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*The Dim Transfer Portal*
User→ Auren of Ovine (Aspirant Access)
-Select Destination
► Columbia
► Port Westergard
► Flores
► Straw Ridge
► Realm Transfer
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The guards give me some weird looks as I click on the last available destination, Straw Ridge, and hobble through the portal.
The transition is seamless. In the blink of an eye, I have traveled 4200 miles to Straw Ridge, which would be central Alaska on old Earth.
I ensure that my watch is disabled. Both the Cabal and the nobility have ensured that, when disabled, the watches have no tracking capability.
It's the type of cold that tingles the skin, as one could guess for the Alaskan Autumn. The sunlight has even darkened, despite it only being early afternoon.
The guards manning the portal here in Straw Ridge give me a look that is even stranger than the Dim guards. They're just midborns. Lowly bastards. I would beat them bloody if my hands weren't preoccupied.
The area near the portal serves as an air harbor. Merchant wagons are pulled by translucent blue Pteigeist, domesticated Corrupted bison, rumble all around.
They make their way along thick arteries of newly renovated stone roads toward the city's massive walls.
Along the wall, airlifts whir up and down, going to and from the airships parked at the top.
The top of the surrounding walls is obscured by the vast plane of grey-white clouds, but I know the airships are there. They act as an airport for airships in every walled city.
Several minutes of walking later, I find myself on the stone streets of Straw Ridge's central. Quiet, and purely residential—completely opposite of the portal area.
It's as if small-town America and an impoverished medieval village had an incestuous baby.
Modestly poor. A bit grey, dull, and sad. But humble and charming in its own way. Much more than what I had growing up in Shacktown, though that's not saying much.
The townspeople's clothes are meek in the same strange mixture of old styles and modern materials. Colors of black, red, white, brown, and grey make up the thick tunics and dresses to combat the cold. The women's hems are tinged with mud from the ground. Children trample through the streets, playing, obviously intrigued by my sight. Hell, some of them have probably seen me here before.
These kids know better than to mess with a man cloaked in all black, carrying a dozen bags of god knows what. Plus, I have my Shiv on me. I'll stick the little bastards if they try anything.
After about half an hour of walking through the corridors of medieval-style homes, I arrive at a peculiar building.
It is the most sketchy, obviously a cover-up building ever; an abandoned church on the highest hill in the area.
I struggle to open the door with all the bags wrapped around my now-tired arms. But eventually, I swing one door out and hold it open with my foot before squeezing inside.
It's dusty for an Interrealm Hub entrance. Lesser known. More frequented by Cabal members. We keep a tight counter-surveillance operation in the area as a result.
Rays of light beam in from the side windows. One has been broken and boarded up. No light seeps through its cracks.
I walk up to the window. It's dead silent. Yet, there's a faint buzz in the air for the perceptive.
With a sigh, I momentarily set the heavy bags down and put a white t-shirt over my head. I've folded it in such a way that it is more or less a ski mask.
Anonymity isn't exactly the rule, but it is expected as part of the culture. Mask-off would out me as an attention whore, which is not entirely true.
TAP TAP.
Two clicks of my foot in hasty repetition unlock a non-existent door.
In the blink of an eye, the window has transformed into an abyssal rectangle.
I step forward into nothingness. It hugs me, frigid and terrifying.
The feeling reminds me of my rebirth. Considering that this doorway concerns travel through a Detached Dimension, maybe the process isn't so different from transferring a soul between universes.
Everything is indiscernible for a short amount of time. Then light bleeds back into my retinas once more.
I find myself transported into a familiar market center.
This Detached Dimension, home of the Interrealm Hub, takes the form of a cavern. Bulbous alien fauna glows along the cavern roof in whites, reds, blues, yellows, and greens, pulsing gently like stars in the night sky.
It's almost like a carnival here. What, with the tents and stands scattered around. Certainly, the wacky and diverse roster of customers and shopkeeps alike reminds me of a circus.
