Everyone in Raksha Town enjoyed a taste of horror once in a while. So much so that the flavor of fear felt like a natural ingredient in everyone's day-to-day life. A day passed without experiencing such sensations was no more than an illusion to most of these people, and those most intimate with fear were these stragglers who had no backing to return to or a shelter to hide in.
They almost had an instinctive sense of cowardice that would shun them away from attempting anything remotely foolish or dangerous, they wouldn't even attempt to lift a piece of rotten food from the sidewalk of any of the infamous twelve streets.
These stragglers exist everywhere and nowhere, all the same. Their presence slowly transitioned in everyone's perception from useless waste, to disgusting scum, and eventually, they'd been treated like the air and garbage in the background.
Their numbers could multiply by the tens or sharply decline by the hundreds, yet no one would care to notice. They enjoyed themselves in some deserted corners in Raksha Town, thinking to themselves that no one of prominent background would look their way, much less take the initiative to open up a casual conversation.
In their minds, only stragglers like them would even notice they'd ever existed and approach them to talk. Hence, some of them were tempted to act, grab this fresh product of young meat, and perhaps savor a delicate dinner for the next few weeks if they did well while preserving the carcass.
While Aza'zel wasn't avid to drink blood from intelligent races, both living or dead, he had not expected to find himself under the scope of scrutiny by others as a piece of meat waiting to be served warm and tender. The thought alone repulsed him, and while these distraught thoughts gnawed on his mind, he found his body acting impulsively on instincts once again, drawing power from the firearm strapped to his waist.
"Kill this rotten bastard and feast on his flesh! Show him how it's done!"
A voice buzzed in his mind. However, he hankered down on his senses at the final moment, and while the trigger was ultimately pulled, the trajectory deviated greatly from the slouching straggler's forehead, so much that it connected to the man's knee instead.
Aza'zel breathed heavily with shaking hands, the handgun slipping through his delicate fingers with a metallic clang as it hit the floor. The sound was crisp and enchanting, mirrored by no more than crackling wisps of flames and agonized whimpers from a not-so-far-away place.
A noticeable wave of source energy rippled unsteadily around the young boy's body as the scarce energy in the corner answered a subconscious call and collectively rushed to his side. As the raincoat fluttered, under the baleful rays of the crimson moon, and was influenced by the miserable howls of agony in the backdrop, the stragglers found themselves kneeling in a trance. It was an action committed with a hazy mind, inadvertent, yet somehow, it felt so natural.
This wave of mysterious power was something everyone heard about and few people had the chance to feel or come into contact with it. However, they knew that this kind of power is what separated Rakshas from the ruffians, no matter how capable the latter was.
"The power to command nature!" Frederick, who snapped out of his daze and the person closest to the outbreak of the phenomenon, spoke his mind without a care or a filter to his words. Then, his body shook in terror from head to toe, not even the soles of his feet were spared, as he tossed himself on the ground.
"Powerful Master, have mercy, they mean you no harm!"
The remaining stragglers also awoke from their stupor and followed in the old man's example as they lay prostrate on the ground, begging to be spared. This was the scene that greeted Aza'zel the moment he wrestled his sanity free from the voices in his mind, and for a moment, he was lost on what to do.
He unnaturally weighed some dignity in his immature voice and said, "Tell me about Butch, what happened?"
Frederik hurried to lift his head and say, "We don't know much, Master! However… We can keep watch on things for you… I swear, we can be very, very helpful to you, Master!"
The old man's eyes gleamed with hope, expectations, wisdom, and a trace of ambition as he weaved the beautiful words. Listening to them, Aza'zel found himself drawn in little by little until he finally nodded and said, "Just keep watch for me, then."
Frederick spoke all about how they could be the ears and eyes in Raksha Town since no one pays heed to the stragglers on the streets. People treated them like an off-shoot species of rats to be stepped on, ignored, and oftentimes also, abused for shits and giggles.
While the old man's instinctive reaction was an overwhelming fear, the second notion was an urgent call to grasp this unprecedented opportunity. He regretted not following Saxon when the other young man left town, though he had not expected to bump into yet another promising young youth.
People like them, the stragglers, knew that the town was about to face upheaval and change. People like them, who spent their lives not in the cracks but even beneath those, can find an opportunity in latching onto someone powerful who deemed them useful.
Aza'zel suddenly asked, "Do you know where we can find food?"
Frederick snapped out of his daze and answered in a hurry, "Yes! Ruffians don't bother acting discretely around us stragglers, they know we don't dare raise our heads or act willfully… We know many things, including locations like their warehouses, breeding farms, prison cells, safehouses, and many other things… We see, we hear, and all this time, we pretend not to, all to survive!"
Aza'zel lowered his head to think a little and said, "In that case, just continue with what you're doing for now, and you can lead me to the nearest storehouse when the time is right."
Frederick hesitated for a bit and asked, "Master… Do you wish to target 12th, 7th, and 3rd specifically?"
Aza'zel snapped his head up, and although all the old man could see was a thick black cloth with indescribable writings itched on the surface, he felt as though someone was prying into his being and soul with an intense glare.
"You know me?" Aza'zel asked in quite a low, dangerous tone.
His fluctuating emotions brought a round of unwanted whispers to his mind as the voices urged him to follow up on the wounded man and deliver a final end to the latter's misery.
Frederik shivered under the intense stare and stammered a reply, "Don't misunderstand this one, Master! I kept a close watch on Master Saxon, hoping to join him in his endeavors… It's just that… I missed my opportunity back then, Master…"
Aza'zel was quite surprised by this old man's choice of words, as he seemed to have far more intellect than most ruffians and stragglers out there. After questioning for a bit, he learned that this old man is an escaped slave that was brought down here together with the Earls during Skysplit.
This old man managed to put together an intelligence network consisting of illiterate fools all around the town and was merely waiting for an opportunity to rise. This work that spanned years was truly commendable.
The old man urged, "Master… This work of mine that spanned years, I leave it in your hands if you're willing to give us a name and take us in… As I said, we can be very, very useful..."