I woke up with a pounding headache. Sore throat. Thirst.

I pushed myself up and opened my eyes, taking in the windowless room I was in. Low light from a magic-lamp illuminated the cages around me. The cage I was locked in was larger than the others, tall enough so that I could have stood up if I wanted to. The vertical bars at the sides were made of some kind of dark wood instead of metal. The entire stuffy room smelled like a nightmare. A trashy nightmare. I coughed, turning around slowly—and realizing that I wasn’t alone.

“Good morning, mate.”

The other occupant of my wooden cage was a man with a shaggy beard and dirty blonde hair, wearing only a pair of shorts and nothing else. I looked down at myself. My boots and my cloak had been stolen, but at least I got to keep the T-shirt I had slept in.

“Morning,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Here, drink from this,” the man said, handing me a clay jug. “Be sure to ration it, though. We don’t get to have much water.”

I took a few sips of the water and looked around once more, noting a chamber pot in one corner and practically nothing else inside our cage. The other cages were mostly empty too. Mostly, but not entirely; the room was filled with the noises of small animals, locked away in heaps of hutches just across my cage.

“I’m Randel,” I said once I drank enough. I felt a bit better, in spite of the smell. I even noticed that the other prisoner was hiding a Player’s collar under his beard.

“I’m Stanley,” he said, “or Stan if you’re my mum. You must have some questions about where we are, eh?”

For a moment I felt tempted to say that I didn’t want to know, but I reminded myself that Stanley was just a victim too … unless my captors were deviously smart and put an unwashed man in the cage with me just to earn my trust and get my secrets. Huh. I decided I wasn’t going to be paranoid like that.

“I suppose there’s a reason I’m still alive,” I said, clearing my throat. “Whoever captured me is either demanding a ransom … or they plan to harvest the mana I have, perhaps?”

I held a hand out, palm up, and tried to teleport Soul Eater to my hand. Nothing happened.

“Harvest is a good word,” Stanley said. “I like it.”

He stood up and walked over to my side of the cage, jerking a thumb at the corridor next to our cage. There was a waist-high wooden pole stuck in the ground with a slanted disc on its top, facing away from us. The pole stood just out of arm’s reach, right in front of the empty cage next to ours.

“That’s the control panel for the relic we’re sitting in,” Stanley said, sitting back down. “Yorg can see our Abilities listed on a small screen, read their details, and disable any of them.”

I took a few more sips from the jug, my head throbbing a little bit less.

“Yorg?” I asked.

“We’re somewhere deep within the base of this criminal overlord called Yorg,” Stanley elaborated. “His gang is called the Black Moon.”

“That name sounds familiar,” I said. Damn. Had I chased Roach away just to find myself at Yorg’s mercy anyway? I reached out and gave the wooden bars of our cage an experimental shove, but they didn’t budge at all. Perhaps a really strong person would have been able to break out with only their bare hands, but neither I nor Stanley were stocked in the muscle department.

“This cage looks really convenient for capturing Players,” I said. “Especially people with teleportation powers.”

“Yeah,” Stanley said, nodding several times. “I reckon it’s a relic from two or three hundred years ago. Players back then had way more destructive power, but the populace in turn received a wide variety of magical artifacts to stop them. By contrast, Abilities nowadays tend to lean toward utility and there are far fewer relics.”

I lifted an eyebrow at his ad-hoc history lesson.

“It’s been a while since I had a conversation with anyone,” Stanley said. “I’m glad you’re here, as horrible as this situation is. This beats talking to myself, even if you don’t seem to be a very chatty person.”

“I just woke up,” I said. “Mornings are the worst.”

“Oh, well. I don’t actually know what time of the day it is, because I haven’t seen sunlight in months. We could say it’s actually evening now, if that would make you more talkative…?”

I smiled. Why was I smiling? I was locked in a cage and my life was going downhill faster than it had done on Earth. I wiped at my face and took a deep breath. I needed to think.

