demeanor. Expression, gait, tone heartbeat. Just a blink and the needle was never there.
"I couldn't hear you, say it louder."
"I'm not a kid! T-this body, it's...I'm not a kid.
Her pace slowed. And her shoulders sagged lower.
"I know I look twelve, it's because I made mistakes. I'm supposed to be turning thirty this year. Divination is not a magic to be taken lightly, but the power it gives is incredible. To tell the future or peer into the past — there's nothing like it. Even weaker Seers like me can get intoxicated on it.
They reached the beat-down brick house. Yet instead of the stairs, Clare hopped up on the dirty kitchen counter.
"That's where I went wrong; I let it go to my head. I started divining every little detail, attempting to control my life to a tee. Who would I talk to in a day? Who harbored malicious feelings for me? What would I eat? Where would I go? And on and on. Then one day a handsome guy came to Carson II. A talented Intermediate with great prospects. He was the kind of guy who'd hit it big. I wanted to be a part of that."
"You fell for him?"
Clare nodded, "I fell hard. I took my obsession with divination and extended it toward him. I tried to find his likes and dislikes, opportunities to 'bump' into him, anything. But exerting control over another is different. There's a price to pay. Mine kept building until I got impatient and asked one impertinent question on my twenty-first birthday.
Her bottom lip quivered.
"I asked how long it'd take until we were together. I got my answer. And just like that, my body regressed nine years: I've looked like this ever since."
She got off the counter. Mana snaked from her heart to her legs. No warning — she kicked up the tile floor in two steps, landing face-to-face.
Well, face-to-chest. Clare had to crane her neck up for eye contact. Richter's lack of reaction pissed her off a little. Such a self-assured, relaxed glint. If only she could have felt like that. If only she didn't fall victim to insecurity.
"Your mana usage isn't bad, but you should try to circulate it around your body. Right now your reaction speed is slow."
Clare ground her teeth together, "Listen. I haven't been wasting the last eight and a half years of my life. There's a way to get my body back; I just have to find someone who manipulates time. And I've chased the answer for a while - a small group of women known as 'The Time Sisters'. Their prestige is universal, someone like me could never get an audience with them. But Father's different. That's why I joined the Scathhers in the first place."
"And after eight years there's nothing? He never helped you?"
She grabbed a handful of his shirt, pressing Richter against the door.
"Idiot. This is my chance, Richter. This mission - in order to weaken Vincent - requires their help. Father spent extra for their services, and in return they'll stay in the city for a few days before the task. That's when I'll have a chance to talk to them. So you better not screw this up or I'll be the first to put you six feet under. Take your training seriously. Don't socialize."
She let go and motioned to the basement door.
Stairs creaked and groaned under their feet to fill the silence. Richter let the information digest, lost in thought at the bottom.
The facility was busy with roughly a dozen people - Blake among them - sparring in pairs. A handful more used strange training games along the nearest corners. Only one had a prism from the far wall. He saw the dome of mana encasing a spot in the back. Some cast glances at it.
Envy. The same look Blake had last night.
All eyes flickered to their arrival. First to Richter with curiosity, then to Clare in surprise, then back to Richter. The friendliest among them took a break to approach. They smiled, mouths open, ready to speak. But he could feel Clare glaring at him.
"Get to it Richter. Ignore them," she whispered.
So he did. He walked past their greetings and handshakes toward the far wall. Further and further, acting like an asshole — not a single acknowledgment. Blake looked disappointed while Clare left to avoid conversation. It was just him.
"Hey Jim, you're back." Blake followed him over. "Don't have time to say hello?"
"...I guess I can spare a minute."
Blake's eye twitched, but he let it go. Richter's tracksuit made him snicker. "That outfit looks a little tight. Don't have anything better?"
"Unfortunately not. I'm broke right now. Speaking of which, do you know how I could make some quick money?"
A few others crowded around, jeering and whistling. Blake laughed from the depths of his soul.
"With a body like that, you should apply to the club on the other side of town. I bet you'd get some generous tips."
Richter gripped the handle of his katana on instinct. A slight chill ran down some of their spines. Was it always this cold?
Suddenly, they didn't feel like laughing anymore.
"Any other ideas?"
Blake cleared his throat, "You could try Uriel. He's been looking for a new sparring partner."
"Uriel?"
Blake jerked his thumb at the dome of mana. "In there."
