Chapter 28: Chapter 27: Hands of the Artisan VIII

Chapter 27: Hands of the Artisan VIII

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[THE SILVER SEAT - South Side]

“Are you sure about this?” asked Cain.

“No, I’m not,” growled Alonzo. “Hell, I hope I’m wrong!”

They were running down the street, having stormed out of the carriage at Alonzo’s behest. Storefronts and other pedestrians whipped by them as the three of them booked it down the paved paths.

Ronove had stayed behind, somewhat put off by the idea of simply going along with an unconfirmed whim, but had let them know to contact him via Corpse Candle if they found anything.

“If you’re that worried,” offered Muse, hopping forward in a gust of wind with Webby on her shoulder. “I can get there first and make sure everything’s alright. Chosen of Aerachnid, if I didn’t mention it before.”

Webby squeaked in agreement.

“Dumbass, I knew that!” said Alonzo. “As if anybody other than her Chosen can jus’ walk ‘round with one of her kids. No, you’ll get lost. Place is a maze. No point in sendin’ you in front if we’re just gonna have to pick you up later.”

Muse pouted, letting the gust die down and dropping back to where Cain was.

They rounded the corner, and went up the stairs. Across the street overpass, and then down the stairs once more. Toward the right. Left at the pipe, and once more down. And twenty more convoluted steps beyond that.

The urban maze was as inscrutable as it had been the last time they were here, and Alonzo had been right. If either of them had come here on their own, there was little chance of them finding the place again even though they’d been here before.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive in front of the shabby store. Alonzo and Muse slowed down for a second to catch their breath as Cain looked around. There was no evidence of a scuffle or anything, but despite all that there was an unsettling feeling in the air.

Perhaps Alonzo had been wrong? Or, maybe he was right and the Manslayer had not made it here yet. Either way, things didn’t seem as bad as the wolf beastman had feared.

That hope was shattered the moment he saw Alonzo’s face.

Blood. He could smell blood.

With a yell, he charged forward, shoulder first, and smashed through the door.

---

[THE SILVER SEAT - Vandamme’s House of Blades - Moments Before]

A man, dressed in all black. The sight of him sent shivers down Vandamme’s spine, but it wasn’t as bad as the way the entire store felt as if it had dropped several degrees. He could feel the cold seep into his bones; his scars ached.

He knew a troublesome customer when he saw one.

Settling behind the counter as he usually did, he suppressed his ominous feelings and watched as the man approached the counter lazily, all the while carefully examining the showroom. The dark figure moved with purpose, although he seemed particularly taken with some of the designs that Vandamme had copied out of a book from the far east.

Finally, the man turned to him.

Orange scales that covered part of his exposed skin, and yellow eyes that were both intense and silent. A sheath at his side contained a blade of a type that Vandamme had only seen in weapons manuals he had bought from merchants of import.

A koijin, or as some erroneously called them, fish beastmen. A body partially covered with scales. The man’s hair was tied back in a ragged ponytail.

“I’m looking for a human boy. Tanned skin, dark hair,” said a mildly accented voice. “Strange eyes with black sclera. Violet irises.”

It was to Vandamme’s credit that he gave no visible reaction, simply turning to the ceiling and making a play as if he were trying to remember.

“Haven’t seen anyone like that,” said Vandamme bluntly. “A weapon shop is no place for children.”

Vandamme recalled how the lad had looked the first time he had seen him under the bridge. A runaway, he had pegged the child at first glance, or an orphan like other street rats he had seen. It wasn’t until he got closer that he saw the marks of trauma on him, despite the perfect condition of his body.

Anyone that was looking for a child who reacted like that, especially one as ominous and foreboding as his current customer... Well, he would make sure to present as large of an obstacle as he could.

“Why protect him?”

“I have no reason to protect anybody,” said the old dwarf. “I don’t know any human children. Not even the old ladies in the neighborhood bring their little ones when they’re getting their knives sharpened. Don’t trust their little hands in a place filled with blades. I’m not looking for trouble here.”

The man chuckled.

“You’d be surprised at how adeptly some children take to the blade,” said the man. “And rain might wash away much, even muddy footsteps, but not the silver trails that these eyes see.”

Vandamme sighed, and leaned back in his chair.

“Like I said. I have no idea what you’re going on about. If you’re not buying anything or interested in getting something looked at, get out.”

The man shook his head.

“More’s the pity that it goes this way so often.”

His thumb knocked against the guard on his blade. A tsuba, Vandamme remembered from the diagram of the anatomy of katanas.

A ghastly grin.

“But it suits me well.”

Then the smell of blood overpowered all other stimuli that Vandamme could sense.

---

[THE SILVER SEAT - Vandamme’s House of Blades]

Nameen and Cain entered the room at the same time, but neither Player noticed the other.

No, the only thing that they could sense was blood. Blood, blood, and more blood. It came in waves, nauseating all those present save the man in black. The source of it was, after all, being wielded by the figure in question.

A dwarven body lay on the ground, his front sliced open. Above him was a - well, it could charitably be called a sword. A wickedly curved edge, thin as a sheet of paper, and a red so deep and vicious that it physically hurt to look at. All of this, combined with the stream of blood that dribbled down the scarlet blade, made for a ghastly and gruesome sight.

All of them watched, stunned by the horrific sight, as the man lifted the sword up, and let the blood drip into his mouth.

“Exquisite,” purred the demon. “The blood of an artisan. Darker than wine, and hotter than burning lava.”

Alonzo and Cain were on him in an instant. One crying out in rage and the other reacting by instinct.

A crimson axe swung through the air, carried by an arm that should’ve been too small to carry it. A short sword stabbed forward, held by hands that had far outgrown it.