It isn't as busy as usual. I prefer it that way. Even if everyone's masked or cloaked, you can generally tell the race of each customer from their frame.
Sure you can. I'm technically a racist, after all. But that label is just baggage from my "all Humans need to die" rhetoric.
There's a singular towering Orc, a stumpy Dwarf, and a lanky Elf. It's a bit hard to tell Humans, Demons, Beasts, and Elves apart.
Mutants are the easiest to spot.
I pass a rare sighting; the Mask Maker past me, surrounded by a diverse coterie whom he discusses intensely with.
His main body is massive and completely shrouded in a cloak tinged with a wispy cloud of darkness. A dozen lanky arms protrude out of his back idle, following the vertical, aggressive, somewhat shrewd bobbing, walking motion.
I shiver so close to him. The danger in the air he leaves behind is palpable. It's not every day you see an S-rank being, though he is the Interrealm Hub's owner.
On the outskirts of the central market area, I enter a raggedy grey tent.
"Welcome," a gruff voice greets me. "How may I, Leviticus Who Roams The Seas And The Sky For Eternity, Immortal Businessdemon, assist you?"
The Demon's light-purple skin has darkened with age, his shiny black horns blunt and droopy. His grey suit, however, is brand new and creates a very strange contrast.
Leviticus is a money-making machine. He's 'The Guy', so to speak. If I need something done, I come to him. Especially to sell things.
His connections are second to none; if his talents do not fall in line with my needs, he recommends another. I'm certain the world would be a better place with more handymen like him.
"It's me," I drop the bags on the ground. "How much will you give me for all of this?"
"Ah, little Auren, my favorite half-breed. That's no proper greeting." Even so, he opens the bags and internally calculates the prices. "You always bring me the damnest things. How's Cabal life treating you?"
I ignore the 'half-breed' comment because he's simply too old to know that it's rather insensitive, or he just doesn't care. He's far more racist than I.
I'm a progressive among the non-Humans. Orcs, Beasts, Mutants, Elves, Dwarves, and my Demonic half-kin, are all fine in my book. My enmity is solely for Humanity. Albeit, I am suspicious of many Elves and Dwarves; often they align far too closely with Humans.
"Awful, but hopeful," I admit truthfully. "Council bastards have taken away my coin purse privileges, so this is what I've been reduced to."
"Selling one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine high-end makeup, moisturizers, shampoos, among other varying self-care products, I see."
"Indeed. But it should be 2000."
"You know I'm never wrong."
It hits me: that fucking welp of a shop clerk double-scanned my stuff. Five points down the drain. If I ever see him again, it's on sight.
"Only when it comes to counting," I sigh. "So how much?"
"Seeing as these are from top of the line from the Dim, and how gullible the lesser races are—they absolutely tear these basic products off the shelves like animals, mind you—I think I can comfortably say… 9000 Gold."
He says 'lesser races' as in the Orcs and Beasts. They're less developed, I suppose, but I find no value in putting any non-Humans down.
We have all been made victim of the Hero. On behalf of Humanity, he conquered the other six other Realms. Subjugation hasn't been kind for any of us.
"You aren't supposed to know that they're from the Dim," I heavily sigh this time, staring into the old Demon's eyes; fox-like, as ever. "And don't you dare advertise them as such. It'll be our heads if they're tracked."
Information is one of his many trades. He knows about my mission. I can't exactly blame him, nor can I have him killed. Leviticus knowing that I've infiltrated the Dim is dangerous for both of us and he's smart enough to know it.
"Of course. Your secrets are safe with me… at no extra cost."
"9000 is fine." I put out my hand, and Leviticus swiftly shook it in hasty reply.
"No haggling? You know the way to this old man's heart." His eyes melt into pure endearment. He doesn't truly care for me; his pupils only see his own reflection in a mountain of gold coins. Hopefully, it keeps his mouth shut for good.
In any case, the very first baby step of my plan has ended well. But this was the easy part.
Deep down, I'm just as scared shitless as before.