ZETA

Zeta slouched his shoulders while he left the hamlet of Fer. It was the last settlement along the route to Aspic, and not a single call for work came his way since Greenwich.

Axle Island was his home, even if he knew nothing about it. It was disappointing to offer so little help to its people, but, if that’s what the people ruled, then so be it.

Supposedly, Aspic was a sizeable port town, so staying there for an extended period was not sustainable. He knew next to nothing about big cities, and the prospect of walking their streets involved a slight terror.

His heart yearned to set sail for where the focus of the world lay, the Selatin Kingdom.

From Fer, Zeta had to make the last stretch to Aspic on foot as his horse had taken ill the night before. It wasn’t enviable, but he had no complaints. At Fer’s tavern, Zeta asked the locals about the characteristics of Aspic. In summation of their tales, they referred to it as a “hub” of sigma activity. That fueled the energy he needed to make the journey. Everything would be worth if he saw more sigmas in action.

He reached into the two pockets on his person. Other than Black Meridian at his belt, Zeta possessed nothing but the two sigmas he had gained after working for Hodge. He juggled them in his hands, ogling them with an odd hybrid of pride and greed in his eyes.

Orange and white cores. The cores meant something about grades, but Zeta had forgotten exactly what. Sir Kagan told the villa kids everything they needed to know about sigmas like a little private school for superpowers, but Zeta’s attention could never be held for more than five minutes. Initially, he was worried about those gaps in his knowledge, but to Zeta, it would make it an even more rewarding experience to learn about the Sigma World on his own.

Taking the eyes off the sigmas in his hands, he looked up to see the spire of a cobble clocktower coming into view. He quickened his pace to visualize the concrete details, but then more structures started appearing, buildings breeding exponentially.

They formed the great city of Aspic.

To be fair, Aspic was just a town, and on a backwater like Axle Island no less, but Zeta spent two decades living in a complex of three buildings, thin atmosphere, and thirty kids. Aspic may as well be the center of the world.

The city sat on a stub of a peninsula, walled off by wood and some stone on the side facing him from coast to coast, with little inlets to prevent intruders from slipping around the corners. It was cheap but effective. Besides, it provided a better scene of the city, which was what Zeta stared at without blinking until his feet dragged him closer.

Then a couple stacks of muscle obscured the view.

He looked up at the two brutes, who grinned and watched him maneuver the sigmas in his hands. Realizing the problem, Zeta pocketed them, although they formed a very unnatural bulge.

“Can I help you two?” Zeta asked.

They didn’t speak for a moment, but then the brute on the left opened his misshapen mouth. “All immigrants go through an inspection before entering.” He spoke as if a rod had pierced his skull and brain.

“Immigrant?” Zeta watched people pass these two ‘guards’ without interference, entering the city with their seedy dispositions intact. He spotted people leaving in the same manner.

“So, how can I help you, officers?” Zeta said.

“You must be new here,” the other thug said. “I’m guessing You wouldn’t want to make a bad impression in our proud city so early in your visit, right? We have laws here, and we like them upheld.”

Zeta sighed with frustration and vowed not to let them ruin his excitement. “Then, what do you need of me?”

He smirked. “As we said, an inspection. Given the nature of the danger they pose, unauthorized sigmas must be confiscated.”

Now Zeta felt stupid as well for flaunting his prizes around freely. He whipped out Black Meridian and, in a flash, knocked both of them on the forehead with the pommel.

Their confidence shattered. Zeta questioned why they would pick on someone with a sword visibly at their side.

“Oww! He’s resisting!”

“Gentlemen, we both know you have no authority here. If you're going to rob someone, at least come up with excuses that make sense. Don’t tell me you confiscate sigmas in a place where I can see at least a dozen people using them in some form or fashion on the street. If you know what’s best for you, please go home and never harass another passerby again.”

“Who do you think you are. You can’t possibly command that!”

Zeta glared at him with eyes of pure hostility, and the coward backed off. The physique did not match the behavior.

The brute’s friend grabbed him and told him to back off. “Come on, Berto, he’s not worth the trouble. Someone like him doesn’t stand a chance in this city.”

They both stood back while Zeta put his sword up and walked past. Thankfully, the ‘interruption’ at the gates did nothing to damper his amazement.

Sure, Aspic didn’t appear to be a sprawling metropolis like he had heard in the legends of cities, but the sheer number of buildings was of a magnitude to imitate them. Professionally constructed by excellent carpenters. The main street had plenty of stalls for all commodities from food to fashion.

Wood and stone dominated the cityscape, bland to ordinary eyes, but butter to Zeta.