One soul screamed at the pain of a man’s life and the tragedies that had plagued him without reason nor justice, and the other remembered a night in which the moonlight illuminated a bandit looming over the remains of a village’s militia.

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Two knights rushed in to protect and defend the innocent. Another one was not far behind.

Muse too wanted in on the action, but first thing was first. She kneeled down from where she was in the doorway, looking at Webby and nodding. It was time for the little guy to do his magic.

With him here, if the dwarf had any trace of life left in him, then--

Webby shook his head sadly. Muse’s eyes widened.

Aerachnid loved sentient life more than anything, and her children shared that love. Webby, even amongst his brothers and sisters, cared for and wanted the best for the people that worshiped his mother. There was only one situation in which Webby would deny saving a life.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was forbidden from doing so.

Save for their Chosen, a Divinity must not interfere with another Divinity’s work.

That meant--!

“Watch out!” screamed Muse at her compatriots. “He’s Chosen!”

Her warning had reached their ears in time, but they didn’t know what the information meant. Their axe and sword came closer, almost reaching the man and putting him down where he stood, but it was not to be.

An explosion of blood splattered the walls of the shop as both axe and sword were rent asunder by a powerful concussive force. Cain and Alonzo slammed into the wall, their forward momentum halted and reversed by a cocoon of blood that had covered the Manslayer before bursting open in a scarlet explosion.

Cain groaned as Alonzo coughed and held his chest.

[42 BLOOD DAMAGE TAKEN!]

[CURRENT HP: 118/160]

His axe... The one that McDougal had dropped. The one that had apparently been with the leader of the Red Riders for the entirety of his career from knight to bandit lord.

It was gone just like that.

He still had his bow, the one that Rey had passed onto him, but in a small shop like this he had the disadvantage. Running away and taking potshots at this guy wasn’t an option, he had to find something else to--

Wait, this was a weapon shop.

Without any more thought, Cain pulled the nearest weapon he could find off the wall. A sword. He activated Control Scheme, and simply charged forward. He had to do something - to stop this man and give them time to escape and perhaps save the dwarf’s life.

“Oh my,” said the Manslayer with interest in his eyes. “Did your eyes just turn black? Are you related to the boy, then?”

Cain did not answer.

Control Scheme impressed him once again with knowledge that had escaped him, as his finger went to a switch that he had no way of knowing existed. The sword’s blade split apart, turning into an extended whip with segments of steel, and without pause he swung it at the Manslayer.

The bloody blade clashed against his whip-sword, slicing it in half. That was no problem. Cain grabbed another object off the wall - a halberd of some strange make - and rejoined the battle while launching two chakrams that had fallen next to him.

Cain knew that he was going up against an experienced killer - the chilling atmosphere was enough for him to realize he was outclassed in pure malevolence, but he would use what he had available to him.

How fun!

The Manslayer grinned in glee as he fended off the polearm strike, before stepping back to dodge a throwing star.

The black-eyed man that had attacked him was a true marvel, capable of using so many strange and unwieldy weapons with masterful martial skill. Some sort of martial savant, although his strikes were perfect enough to easily be read.

A quarterstaff, which broke open to form three sections. A jagged saw in the shape of a sword. Nightsticks. A trident. Bolas that the Manslayer jumped over. Darts that had been aimed at his eyes.

A true cornucopia of battlefield delights! Would that they were capable of entertaining him forever, but alas the Manslayer had pulled out his sword and thus he was compelled to drink of blood.

For his Divinity demanded it.

Ducking under the swing of a flail, he put his scarlet blade back into its sheath. Just before he was able to pull it out and deal the black-eyed man a crippling blow, however, a gust of wind slammed into him from behind.

He looked. A green-skinned woman. She too had pulled a weapon from the wall - a rapier. She took an easy stance, before lunging at him with a speed that belied her previous languid movement.

A narrow dodge, but as he did so he failed to notice another strike from his previous front, now his back. A voulge slammed into him from the side, sending him tumbling and the sword from his hands.

Cain and Muse watched as the dust cleared, each of them wielding their makeshift weapons.

“Think that got him?” asked Muse, twirling her rapier about. It was not quite what she was used to - she preferred the slashing nature of a sabre and its weight, but it was the closest thing there was in the shop.

“No,” said Cain, wielding the voulge with one hand as he quickly gripped a pair of nunchucks in the other. “There’s no way this guy is going down that easily.”

“Ugh, why can’t the Divinities give us easy opponents for once?”

The dust faded, and standing was the Manslayer, now wearing a smile so wide it showed all his teeth. There was real joy there, but not the kind that Muse and Cain were familiar with. Religious fervour mixed with bloodlust. A vision of heaven as seen from hell.

The koijin held out his hand, and the scarlet blade floated into the air before zipping into his hand handle first.

It was still dripping with blood, despite the combat they had just participated in. What Cain had assumed first to be the blood of his victim was not evidently coming from the blade itself.

Splish. Splish. Splashes of red against the wood floor, and the smell of rust and iron got stronger and even more nauseating.

“Wonderful... Absolutely wonderful!”

His eyes widened. Cain could see the blood vessels creeping in from under the eyelids, snaking their way to the iris.

Bloodlust replaced the chilling atmosphere from before. A moment’s peace, and then three figures came together in a whirlwind of carnage in the center of the shop.

The battle was now truly on.

Alonzo too had recovered. His sword - the one that Vandamme had made for him, the one that had seen him through thick and thin - had been destroyed. But at the moment, he had no time to dwell on that fact.

The boss - he had been on the ground. Where was he? If he could grab him and haul him out of here before things got any worse--

Alonzo stared at the spot where Vandamme had been before. There was nothing there now except for a pool of blood.

The dwarf was gone.

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