Guts was still wandering the streets, aimlessly, when he pushed open the door of a strange-looking saloon. The wood creaked. Inside was dark, but noisy. Not a single human.
Only lizards. Bipedal, scaly, some with colorful crests, others in light armor or plain clothes. Some were playing cards, others drinking, a few smoking through narrow mouth slits.
He entered without a word.
Guts (thinking):
Too tired to figure out their hierarchy.
He walked to the counter. An empty seat. He sat.
Guts:
A drink.
The bartender, a dull-scaled lizard, stared at him for a moment. Then silently poured him a mug.
Before he could take a sip, a scaled hand grabbed his shoulder. Massive. Two heads taller than him.
Lizard:
This place ain't for bony sacks like you, human.
Guts didn't even turn his head.
Guts:
You want me gone? Try me.
The lizard burst out laughing. The others joined in.
He flew across the room before he could even blink. The table shattered. Silence.
Guts (calm):
Bartender. My drink.
The bartender handed him the mug again. His scaly hand trembling.
He took a sip.
Not the same taste. But the same bite. Bitterness doesn't change, no matter the world.
He sighed. Not pain. Just… exhaustion.
The silence lingered.
Guts placed the empty mug back on the counter.
Guts:
How much?
The bartender shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the broken table across the room.
Bartender:
N-nothing… it's on the house.
Guts stood up. The other patrons moved aside, some instinctively lowering their gaze.
He glanced around. No one dared meet his eyes.
Guts:
Good.
He stepped outside without looking back. The cool air of the street brushed his face.
He'd had a drink. Learned nothing.
But at least, no voices in his head. No specters.
Progress.
He walked for a few minutes, slipping into a side alley. Quiet. Empty. Finally.
He was about to lean against the wall when he heard footsteps.
Three figures. Humans this time. Tense jaws, cheap weapons. Street rats dreaming of glory.
Thug 1:
You're a weird one, aren't you?
Guts stayed silent.
Thug 2 (nervous):
He's huge...
Thug 3:
Shut up! If we beat a guy like him, we'll be legends!
Guts sighed. Long.
Guts:
I just want to sleep. You've got ten seconds to walk away.
Thug 1 pulled out a knife.
Thug 1:
You're the one going down, giant.
He stepped forward. Guts grabbed the blade barehanded. It snapped clean between his fingers.
Guts:
Wouldn't even kill a rat with that.
They took a step back.
Thug 2:
He broke it…
Thug 3:
Shit! Run!
Girl:
Get lost!
A girl. Blonde. Tight black suit. Eyes locked on the thugs. She kicked off a wall, landed on one of them, used him as a springboard, then landed neatly a few feet from Guts.
The three idiots didn't wait for round two. They bolted, honor forgotten.
Guts (thinking):
Agile. Fast. Not just an acrobat. A thief… or a killer. Probably both.
He watched her walk away a few steps, then sighed.
Guts:
Legends, huh...
He looked up at the rooftops. The night thickened.
Guts:
Need a place to crash. Doubt my coins work here...
???:
Hey! You there, stop!
He turned. A girl with silver hair, tight uniform. Staring at him furiously.
Silver-haired Girl:
Give me my emblem!
Guts:
…What?
Silver-haired Girl:
The emblem! You stole it!
He stared. No idea who she was. No patience either.
Guts:
You've got me mixed up with that brat who ran off.
She squinted.
Silver-haired Girl:
You know where she went?
Guts:
That way.
She started to move, then stopped cold. She stared.
Silver-haired Girl:
Wait... You really think I'll believe that?
Guts:
No. But you should.
She hesitated. Then called out:
Silver-haired Girl:
Puck!
Guts froze. That name.
He turned his head sharply. But no. Not his Puck.
A flying cat. The very definition of absurd.
Guts (thinking):
A flying cat... reminds me of a certain fairy. Same nonsense. Less useful.
Silver-haired Girl:
I don't know what you're babbling about, but give back what you stole. Might be better for your health.
Guts:
I've got nothing. And no time for this.
Silver-haired Girl:
Ice!
She cast the spell.
Ice spears erupted.
Guts:
No manners, huh?
He shifted slightly. His gaze hardened.
That power... like the witches'. But less hate. More doubt.
He drew his blade.
The sword slid slowly off his back. Massive. Black. The raw metal seemed to hum in the air.
No blood. Just presence. Heavy. Inevitable.
An aura you could feel.
As if the thousands of souls it had reaped were still whispering through it.