“They invaded our territory, yet we sit here and do nothing like cowards,” the black-haired moron protested to him. His head was burning brighter than the sun and showed no signs of cooling down as usual.

Sabaross rambled on relentlessly after discovering the news of who killed a necromancer, Shok. Two boys—younger than them—were the cause of this. As much as a surprise it was, they were Vessels, so it is to be expected that they would be able to eliminate a lower tier skull; most importantly, they were leagues above normal Albalosians, including these two weak skull lackeys.

Morons like him lack the ability to think rationally, Gerro thought, irritated by Sabaross’ lack of intelligence.

“We should do something about them before they hunt us all down.”

“Why would they hunt us? We’re irrelevant.”

Does this moron really think they would care about us? He rubbed his temples to ease the wounds of the mind—Sabaross-induced headaches.

The Vessels probably had a grudge against that necromancer in particular. If the rumours about him were true, then it was a pretty understandable death for the most part. Some could even say he had it coming, but that did not matter to him. As long as he gets to keep breathing, then everything is fine.

Those Vessels most likely had a grudge against Shok. Everyone with an average intelligence could figure that out if they kept up with the rumours of him and his rule of the ninth block. It was to be expected that someone would kill him at some point. Not that it mattered. They never interacted with each other so why would it?

“Why did they suddenly attack us for no reason whatsoever?” The idiot queried.

They attacked him because of how cruel he was, you moron.

“They hate us all and want to get rid of us, I’m sure of it.”

“You’re right, they’ll most likely come back for the rest of us,” an unusual man with a demonic grin interrupted their conversion.

He was the main reason why they were at the richest block of the skull territory—block nineteen. The houses were mostly built with stone covered in white paint rather than the normal wooden that the other captains ruled over. His shiny white suit illuminated his clean cutted short hair of the same colour—he was living a better life than most of the others here.

All of the captains and their leaders in the slums live in rich high quality stone houses, enjoying the luxury of free money and food they receive from everyone else. Why else do you think none of them were rallying for a rebellion? Except for that one skull who was rallying a large force for it, although he had to leave as he just did not want to be affiliated with a madman wearing black. That said,

“Get to the point already, no one is falling for your act, demon. You want something from us?”

“I want to give you two a chance. You want to get back on the vessel right?”

“No, I want nothing to do with them,” Gerro replied, unimpressed with the performance the clown in white was putting up with him.

“Do you want power that can combat the vessels? Normal weapons that you’re given simply do not have enough power.”.”

Gerro was astonished. The well dressed man just offered to give them access to a power that can combat the invincible vessels without stating a cost. Was it really for free? If so, he would not be able to decline such a generous offer. The moron stared cluelessly as he always does, but his opinion on this matter had no value. The demon grinned foolishly. This demon wearing human skin doubtlessly thought that he was fooling them, but he is merely a stepping stone for power.

“Yes,” Gerro accepted his offer with no doubts.

“Good.”

This won’t end in the way you want it. His grin was even more demonic than the fiend in white himself.

They were heading down to the basement of the rich stone home; it was a little dark, but Gerro could still see what the room looked like. As he made his way down past the wooden stairs, a blue chalk marking in the form of a circle with six tiny blue flames around it—It was most likely the fire of ignited spark essence from Logfer petals, which he could tell by the irritating smell.

The demon in white or Wilserfer rudely pushed him forward towards the marking, so it was best to assume that it was where the ritual of becoming a servant will take place. He found himself in the spot he needed to be and waited for the brander.

A man—who appeared to be in his thirties—named Saint, who resembled the average markless thug was the vessel who would make him a servant. His jaw was muscular, his hair was short and dark brown and his beard was stubbled. There was nothing special to say about him, except that he had an intimidating scar of an X on his left eye.

“Take off your shirt,” Saint commanded.

He did as ordered and removed his white shirt so they could proceed with the process. Saint rested his hand flat on Gerro’s back and began chanting in an unusual language that bore similarities to their own. After a while, he would soon feel a disturbing chill in his spine. The first thing this reminded him of was a story he had been told of as a child—the necromancer’s chill.

But then, his bones felt like they were left to freeze to death in the snowy plains of the mythical ice wyrms crib. His skin was met with an unbearable irritation throughout his body. He could feel his skin slowly peeling off of his body, yet when he took a look at it, it was perfectly fine.