“Just give me a moment,” I said.

I opened my collar’s menu and touched the projection to navigate to the Abilities panel. Both my Spatial Symbiosis and my Mark of Replacement were grayed out, indicating that they were disabled. My choice of new Abilities however – the reward for having reached Legend 3 – were seemingly available still.

Always Armed

Teleport your equipped weapons anywhere onto your body. Your equipped weapons stick to any part of your body at will. Teleport cooldown decreases by level. Adhesive strength increases by level.

Cloak of Darkness

Blend into the shadows to become invisible. Efficiency increases by level. Upkeep cost decreases by level.

Dark Wire

Summon a floating spool and materialize a sharp wire between the last two spools you created. Pull all spools toward you at will. Spool duration increases by level. Wire strength increases by level.

I closed my collar’s menu, leaning back against the wooden bars.

“Stanley, I’m curious,” I said, turning to the man who was now watching me with keen eyes. “How did they disable our Abilities? One by one, or all of them at once?”

“They need to turn them off one at a time,” Stanley said. “That’s the whole point. I got to keep one of my Abilities, which they can use for their own benefit. Here.”

I saw a glint in his hand, then he tossed me something small—a golden coin. I caught it and turned it over in my hand, noting that it had the face of a handsome man on one side and a small stringed instrument on the other. It wasn’t the currency that the Terran Empire used.

“You can conjure gold?” I asked.

“It’s better than that,” Stanley said. “The Ability is called Bard’s Blessing. The coin averts a single misfortune or makes its holder lucky once. I can create only a couple of coins per day, and they crumble to dust after their luck is used up.”

“Mmm,” I said, rolling the coin between my fingers. “Can you carry a pouch full of these?”

“You can, but there's no use,” Stanley said. “They would all break apart at the same time.”

“Ah. That’s sad.”

“It’s very useful anyway,” Stanley said. “I hope that you also have something that Yorg can use, because otherwise you’ll be in trouble.”

“I may have something better,” I said. “What do you think? If a Player had any unselected Abilities before he got to this cage, would they have shown up on that display?”

“I-I don’t think so,” Stanley said, practically trembling in excitement. “Gods above, I’m almost certain they wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah. Yorg probably didn’t consider this either. I mean, what kind of silly Player doesn’t choose his Abilities right away?”

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Yeah. But if such silly Player really existed, then getting to this cage would surely feel like a plot, don’t you think?”

“A plot?” Stanley asked. Curiously, he didn’t seem to be baffled; I had a feeling that he was playing along deliberately.

“A plot by the gods,” I said. “They must really want this silly Player to choose new Abilities. This cage is just the right tool for forcing the Player to do that—which feels too perfect to be a coincidence, right?”

“Yeah, mate. Absolutely. But then what else could that Player do, aside from dancing to the tune of the gods? It’s either that, or staying captive in this dirty cage.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

I wedged the back of my head between two of the bars, then closed my eyes. I wondered how much time had passed since my argument with Devi. Had she already moved out or did she know that I didn’t really mean it? Either way, she had absolutely no obligation to stay by my side. She could get up and find herself a new home or even a new city whenever she wanted. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she decided that she had enough of me. Sooner or later everyone did.

“What are you doing?” Stanley asked.

“What else?” I asked, opening my eyes a crack. “I’m staying captive in this dirty cage. I want to talk to our captors.”

Stanley stared at me for a good couple of seconds, then his beard began to jiggle—and I realized that he was chuckling. He broke into a laugh soon after, hysterical and bitter but a laugh all the same.

“Damn, you’re good,” Stanley said, clutching his stomach. “Really good, Randel. I haven’t felt this alive in weeks. Your style—ah. I cannot wait to hear your conversation with Yorg.”

I said nothing, watching him with a tinge of concern. After weeks of captivity in these conditions, I could imagine how it would have felt to hear what I had just said. Honestly, a little bit of unhinged laugh was a rather tame reaction in my book.