A man walked past him with a flicker of flame at the tip of his finger. Another crossed the street blowing durable bubbles that rose into the sky, only to drop the ground from their weight and shatter like glass. The shards melted into water and evaporated into nonexistence. The few children around laughed at the spectacle.

There were more, oh so many more. Most sigmas Zeta saw on the street were simple, akin to Rapid Farmer in his pocket with no practical purpose beyond civilian use.

Zeta spotted a group of women heading his way. From the way they interacted, they were evidently friends, but they drew the attention of everyone who passed by for another reason. Their hair colors were some shade of blue or green, and their skins ranged from orange to purple. Not a single one of them had natural skin or hair.

Even if Zeta didn’t quite understand, their strange appearance could only be explained by one phenomenon. Watching them pass by only fueled his curiosity.

Maybe he could wait on that boat ride to Selatin. Aspic was a marvel in and of itself.

The incident at the entrance made Zeta feel a bit insecure about Black Meridian being visible. The thugs might have been afraid of it, but he knew that wouldn’t be the constant case.

He experienced one of the rare moments where he wished he accepted money from his clients – currently one in total. It would pass, but Zeta wanted something to cover up his sword.

Since he couldn’t afford it, Zeta put himself on guard as he wandered the charming streets.

After a while, he reached the end of the street, the docks. From what he had heard this morning, Aspic was a port established by some foreign power known as the Technocracy, but unless one looked at the docks, they would never make the connection otherwise.

Only a select few buildings possessed any sense of “modernism.” A warehouse, an embassy, customs, and contract offices. Mainly, everything their government ran had updated architecture that contrasted immensely with the cobblestone surroundings.

Other than that, the Technocrats had loose ties to their homeland. The only ones wandering the street may as well have been citizens of Aspic given their attire and attitude.

Hopping on one of their barges would be his next priority.

He weighed his options. Should he try to board a ship legitimately, or might it be in his favor to…stow away? I mean, it was illegal. Would he be a hypocrite? No, compared to other ill acts of man it was harmless, he thought. But, I’ll at least try to get a ticket.

He remembered the way Hodge looked at him when he first arrived at the man’s home. Pure horror. Zeta attributed that fear to Black Meridian, so concealing the sword could now be a legitimate problem. He planned to pretend to seek work as a crew member aboard a ship as a means to provide for himself as well as get off the island.

Now the size of Aspic, however, became an intimidating prospect instead of an awesome wonder. He had no idea where to start.

Maybe food? He thought as his stomach grumbled. As every village he stopped by since Greenwich, his food and water came solely from begging. He offered to work it off, but just like any of the other villagers he was denied. He stooped so low that he managed to win the pity, (or perhaps the disgust), of the keepers that they fed him a bare minimum before kicking him out. It wasn’t an ideal life, but he did offer to work it off. Their loss.

Thankfully, a great deal of Sir Kagan’s training involved fasting, so his body performed well with minimal sustenance most of the time.

Now, however, he wasn’t doing so hot. The sick starvation dropped on him like a brick of pestilence. He stumbled over to a wall to support himself. Maybe I’m getting too old to go hungry this long. He wondered if begging would work again.

The nearest food stall was a few steps away. As Zeta gripped his stomach, the owner beckoned him with a smile of greed.

“Hi, can you open a tab, by any chance?” Zeta asked. Just as quickly as he was accepted, they turned him away.

Several more stalls and even a few cheap restaurants lie in his path as Zeta grew more desperate for food. He received the same reactions and even a few insults. One man immediately resorted to violence, and Zeta had to waste energy to run away. After that, he switched to another street entirely.

He dare not ask the taverns anymore. In the villages, it may have been fine, but he could only imagine what the hellscapes of this city’s drinking holes looked like.

A part of him grew anxious at the awful possibility that his adventure might end early. His panicked appearance crept to the surface as he went from shop to shop, searching like a scoundrel.

When he started to notice places shutting down for the day, the thought of theft occurred to him. No! Absolutely not! But why not? He entertained the idea of stowing away moments earlier. Maybe that was also a result of declining mental health.

No, he would keep searching. If he found no food today, he’d wait out the night. If he survived, he’d spend the next day hunting once more. Someone had to have work. If not that, then charity. Persistence was key.

“Steak…” he whispered to himself as he strolled down the next street.

Unbeknownst to Zeta, a figure watched him from the alley. Seeing his predicament, she grinned, for she had found her next target.

Claws (Default Variant)- Physical, Nature: A modification that adds extended talons to the user’s fingernails, making them extra sharp weapons. (120)

Can be retracted for more practical use

Hands will still be quite sharp, however. This is the cheaper version of Claws. Not recommended for civilized individuals. “Scissorhands”