And at last, his blood would start boiling, it felt like he was bathing in hell; he could not process reality properly in this state. His thundering wail resounded throughout the room for all to hear, including the audience viewing from on top the stairs. Other than the Wilserfer, the others could be described as, a serial killer, a busiman, a cultist maniac and a woman. They all laughed at him as if this was a humorous moment—he was nothing but a clown to them. It all felt like a dream.

“I will not succumb to the pain! You hear me demon!! I will rise above you!!!”

The rage in his soul would outburn through the pain. He burnt brighter than the sun itself, even if his consciousness was beginning to waver. He could not lose to it. Power requires suffering, but when achieved, things become easier. Nothing is ever truly free after all.

“Oh, is it over already? I was beginning to question whether you would die or not,” the fiend mocked him.

The ritual was finally over. The pain slowly faded away and his consciousness was returning to him. On his upper back, he noticed a black skull-face mark. It brought a joyful smile to his face. His goal could finally be achieved.

“Find me when you obtain a suitable weapon for yourself,” Saint calmly advised. Despite his looks, he seemed to have had a gentle demeanour.

“I will.”

From the outside, Sabaross stood patiently waiting for him with three others—of a similar age to them he assumed, except for the taller one. The brutish fellow—with a bright brown beard that scorched his eyes—approached him with a detestably cheerful smile, so Gerro quickly fabricated a smile to entertain him.

“Nice to meet you Gerro, I am called Yulrett,” he announced casually with the most optimistically obnoxious smile. “Perhaps we could learn from one another about our respective cultures.”

“I’d like to decline.”

“Understandable!” he yelled energetically.

The descendants of Silonem—just like their ancestors—were an obnoxious bunch of conceited morons who are unaware of their lack of intelligence and this one was no different. Why would he converse with his kind about culture? It was a view he would never entertain as long as he breathed—as all proud Franems should.

“Sabaross! We’ll depart at dawn to exterminate our enemies.”

“That’s the spirit!” the moron yelled in a distastefully cheerful manner. Gerro and Sabaross separated from this new group in order to prepare for tomorrow. The white sun slowly began to fall as the remnants of the sunlight abandoned the markless.

Revan woke up rejuvenated on the soft, spongy couch; a feeling he had longed for, but was not given the luxury of. The roofs and floors of the house were all white, but the couch was scarlet. He had a hard time believing that his new partner was a noble, but he could not deny that it made sense. It explained how the protectors knew and why Scar addressed him in an respectful way.

Jack’s home was filled with many devices and luxuries that he has never even heard, so much so that he became jealous. The markless had to suffer through the rough wood beds with barely anything soft underneath at best and a hard floor at worst—except for the gang members. Restricted from even getting a good night’s rest. What else are they not supposed to enjoy?

This makes no sense, why do they hate us so much that they don’t let us make good beds? He pondered in thought as he remained laid down.

At least one of them had the kindness in their heart to shelter him in their home after they both became enemies of the most dominant and violent gang in the slums. Yet he repaid that goodwill with hostility. Even after Jack helped Revan with the elimination of the tyrannical skull captain, he showed him nothing but suspicion.

Ignoring his bad-mannered behaviour, what Jack told him about his target answered many questions he had in his mind after he received these powers. Did anyone else besides the two of them have these powers? It appeared that the necromancer did. For better or for worse, this also confirmed the rumours he kept overhearing about.

“They’re at a stage that’s way higher than me, aren’t they?”

He got up from the couch feeling refreshed and energetic. His next goal was decided. However, he needed power if he ever hoped to defeat either the gangs or the marked. But there was a small problem. The guardians only gave them two skills to use and then they stated that was all they would be given to learn. But, it would not be enough to oppose the enemy.

“How do I gain more power? Answer me this Zaphiel”

Learn how to control seer energy first and then we’ll talk.

“I suppose it was wrong of me to assume you would help.”

His Guardian however refused to engage in any conversations with him. Most of his knowledge came from what Jack informed him, so could he really consider Zaphiel as “his Guardian” when the only one assisting him is a marked?

