Morning broke over the camp in a slow, mist-wrapped hush. Dew clung to the tall grass and pooled on canvas seams, while birdsong warbled faintly beyond the treeline. A steady breeze rolled off the river and rustled through the clearing, brushing through tents and ash-cooled embers.
The group was already awake.
Durge crouched near the fire pit, tightening the buckles on her pants without a word, her expression unreadable as usual. Lae'zel was methodically checking each weapon at her side—blade, backup blade, side dagger, then back to blade.
Shadowheart emerged next, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she adjusted her gear. The usual mask of calm wariness rested on her face, but it looked thinner today—maybe from sleep, maybe from something else.
The four of them—Fin, Lae'zel, Durge, and Shadowheart—would form the travelling party today.
Astarion, lounging beside the river's edge, waved them off lazily when asked if he was coming.
"Do be careful," he said, stretching like a cat. "If any of you die, I will rummage through your belongings. Just so we're clear."
Fin hadn't argued. He merely gave a nod. They could handle themselves without him.
For now, the party was four.
…
Earlier, inside his tent, Fin sat cross-legged on his bedroll, a soft exhale slipping past his lips as he looked down at the object in his hands.
A pair of scissors.
They glinted in the dim light, dulled only by the age-worn grip.
His fingers twitched slightly as he turned them over.
His black hair spilled around his shoulders in thick, wavy tresses—longer now than it had ever been. 2 decades of uncut growth left it almost down to his knees, strands falling into his face even with a tie. It felt heavy. Not in a symbolic way.
In a literal, annoying, this-will-get-you-killed-in-a-fight way.
He stared at the scissors again, lost in thought.
Helga used to cut it for him when he was young.
He could still remember the feel of her fingers through his hair, the way she'd hum under her breath, something tuneless. As rough a woman she was, she was always so delicate. Her hands were firm, efficient, and safe. She used to tell him he looked sharper with it short.
He hadn't really cared back then.
He sorta did now.
But he also didn't want to deal with the upkeep of untamed waves every morning, didn't want it clinging to sweat during a fight, didn't want blood getting matted in it again like it had back in the Academy crypt…
Ali blinked into view just behind him, her soft projection flickering to life like a sigh.
"You know," she said gently, "it looks kind of cool like this."
Fin snorted. "Sounds like a pain in the ass to clean."
Ali gave a small smile. "I mean, yeah. But it has vibe. Makes you look older."
Fin rolled the scissors between his fingers.
"I don't care how it looks," he muttered. "I care if it gets me killed."
Ali raised an eyebrow. "You think it'll do that?"
He stared at the tent wall. "Long hair's like a cape. Looks great. Feels dramatic. But then you're bleeding out because someone grabbed it in the middle of a swing."
Ali blinked. "...No capes?"
Fin nodded. "No capes."
He let the scissors fall from his hand. They hit the floor with a soft clink, sliding against the tent fabric before coming to a rest.
"I'll find someone to do it later, though, in the meantime..."
He lifted his right hand into the air and summoned the screen. The menu shifted. Text rearranged itself as glowing symbols spun into a circular formation.
[PATH OF THE JUJUTSU SORCERER – 1 ROLL: 250 PP]
Do you wish to proceed?
Fin tapped the confirmation without pause.
The symbols locked into place. For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then—
POOF.
A heavyweight landed in his hands.
He blinked, glancing down.
[You have rolled - Mei Mei's Battle Axe - Uncommon]
A thick, brown-handled battle axe now rested across his palms. The blade curved with small symbols etched across its single-headed edge. I was quite large, a little shorter than his body—but the balance was tight, the craftsmanship impeccable.
He hefted it once. It had weight, but not enough to slow him. Fin's fingers tightened around the grip for a second.
"…Not bad," he muttered.
Ali whistled low, floating just to the side. "Well. That's certainly… brutal."
Fin didn't respond. With a flick of his wrist, the axe vanished in a shimmer of blue particles—stored in his inventory for later.
The System's glow hovered silently in front of him, still open.
"Alright," Fin said, swiping across the screen. "Let's see where we're at."
He brought up his Skills tab, the familiar interface sliding into view.
Rows of clean text appeared. It was comforting in its way—order, logic, something he could control.
[CURRENT SKILLS][1]
Basic Cold Resistance
Basic Forging
Enhanced Smell
Faith Connor's Parkour Skills
Fast Reading
Flash-Step
Igni
Jason Bourne's Kali Mastery
Novice Swordplay
Rock Lee's Endurance
Sanji's Observation Haki
Shrine (Cursed Technique)
...
Fin's eyes flicked over the list.
His gaze lingered at the top of the screen where a soft gold icon pulsed quietly beside the words:
Skill Upgrade Token Available: 1
He stared at it.
For a long moment, he didn't move. Just let the firelight from outside the tent flicker faintly against the System glow, his expression unreadable.
A skill upgrade.
The last time he'd used one, Soru had morphed into Flash-Step. It had become… different. More universal. Not tied to a single universe anymore. Still sharp, still useful—but a little less flavorful.
Now, looking at this list, Fin wasn't even sure what some of these would do if upgraded. Some of them were already potent.
He didn't regret it.
But he hadn't forgotten either.
His eyes flicked down the list again, this time narrowing his focus.