The wait was long and boring. Stanley liked to talk, and so I listened to an entire dissertation about the servant who usually tended to him, bringing food and water and changing the chamber pot. At one point I got up and started to pace around the cage. Three steps in one direction and two in the other; not exactly a satisfying amount of space. After a while I stopped and stared out of our cage instead, observing the animals on the opposite side.

In a relatively large cage on the bottom of the stack, there was a large tortoise-like creature with a bright green shell. I watched as it laid two eggs and swept them to the back of its cage—where dozens more of the same small eggs were bunched up. On top of the tortoise was a feline creature that I had first taken as a golem-cat. It had metal scales all over its body, but upon closer inspection its movements weren’t mechanical at all. The feline held intelligence in its eyes as it pressed its muzzle against the bars of its cage, trying to spot the source of the twittering noises coming from above. On the top of the stack there were multiple bird cages with all sorts of avian animals inside, big and small, all of them very tropical-looking. I saw a small blue bird that sent glitters everywhere with each flap of its wings and another bird that kept changing the color of its feathers, going through the colors of a rainbow.

“They are smuggled magical animals,” Stanley said, standing beside me. “I hadn’t realized before I got here, but they’re a pretty big deal in certain circles. Nerilia has an insane amount of magical beasts, many of them uncatalogued, and it’s a sign of prestige among nobility to own the rarest ones.”

“Hmm,” I said, rubbing the coin that Stanley had given to me between my thumb and index finger.

“They are semi-illegal, by the way,” Stanley said. “Some of these animals possess quite dangerous magics, so the City Watch tries to confiscate them under some arbitrary excuses. That is, unless you’re rich. Having these beasts locked away in your mansion is perfectly fine for some reason.”

The metallic cat turned its head and matched my gaze with its cool gray eyes, which then flicked down to the glinting coin between my fingers. My aim had never been very good, but … this was a lucky coin, wasn’t it? I reached through the bars of my cage, aimed, and threw. The golden coin clipped the bars of the cage but bounced inwards, landing at the feet of the cat—which pounced on it immediately.

“What are you doing?” Stanley asked. “Those coins aren’t cheap, you know!”

“Animals deserve some luck too.”

“It’s a cat,” Stanley said. “It already has nine lives. Is that not plenty of luck already?”

“Yeah, but look at how cute it is as it plays with the coin!”

Stanley was silent for a moment.

“So you’re a cat person.”

“I had a cat back on Earth,” I admitted. “I guess I miss him.”

The metallic cat eventually got bored of the coin and tucked it away in the back of its cage, so I pestered Stanley for some more. He refused to give me any and he refused to stop talking, and I quickly learned that this prisoner-lifestyle was really stressful.

Fortunately, some time later – which felt like hours to me but only minutes to Stanley – I could hear the sound of approaching footsteps. The door I could only barely see slowly opened. Stanley sat down at the back while I decided to do the opposite, leaning against the front of our cage and pressing my face close to the bars. I noted with amusement that the cat on the opposite side was mirroring me.

Two men entered the stuffy room. One of them was a familiar Player called Roach, wearing his leather overcoat that had to be way too warm for Fortram’s weather. The other man had short black hair and a crooked nose, clad in a business suit. Seeing him in a suit actually surprised me; I hadn’t seen anyone in this world before who wore such fine clothing. He even had a neat black tie!

“Welcome, Yorg and Roach, welcome,” I said in a cheery tone as they walked closer to my cage. “Come, come, make yourself comfortable!”

My tone visible annoyed Roach, but Yorg’s face remained impassive. At least, I was hoping that the other man was Yorg; he certainly had a commanding air about him. The two of them stopped in front of my cage—they stood so close to me that I could have reached out and grabbed them if I wanted to be foolish. I leaned backward instead, my hands holding onto the bars of the cage so that I didn’t fall onto my back.