Not only that, this marked allowed him to enter the inner city, gave him the benefit of taking a bath, handed him a change of clothes—even if it was the white protectors who provided it to him—and a place to sleep. He even managed to straighten out his ever growing shining shoulder-length black hair and cut the unnecessary ends for now.

“Revan! My guardian refuses to tell me anything else. Got any advice?” Jack asked as he came sprinting towards him from the hallway. The crimson-haired boy wore a wealthy polished bleached trench coat with two columns of buttons over his plain white shirt, pants and boots.

“Any idea what seer energy is?”

“Never heard of it,” he answered quickly. “Maybe it has something to do with that weird language the necromancer spoke.”

“Weird language? Can you elaborate on that?”

“It was similar to our own, but I could not exactly remember the words. I think he said something about pulling me down or a grave… something, I couldn’t understand their way of speaking it. Orzach said it belonged to his race, but he refuses to tell me more.”

“We’re not getting anywhere with this.”

Revan walked out of the house and Jack followed. The neighbourhood was flourishing with healthy fields of grass, something that was uncommon in the slums. It was even greener than the forest’s grass; but it just made him angry. They were denied this by being kept and watched within the western zone when they could be enjoying the nature of the northern zone, the beautiful plains of the southern zone and large amounts of food in the eastern zone. They could even eliminate the gangs and the slums become a more prosperous place.

He gazed on to the empty grey sky and released a clam sigh. The situation with the markless could wait; he just needed more power, and then maybe he would stand a chance against them. He had an idea of where to start. His home contained many books, some filled with weird symbols of a language—that he has yet to see anywhere else—he could not understand as he did not have the skill of reading, but Jack definitely can.

“I might have a few books with the answer that we want, we can definitely use those.” he stated. “I have no idea how to read them however.”

“You can’t read?” Jack uttered, shocked by his lack of the skill called reading. “That won’t do, I can’t leave my new friend helpless like this. You’re missing out on so much.”

“That can be done later, let’s get going.”

They made their way past the gateway after checking out with the protectors, though they seemed to be rather focused on Jack’s bright crimson hair for some reason. He could not tell what was wrong with it as it looked like a fairly normal dyed hair colour to him..

No use making sense out of the marked mindsets.

Jack ignored their gazes and continued on like normal—their laughter and gossip simply did not exist for him. Was this an usual occurrence for him? How could one restrain themselves against such despicable fools; if it were him, he would have already become an enemy of the gate guards. Why would he not defend himself? Did their mockery mean nothing to him? Was he really calm about this? As they made it out through the gateway, Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

“Those fanatics can’t stand nobles dying their hair, so I did it to spite them.”

“Is that why they were staring at you?”

“Yeah, those bastards can’t stand it when first class citizens dye their hair; I find it very humorous,” he mocked them with a smile on his face.

Hearing this only aggravated the guards more, but not enough for them to fight back—they were more cowardly than a grey razed rabbit. Were Albalos' traditions truly a reason worth hating someone for? What was so good about the colour white? Even if their eyes and the sun are white, does that make it a reason to despise him?

They travelled further through the dark territories while the people continued on with their daily life activities, including trading goods of a wide variety and conversing with others. Those who lived here also had the benefit of wearing white clothing rather than the dirty patches of clothing that most wear and their houses were usually made with stone rather than wood. The advantages of living here were so great mainly from the fact that the marked inside still made deals with them and visited their shops regularly.

Many of them were chatting about a familiar event. They spoke about the rumours about a man summoning sentient rotten corpses from the ground who was chased by a maniac wearing a demon mask using a burning spear with a blade as a tip instead of the spearhead. Some even talked about his sidekick that wore a knight’s helmet, but a few wrote them off as two mentally insane children.

Others praised them as heroes who finally came to liberate them from the gangs’ tyranny and called the key to rebuilding the bridge between the marked and the markless. They were just hopeful delusions they told themselves, but maybe those childish dreams can come true. Many of them just put them all off as unbelievable rumours, but what did they know?

“Rumours spread fast,” Revan whispered.

“I wonder how many people already know about that,” Jack muttered.

Before he found the guardian’s tree, he used to put off the rumours of dark powers, necromancy, bloodsuckers and such as made up stories to scare the people into submission, so was that all really true? If so, then a path of struggles of pain and hopelessness awaits them. For all they knew, the higher ranks of these gangs were most likely filled to the brim with similar powers to them.