He called out to a friend with a pager, and not long after, the dome dropped. Uriel was a young man of similar build to Richter — except six inches taller — with a stone face. Sweat dripped down his sideburns although his breathing was relaxed. Best of all, he had a sword.
'There's hope!' Finally, a swordsman.
Uriel walked over to the group. "What's up?"
"This is Jim." Blake smacked Richter on the back. "He's new, but Jim here has ties with Clare and is allowed to use training prisms. He wants to spar for money."
Uriel examined him closely. The more he saw, the more he liked.
"Impressive. Let's give it a shot Jim. Ten copper if you last a minute. Five silver if you last ten."
"How much for winning?"
Uriel stopped halfway to the training prism.
"You're new, don't push it."
"How much?"
He saw the tremor in his shoulders.
Uriel paused, "I'll give you two gold if you win."
That's good enough for Richter. It's not like he knew how valuable two gold really was. He hadn't gotten a feel for the currency yet.
They met in the center of the facility with a crowd gathered around like it was a prize fight. He saw Blake taking bets on who'd win or how long.
"I, Uriel Vander, challenge you to a duel."
Right about now is when Richter realized his mistake.
'Shit, my name...I hope this works.'
"I accept the challenge."
Thankfully the net built around them without a hitch - separating the outside world. Uriel was fuming.
"Won't even give your name? You'll regret insulting me."
"It's nothing personal. Don't take it to heart."
The equalizing of attributes finished. It was impressive, though less staggering than with Jack. They drew at the same time. Richter held his katana in one hand, staring ahead.
Calm. Curious. This was his element. He belonged on stage.
Drops of sweat beaded down Uriel's back. They weren't from exertion. The change in attributes was a two-way street for information. The level of pressure he felt rose exponentially as their attributes evened out.
"Wait, you're a Beginner?"
"I guess. Now start attacking, the timer's started."
Uriel felt like a puppet. As if strings had descended to wrap up his limbs. While not as sensitive, his subconscious picked up on cues to warn him.
'It's a trap.'
'Don't target his left. Aim for his right.'
'Wait, go for his legs— no the head.'
'Bait with a feint.'
'That won't work. Just wait. Wait. Wait. Don't make the first move. Wait.'
"Guess I'll do it myself."
Richter had more use for this spar than he realized. Winning early might not be worth it. Afterall, there was still something he could train in public.
[Mana Flow - 50%]
Richter needed more practice with the balance of this technique. The energy drip-fed through his body, nourishing every muscle at once. He pushed forward, slower than a Surge of the same amount - but lasting for more than one move.
Uriel's heart slowed. The sight of Richter dashing spurred him to action. Mana capacity was his strength. His advantage. He'd win the same way as always. It gathered in his dominant arm-
[Mana Surge - 120%]
-More and more and more. Richter's slash glided toward his neck; Uriel would meet it head-on. He saw the irregular flow and chose to believe in himself.
Their blades met.
Steel hit steel to Uriel's advantage. Richter was being pushed back: he'd cleave him in half. Uriel watched his katana falter and shake under the force.
So why did it arc?
Fueled by the clash, Richter's blade flipped one-hundred eighty degrees backward with the tip pointing at his exposed lead foot. Uriel's own blade missed, overextending as Richter sidestepped out of its path.
A thrust now would ruin Uriel's mobility for the rest of the spar. But there was still time. He could still dodge.
[Mana Surge - 60%]
In his haste — under pressure he'd never experienced before — Uriel directed mana to his legs. And only his legs.
A low murmur barely reached him. "...Still wet behind the ears."
[Mana Surge - 20%]
Uriel's head whipped back, eyes to the sky and vision blurring. His brain jolted against his skull. The man stumbled, haphazardly slicing the air in front for safety.
"What just...Where?"
Richter never cared about his foot. He had driven the pommel up into the center of his chin like an uppercut, showing the man stars.
"You're sturdy - must be your Constitution. Guess I should have used more mana."
Those were just empty words to rile him up. Richter knew that ending it so soon would be a waste. It would have been easy, but only because Uriel was holding back.
Richter's competitive nature was flaring up again: the bad habit coming out where he wanted his opponents at their best. That's the only way he could enjoy it. Plus, information was always nice.
Uriel leapt to the outer ring of the dome to gather his bearings.
'More mana. If he had used a little more mana-'
-Then Uriel would have lost in one strike. Against a Beginner, he almost lost. What a disgrace. He shuddered at the thought of his father finding out; it'd stain their name. Pride got in the way when winning was all that mattered.