“He is the one,” Roach said, then turned to observe the wooden panel next to the cage. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Only two Abilities?”

“Power comes in many shapes and forms,” I said with my best wise old man imitation.

Roach narrowed his eyes, watching me critically.

“Where is the skull from your collar, Mad Painter?”

There it was, that moniker again. Why couldn’t they give me a cooler nickname, like Loophole or Maestro?

“First off,” I said, letting go of the cage with one hand to raise a finger, “I’m not mad. I don’t know who decided to call me Mad Painter, but I only look mad, and it’s only because I have so many crazily genius thoughts in my head!”

“Whatever you say, Mad Painter,” Roach said. He looked much smugger now that I was in a cage.

“Secondly,” I moved on, “the skull got stolen, unfortunately. But I might be able to get it back once you let me out.”

“You wish,” Roach said with a snort.

“I mean, it’s obvious that you came here to do business,” I added, then looked into Yorg’s dark eyes. “I like businessmen. I like doing business! My current conditions leave a lot to be desired, admittedly, but I’m willing to negotiate. There’s no need to be unfriendly with each other, right? I’ve been meaning to arrange a meeting with you anyway, Yorg. You and I could work splendidly together!”

“I’m listening,” Yorg spoke, his voice calm and deep.

“Soul Eater,” I said, licking my lips. “My dagger. Do you have it?”

Yorg looked at Roach, who nodded. “We do.”

“It’s the most wondrous weapon you have ever seen,” I said. “It’s made of the same indestructible stuff as a Player’s collar, except – and now be amazed – I can change its mass and shape with my mind. Imagine the possibilities! It’s a free energy source, basically; I can make it small, then increase its size and weight with nothing more than my mind. Oh, and because you won’t find tougher stuff than it, you can use it for all sorts of purposes, like a furnace! I can transform it to the world’s strongest box and seal every opening on it!”

I didn’t endeavor to reform this world as an inventor, but the possibilities with the unique powers Devi and I possessed were certainly tantalizing.

“But this Soul Eater is bound to you,” Yorg said. “So I’d have to keep you alive if I wanted to use it.”

“Well, yeah, there is that. But—”

“Not worth my time,” Yorg said turning to leave.

Well, this hadn’t gone the way I hoped. I supposed it was time to get serious.

“Wait,” we said, straightening our posture. “We’re not done talking.”

Yorg stopped, then turned back to us with a satisfied glint in his cold eyes.

“That’s the person I wanted to talk with,” he said. “Speak, Mad Painter.”

“It’s called Soul Eater for a reason,” we said, keeping our tone low and even. “But you don’t believe in souls, do you, Yorg?”

Yorg inclined his head.

“The white vapor that leaves the body upon dying is the person’s essence,” we said. “It’s their personalized mana, so to speak. Players absorb it outside the cities, and World Seeds absorb it inside the cities. Native humans had no hope to feed on the mana of others—until now.”

“Wrong,” Roach interjected, puffing on a freshly lit cigar. “Humans can take the mana of other species with a touch.”

Yorg turned to Roach sharply and yanked the cigar out of his mouth, squashing it on the feline’s cage with the same motion.

“Not here,” he hissed, borderline angry.

“S-Sorry,” Roach said, taking a step back. Yorg turned to us a moment later, and so neither of them saw the feline behind them as it extended a long and elastic tongue and snatched the cigar from the top of its cage.

“Native humans can exchange mana with other species,” we corrected Roach as if nothing happened. “They push their own essence into others and get theirs in return. Actually taking essence without giving anything back – thus increasing your own mana base – is unheard of.”

I had only intended to bluff about what Soul Eater might do, but now I realized that I felt a peculiar certainty about what I was saying. Was my weapon supplying me with knowledge again? This was the first time it reached out to me outside of combat, and it scared me.

“But this Soul Eater is bound to you,” Yorg said. “So what use is it to me?”

