Although he had worked hard to reach this point in his new life, James couldn't deny he felt some nostalgia for his early days. Well, some aspects of them. For instance, the constant worry of monsters hiding around the corner and the anxiety of being dropped in an unknown environment weren't missed. However, it was hard to deny he had more time to mess around with his powers in the past. You'd think a horde of subordinates would mean he'd be free to do whatever he wanted, but sadly his need to check on them often and his desire to spend time with his adopted children left him very busy. The constant threat of death or slavery that was Runar also forced him to focus his training and research on specific topics, rather than the general messing around he had relied on when he first got acclimated to this new form.

With everything taken care of, the kids training somewhere in the facility while his fake identity as James Valdest in this world was being assembled, the slums being back to quiet, the orphanage being as free of trouble as usual, no need for urgent magical research or learning, and the factory projects on hold until Doctor Decanov finished whatever he had planned for the new generator, however? James had more than enough time to experiment with the basics of his new existence.

The first thing that came to mind was his ability to shift his state of matter, as well as turn into literal shadows. His body's natural composition seemed to be a highly viscous liquid, close to tar, which allowed him to keep a reasonable degree of control while also leaving him free to shapeshift as he pleased and better absorb every attack he received. Blades and bullets just passed through him without doing any damage if they weren't enhanced by Aspects or magic or elements in any way, and even things like hammers and maces weren't as effective on him as they'd be against a normal person, the kinetic force of the blow being dampened by his somewhat gelatinous mass, with nothing sensible inside to be broken or damaged in the first place anyway.

Despite all of its use, James usually just stuck to modifying his solidity and turning into darkness. It made sense, being able to transform his soft tentacles into blades or powerful blunt instruments was vital to fight, and his shadows helped in stealth and avoiding attacks. The fact remained the versatility of this ability was wasted, with both liquid and gas being barely used. His gaseous state was helpful for theatrics by making black mist, and it even helped keep track of things, but he knew there was more he could do with it than just that. As for his liquid physique, he essentially only entered this state to hasten his change of form.

At the moment he still failed to see how becoming a black puddle could be handy when he could just become one with the shadows on the ground, but the same wasn't true for turning into a gas. An idea had crossed his mind multiple times truth be told, but seeing as he was stuck underground and mostly in tight spaces, he hadn't had the chance to practice it yet. It was simple, a classic of the Superhero genre, and yet he hadn't seen any opponent make use of it so far. Perhaps it was the general trend, perhaps it was just Zalcien, or perhaps it was simply because of how technically those he had fought against the lower echelons of the Super world of Terra Stellis, but it was still a shock to see none of them truly use this staple of fiction back on Earth.

Flight.

Well, there was the psychic squid of that one pastry shop, but she was only floating in the air. Oh, and that one Runarian Knight who moved through the air thanks to some sort of summoned water current, but it was obvious the white knight had trouble controlling this ability and it wasn't the kind of casual method of movement James had in mind.

Now, it was perfectly reasonable for someone to wonder how could James fly. He could shapeshift into a bird, but his way of transforming wasn't the perfect mimicry you'd see something like a druid use back in fiction on Earth. No, his method was closer to squishing his body roughly into the shape he wanted, with details being unnecessary since anyone who observed him could only see a Silhouette. To fly like a bird he'd need to perfectly imitate a bird, and this meant copying how they flew, with their bones and muscles and feathers in mind, not to mention he'd have to learn how to make use of air currents from scratch without any of the instincts natural flying creatures had.

No, the method he had conceived was much simpler, and it made use of turning parts of himself into a gas. He had already tested he could alter his density, which meant he could in theory make himself partly lighter than air, and in turn become essentially a hot air balloon, just without the heat. And without the balloon. Well, he technically would be the ballon, but he wouldn't be bloated and inflated like one, it'd be more like pockets inside of him pulling him up, and others pulling him down, changing his weight by altering his density or partially transforming his insides into immaterial shadows.

Alright, it wouldn't be as similar to hot air balloons as he first envisioned, but it wasn't like there was an overwhelming number of airborne vehicles that flew thanks to air rather than rotating blades or engines. Maybe zeppelins? He wasn't entirely certain of how they worked, but he was still pretty sure they relied on heating up whatever was in that inflated thing on top.