A red and gold glow seeped from Uriel's pores, encompassing his body. And Richter got an intense bout of déjà vu from his training with Vincent's data.
[Mana Fusion: Wyvern (100%) || Elven (100%) ]
Time for a change of plans. Red scales covered Uriel's face, and his left iris turned gold.
[Draconic Ice Spears - 100%]
Dozens of them formed in the sky, floating, made of dark red ice. Richter grumbled under his breath. They were small in shape, but just one could tear him apart. This was a spar where anything goes.
Uriel waved his hand, and the rain began.
[Mana Flow - 50%]
Richter weaved between the artillery — one spear, then two, then four. The closer he got the faster they flew. He redirected a few with well-placed strikes as the speed ramped up. His arms strained from the effort. Uriel saw the pain, saw it as an opportunity. He rushed forward in tandem with the barrage.
He could still reclaim his pride.
[Mana Surge - 50%]
The blend of orange energy ignited his muscles as two final spears glided over his shoulders. There was nowhere for Richter to go.
[Vander Sword Style: Shear - 50%]
One of his most used moves: a feint followed by a diagonal slash. He planned to bisect Richter from shoulder to waist.
"You didn't learn a thing."
[Shikigami Sword Style: Blind - 30%]
The reverberations jarred him. Not physically - mentally. It should have been the smooth cut of flesh and bone. Instead, ice chipped from both spears simultaneously, diverting off course into the floor. Richter's blade...he didn't see it.
An unfamiliar warmth coated his chest. Uriel looked down to discover two cuts on his abdomen and a large gash across his ribcage. Blood stained his clothes. He fell to one knee, feeling light-headed.
The vapor from the spears cleared to reveal Richter with a broken right arm and limp left leg. That relieved him just a little. His opponent was human; he'd almost forgotten that.
"Not a bad move at the end.
Richter spit a mouthful of blood out. "Bleh. Weird how it simulates taste. What's the point?"
Right. A simulation. This was just...a spar. Uriel's tension eased.
'Just win. That's all that matters.' he repeated in his head.
[Poison Mist - 20%]
The green cloud filled most of the space, controlled by Uriel's will. It seeped through Richter's skin and into his injuries. His body was slowly consumed by the noxious gas.
Richter had done enough, no need to go overboard. Uriel's inexperience made him unfun to fight.
It was a battle of opportunity. Either end the match early and get the gold, or extend it to practice Mana Flow; he was satisfied with the result.
[Lethal damage sustained. Duel concluded. Result: Loss]
The dome came down around them as they were restored to perfect condition. Richter stretched his body and strolled over to a fridge for a sports drink. The crowd had a mix of cheers and boos. Blake cached in on the bets, swapping copper and silver coins in the back.
Uriel stared at him, observing the pressure decrease as the attributes were reverted. The biggest change was when Richter sheathed his sword. He felt the embrace of death shrink back like it was never there.
Just a whisper. The same whisper he looked down on before the spar.
"What happened in there? It sounded like a warzone."
"I guess. It was a good spar. I lost though."
Blake handed him a water. Most of them were more interested in Uriel. For a winner, he looked like shit. His brown hair was matted and his body trembled.
"Damn! What'd you do to Uriel?"
Richter shrugged, "That's just how spars go sometimes. They aren't meant to be a cakewalk."
A few drinks and he was ready to go. The last thing he wanted was Clare going psycho.
"Here's your money." Uriel approached him with a hefty bag of coins. "Fifty silver."
Richter's eyebrows raised, "Seems you have some pride after all. I underestimated you."
He happily snatched the bag and wandered to the shelf of prisms.
"Back to training. Thanks for the payment."
The net of mana wrapped around him, leaving the rest outside. Uriel was immediately inundated with questions. One stood out in particular.
"Looks like he pushed you to the edge. What Skills did he use?"
"Skills? Jim used— Huh? Skills?"
Uriel started babbling under his breath. His eyes took on a vacant look.
"Uriel? You alright?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. I just remembered I have somewhere to be."
The crowd watched as he rushed to the staircase with his belongings. Tera — a dark, lithe woman — watched him leave from beside Blake.
"He never even checked how long it took."
Seven minutes. Seven minutes and nine seconds. But for Uriel, it felt a lot longer.
He pulled a phone out of his dimensional space and hit the top number in his contacts. The call went through in two rings.
"Dad? It's me. There's someone I want to investigate."
***