“Soul Eater is bound to me, but it isn’t an item made for Players. Its powers can be replicated—in fact, have you heard of the massacre at Gingerhome? Someone else has already started to experiment with this technology. Soul Eater’s powers can be studied, its secrets can be unveiled … with my help, of course.”

“Of course,” Yorg said. He studied me silently, but I kept my face carefully blank as he did. He was really good, I had to admit; that little incident with the cigar aside, he had given nothing away yet. I had no grip on him, I had nothing that I could use. It didn’t help that he was in a position of power where I had to talk more if I wanted to make a point or leave an impression.

Yorg’s sharp features, his uncompromising attitude, and the way he looked at me reminded me of a hawk. A wily and practical hawk, if my instincts were right, which at least assured me that he wouldn’t do anything rash. He’d first investigate what I said, see Soul Eater for himself, then decide what to do with me.

“You said that you wanted to contact me anyway,” Yorg said. “Why?”

“Oh, that!” I said, wringing my hands. “It’s just a little favor I need. Hehehe. It’s a little embarrassing to say, but … I want to feed through Soul Eater, I want to gain levels, I want even more power, and I want you to arrange murders for me that cannot be traced back to me! I can’t keep doing what I’m doing without drawing attention to me. I need you to pass Soul Eater around and stick people with it!”

I was breathing heavily by the end of my tirade, but I watched Yorg, and he watched me without so much as a blink.

“You know what I think?” Yorg asked. “I think you are lying.”

My shoulders sagged, then I broke out in a silly smile.

“Oh, well. You got me, Yorg, good job! Indeed, I might not have been completely honest—”

“You are lying, but it hardly matters,” Yorg spoke over me, “because I do believe that this Soul Eater is something worth looking into. Well done, Mad Painter, you get to live a while longer. Roach?”

“What?” Roach asked, frowning as Yorg turned to go.

“Correct your attitude if you don’t want your son to lose any more fingers,” Yorg said. “You know what to do next.”

“Y-Yes, boss.”

Yorg strode out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him, while Roach remained standing where he was, his face ashen. When he finally moved, his eyes were staring daggers at me.

“You didn’t hear that last part,” he said. “You didn’t hear it, but pray that I find your precious Soul Eater—or else you’ll be losing fingers too.”

“You said that you had my dagger,” I couldn’t help but point it out to him.

“Of course I said that! What else do you think I would have told Yorg?! Degenerates, all of you! I swear, if Joe already pawned it off…”

He continued muttering under his breath as he left the room. I let out a quiet sigh then, closing my eyes for a moment. This conversation had been almost as stressful as a job interview.

“Well, that was interesting,” Stanley said, stepping up to me. “Mad Painter.”

“Don’t you start too,” I said with a groan.

“It’s cool,” Stanley said, patting me on the shoulder. “You should have told me that you already had a reputation. I’m awfully out of touch with the outside world these days…”

Stanley continued his chatter, but my attention was taken by the animal on the opposite side. The creature with the steely scales was gone, and its cage was now occupied by a cat with a fiery mane instead. It reminded me of a tiny ball of fire. So beautiful. The cat watched me intently with a pair of crimson eyes, growling—no, gurgling.

I ducked by reflex as the animal spat something at me, the glob igniting in the air as it flew. Liquid flames splashed against the wooden bars above my head and I felt the heat on my face even as the cage shivered, shuddering and groaning, the wooden frame recoiling.

“What the—” Stanley began, but a loud snapping sound cut him off as the cage literally tossed away three of its bars, the ones that had caught fire, in order to stop the flames from spreading. The scorched bars fell to the ground and the wooden cage cracked and shifted and moved, the sections closest to the fire bending away as much as they could.

I stepped through the hole on the side of the cage, kicking the broken bars away to peer inside the cat’s cage. A pair of clever little eyes met my gaze, and I fell in love.

“Hey Stanley, do you know how to pick a lock?” I asked, turning back to look at the gaping man. “I’m taking the cat with me.”