Whether the process already existed or not was irrelevant. For the sake of privacy, he chose to practice in the factory. The ceiling was incredibly high, enough for him to feel safe testing his theory. In case of failure, the only witnesses would be the Infused he had brought with him, the windows all being tinted to avoid peeping and the doctor far too busy underground.

As he often did when he prepared himself, James pretended to take in a deep breath and stretched left and right despite the whole process providing no physical benefit. He knew it was more of a placebo than anything, due to his general lack of organs and muscles, but if it helped him relax and concentrate just a tiny bit, then it was worth it.

He altered his composition slowly, paying close attention to the way his body reacted and his balance shifted. He made sure to adjust his center of gravity as he became lighter and lighter, while also paying close attention to to how much of himself he needed to modify. The improvement to parallel thinking he had received upon inhabiting this body proved itself incredibly valuable here, his mind receiving far more information than his fleshy human brain could have ever computed at once and instantly making use of it.

Finally, he felt his body escape the confines of gravity, all of his usual tentacles retracted to create a simpler and more balanced shape. He didn't fly out at inconceivable speeds, no, and his floating was no more impressive than what could be done by a good magnet trick or a talented illusionist, there only being about a head's worth of distance between himself and the ground, but it was still a success so far. Taking in the sight with his enhanced senses made him realize a rather embarrassing fact: without any tentacles or being partially embedded in the floor via shadows, his Silhouette look was pretty similar to an arrow pointing down. Not the worst thing to lookalike, but still not great.

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Aesthetic and seriousness aside, he slowly lowered himself back to the ground. Just because this specific configuration of his transformed insides worked didn't mean it was the best one possible. He'd try as many as he felt like to see if he could figure out one that stood above the rest, and then he'd do the same for when he actually began to fly rather than just hover. It wouldn't be the glamorous and breathtaking first flight you'd often characters do in fiction, but those didn't have to micromanage every part of their alien physiology to make it work. Cheaters.

It was how he ended up spending his morning. Float up, hover down. Float up, hover down. Float up, hover down. Float up, move right, move left, move up, move down, move back, move forth. Again. Again. Again.

At least his bizarre mind left him enough brainpower to do something else as he tested out his body and flight. Not much, but enough for him to feel safe messing around with his natural shadows. He had grown overly reliant on magic and the spells it provided, but since he supposedly had every Aspect known to man, there should be a way for him to use them in a way that could mimic spells or something. For instance, the local Villain Sunbrun controlled fire but did so without magic, could he do something similar with darkness? He technically already did somewhat, since he could use his transformed body to somewhat alter natural shadows as though they were part of him until they disconnected, but he wanted more.

The Infused looked on emotionlessly as their leader moved through the air like the car of a worried first-time driver, all the while the natural shadow he projected on the ground thanks to the sunlight wobbled oddly, occasionally a distinct shape like a letter or a number or basic shape forming from the mass for a few seconds before collapsing. Had the Shadow Commando been there they might have begun to place bets or have a bizarre debate, but they were far too busy breaking down the remnants of Runar's runic business back in the slums to come to the city. As James' thoughts wandered the silhouette on the ground briefly took on the appearance of the armed group's armor, thin gaps purposefully formed by the subconscious transformation showing the details of their equipment. He failed to notice it, the apparition disappearing right as his daydreaming ended.

By the time one of the Infused came by to interrupt him, James was confident enough in his practice to feel safe flying casually, though he had no disillusion he could be effective in any kind of aerial combat after only a single session. As for the shadows, he realized he could not only use his shapeshifted body to temporarily manipulate them but could also alter them as though part of him so long as they were visible, though they were far harder to control and far less resilient. Still, figuring out he didn't need to subtly extend himself and just use the natural darkness to restrain someone was quite nice. Perhaps he'd even learn how to affect the natural blackness formed between the skin and clothing, it'd be a great way to end fights before they begin.

The Infused quickly shared telepathically the reason why it bothered him, and James found himself both confused and worried. Someone strange had just appeared knocking at the facility's front door, asking to meet him. Without the safety of Solvent as a body double or of a reputation his interlocutor had to uphold, seeing this uninvited guest was a lot more dangerous than he was comfortable with, doubly so since the ratlings were around. At least they were alone, whereas he had an armed group at his beck and call.