They made it out of the dark territory, past the abandoned stone building that were merely remnants of an old gang war. Their destination would lead them to the borderline of the skulls and darks—a land of death. A place devoid of life and was filled with graves of the past gang members. A graveyard filled with the bones of the dead, dull and broken weapons and deteriorating clothing.

It became a place to drop those that have died in order to free up space and prevent the stink smell of dead bodies from tainting their home. The soil had long lost all of its colour and nature would not dare to enter this land—the stench of air resembled poison, so most found it irritating and avoided breathing in too much of it.

Without warning, Jack stopped in his tracks to survey his surroundings. He was sniffing the air like an animal who found a scent of food. Not saying another word, he materialised his weird polearm that was just a simple straight single-edged sword’s blade attached to a wooden stick.

It’s called a Galicula, which is a Pricular. Or is it called a Glaive in your language? Do you even know that word in the first place? How about a polearm? Zaphiel informed him.

“Uhhhhh,” Revan was dumbfounded by that information.

It’s called a Glaive, this is your own language.

“It seems close to the word ”spear,” but I guess that’s a new word I learnt. Does Jack know what a glaive is?” he asked.

“What the hell is a Glaive?” Jack asked.

Before Revan could answer, they were surprised by a small sharp bone that landed directly between the both of them. He faced forward to see who threw the bone at them. He managed to find them at the other side of the graveyard.

Inside of the wrecked building, there was a figure with dirty brown curly hair wearing the same plain white shirt and pants as them, but with a skull armband around his right shoulder. He looked rather young, about their age or maybe even a little bit older and had a body thinner than Jack’s. In his hand was a wooden specter with a bird’s skull on top.

“A skull? What does he want?” Revan asked.

“Probably to kill us. But why did he throw a bone at us? And how did it get this far?”

His question was answered the moment he saw the skull thug shooting out more of the razor-edged bones at them—this person had powers just like the necromancer he killed before. Revan conjured up two elbow length metal gauntlets with the right one having his diskshooter attached quickly as the razor bones—what he decided to call it—continued to miss them.

Jack kicked off running in the direction of the skull without wasting any more time—his speed was too unorthodox with that frail body. Revan—with a short delay in his reaction—followed him on the advancement. He thought about it and thought that he could end the fight quickly with a well aimed disk shot.

You can hit them from here, aim for the head if you want to end it quickly.

“No.”

He could not, he had no grudge against this man so there was no reason to kill him other than in the name of self defence. He must only kill selectively. He could not become like Golias, who had gotten so used to it nor should he be a coward. He needed to become a bringer of hope and honour if he ever wanted to achieve his dream—all stories that were told to him always started with a hero after all, he simply needed to become another one. It may have been childish, but it was necessary.

Jack sent out a flame slash aimed directly towards the skull lackey, who retaliated by continuously shooting out more of those razor bones from his scepter. When both came into contact with one another, the bones only suffered minor burns and passed right through it.

The razor bones were off by a few seconds due to the distance they were at from the skull. The flame slash was still soaring towards the skull thug, but they managed to dodge it by jumping off of the top floor to the third one.

Jack still had some excitement in ready, as he started sprinting even faster. He launched two more flame slashes at the skull while under fire from their razor bones—one of them even came close to poking out Revan’s right eye. The enemy seem to have noticed their increase in advantage as they felt confident enough to drop down a floor again.

They found themselves at a close enough distance towards the skull. Revan wondered how they would get up there, but Jack already had the answer. Right in front of him, his partner quickened his pace and used his speed combined with the superhuman bodies they had to leap up from the ground to the edge of the same second floor. The power from that jump left behind a few cracks on the dirt ground.

But, from what he could see, the floor under the impact of the landing was collapsing. His partner could not notice this, but when they did, it had already broken apart. As Jack, you could even see his expression of regret. Revan took this as an opportunity to avoid making that mistake and jumped further inside of the second floor and with less power put into it.

The skull however, decided to flee out of his vantage point as soon as Revan landed inside. As he arrived, the thug had already left for his home territory. But, Revan could not let their position be exposed, otherwise the trip would be for nothing; he swiftly jumped off from the second floor and ventured deeper into the slums to follow his enemy. There was no other option left, but to commit or fall.