James headed to the entrance, slithering as a shadow on the ground to be faster and to avoid anyone trying to spy on the inner court between the buildings of his propriety. Before long he was standing before the closed door of the shop, and he had to admit what he could sense about the person waiting for him was odd, to say the least. At least they looked unarmed, not that he would drop his guard so easily.

With a thin tentacle, he opened the door and revealed the strange fellow. They were lanky, disturbingly so, to the point James wondered if they were starving or underfed, and despite their hunched posture and bent knees, they were still eye-level with James in his Silhouette form, somewhat taller than the average man. He wasn't sure what was the most eye-catching feature of the individual: their sickly yellowish-green skin, their eighties cool biker teen attire with a black leather jacket included, the massive oily pompadour covered in gel that had to be longer than a forearm, or their disturbing face with an underbite so wide it left parts of their mouth and short pointy teeth exposed. Their eyes were wide yet short, or perhaps they just had a very good half-lidded face. They had nostrils but no nose and their slightly pointed ears diverged from those of the elves and goblins James was used to. Whereas those he knew pointed up or to the sides, those of this person curved to point down, almost looking like they were missing a piece despite the lack of scar tissue.

The disfigured stereotype was checking a handheld mirror and brushing their hair while they waited for James, but as soon as the door opened they put those back in their pockets and turned to him with a toothy grin, uncaring of the way the pose they chose to take on showed the pink flesh of the exposed part of their mouth. When they began to speak, what came out was the perfect fusion of an even greater and sleazier car salesman voice than George Froko's and of a parodical gangster, high but still notably masculine.

"Eh! You're that Silhouette guy, eh? Tchick, spooky as you are this must be the place!"

"And you are?"

"Mark Cooper, but call me Match. I'm da, how would you say? Ah, I'm the guy on the street in these parts, catch my drift? I'm da runner, the everyman, buyer, and seller! Tchick."

James only understood about half of that, but he preferred to keep that to himself.

"And you came to bother me because?"

"Oh, oh, no need to get angry, see? I'm here to welcome you to the neighborhood. And, well, I heard about you needing some local help, so, here I am!"

"Did Froko send you?"

"Oh, nah. Georgie's a goof, his problem ain't mine. But I heard about what happened at Joe's. It ain't every day some Super shows up and throws their weight around. But, see, you talked it out. Last time someone went to a bar for that kind of mess, well, I lost some buddies. So, here I'm thinking, 'Match, would you rather have another insane tree hugger or weird wizard, or a guy who just wants to make money?' So here I am, making sure you're settling well."

"You want me to stay to keep others away."

"Eh eh yeah! See, you catch my drift! Tchick, it already ain't easy making business whenever the Angels come to town, I don't need Super messes to make things worse. So, here's the deal: I tell you about what happens on the street, you let me and my friends hang around. No messing with each other's business, everyone wins, eh?"

"So long as you only knock at my door for important news."

"Great! I knew someone who understood money would get it. Hey, here's a freebie: some dude's coming over to see ya. No idea who they are though, ain't see them around. Creepy-looking, with a funny little hat."

"Oh, would you be talking about me, dear? It's quite rude to talk about people when they are here."

Both the wannabe gangster and James looked in shock at the figure draped in black ornate robes standing next to them, even James' inhuman senses failing to catch their presence before they spoke out from behind their pale avian mask that instantly reminded the former Earthling of a plague doctor.

Match chuckled awkwardly as he took a few steps back before outright turning and running away, his long legs proving quite useful for a large and rapid gait that saw him out of sight in seconds. The chuckle that escaped the new uninvited guest was born out of genuine amusement for its part, with the person even holding up a black-gloved hand to their chin, the knuckle of the index as close to the mouth as possible with the massive beak in the way.

"Ah, the enthusiasm of the youths. Now, I'm sorry to come by unannounced dear, but would you mind having a quick chat? Inside, preferably. There are things we both wish to keep quiet we must discuss."

Deep down, James sighed, already missing the boring training of the morning.