Observation Haki. Fin felt he'd honed this skill well enough. It was Sanji's version— so he could feel the emotions of others, had improved senses, track intent, and dodge things that were out of his view. There was more to pull from it, no doubt. Maybe if he upgraded it, he'd get to a level where he could see a few seconds into the future. Precognition. Danger foresight. That kind of thing was tempting.
But…
Would it stay Sanji's? It couldn't stay that way if it were the Advanced version. Sanji had never reached that level. Does that then mean it could change into armament or something?
Fin didn't want to find out. Not yet.
And he tapped Shrine.
The screen pulsed once—soft and steady—then returned to its neutral hue.
Fin's eyes flicked up to the notification.
[Shrine – Upgraded]
Passive Enhancements Unlocked:
+10% Efficiency to Dismantle
+5% Efficiency to Cleave
New Ability Unlocked: Divine Flame
Dismantle Efficiency is now at 35%
Cleave Efficiency is now at 5%
His brow twitched.
"Divine Flame…"
It wasn't Sukuna's exact one. It was unrefined, if you can call it that
Which, for now, was perfect.
Fin remembered vaguely, Sukuna had chosen to limit its ability via a binding vow on groups of enemies; in return, it improved its single-target damage via increased attack range and power.
Fin wasn't ready to make that deal. Not yet. Maybe eventually, but not now. He dismissed the glowing menu with a flick of his fingers, the screen dissolving into harmless sparks that faded into the morning haze bleeding through the canvas.
Ali hovered just over his shoulder, arms folded, braid flicking behind her.
"You look smug," she said, floating down to eye level. "Almost... satisfied. Which is rare."
Fin rolled his shoulders, loosening the last tension from the upgrade.
"I am satisfied," he said quietly. "For now."
"You unlocked Divine Flame." She tilted her head. "But no binding vow?"
He gave a faint smile. "Too early. I want to know what it's capable of first, as-is. And from what I remember, there aren't many situations in the story where I'm fighting one-on-one anyway."
Ali arched an eyebrow. "I thought you liked risk."
"What I like is control."
That answer made her pause.
He stood up, brushing dust from his loose pants and reaching for the white haori in his inventory, which was conveniently cleaned, which then materialised on his body, and he then fastened the sash and slipped the shoes on. His hair still hung long around his shoulders, a river of black waves. He didn't seem to care anymore.
Ali hovered closer again.
"Shrine's stronger now. But you're thinking about something else."
Fin didn't deny it.
"The Reverse Cursed Technique," he said simply.
Ali blinked. "Still on that?"
"It's the last piece I need," he said. "Everything else—the weapons, the footwork, the energy—it's good. I can fight. I can kill. But I feel like a glass cannon, and if I go down, there's no one left to patch me back up. Not reliably."
"You don't trust your party?"
"They're fine, in a fight," Fin said. "But that's not the same as depending on them."
He stepped around her, tightening his belt and grabbing a small cloth wrap from the floor.
"I trained for it before," he continued. "Back during the years underground. Tried to generate cursed energy in reverse. Got close. Real close. I've been stuck learning it since the System never offered it. That made it clear."
Ali crossed her arms, watching him.
"You want to get there without its help."
"Exactly."
"It's dangerous."
Fin turned, meeting her eyes.
"So was everything else."
Fin then rolled his shoulders again. Grounded. He felt like he was getting somewhere.
Ali didn't speak for a moment. Then, finally, her voice came again—quieter this time.
"...Are you doing all this to keep fighting?"
Fin turned his head slightly, gaze distant.
She floated closer, her voice gentler now. "Or are you doing it because part of you still thinks you'll always be alone?"
He gave her a sideways glance.
"Don't worry about it."
Ali frowned. "That's not an answer."
Fin stepped past her and pulled open the tent flap. Cool wind brushed against his face as sunlight streaked through the trees beyond.
"No," he said.
"But it's the one I'm giving you."
And with that, he stepped out into the camp.
The others were already waiting.
...
"We are wasting time," Lae'zel snapped, not for the first time. "We must locate the teeth-ling Zorru and extract the location of the creche. Every moment we delay, the tadpole festers."
Shadowheart sighed through her nose. "And perhaps while we're at it, we can shove him into a wall and see if that speeds up the process."
Lae'zel stopped, turning with practised menace.
"He knows where the creche is. He encountered my kin. He will answer."
"Or he'll run screaming," Shadowheart shot back, crossing her arms. "We were told there's a druid healer in the inner sanctum. Someone who might actually help remove the parasite. But sure, let's terrorise a refugee instead."
"I don't recall asking for your faith magic solutions, k'chakhi," Lae'zel snarled.
Shadowheart stepped forward. "And I don't recall a scalpel with legs being the leader."
Durge let out a long, theatrical sigh behind them. "Gods, this again."
Fin held up a hand.
"Alright," he said calmly, glancing between them. "Enough."
Lae'zel scowled but didn't interrupt. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow.
"We're splitting up," he said, "we're doing it to save time."
Lae'zel blinked. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Fin continued, "you and Durge go find Zorru. Shake him down, seduce him, threaten his goat—I don't care. Just get your info."
Durge's lips twitched upward. "I do like threatening goats."
"And me?" Shadowheart asked.
"You're with me," Fin said, turning to her. "We'll find the healer. See if they're the real deal or not"
Lae'zel looked like she wanted to protest, but Fin met her gaze directly.
"You want to find your creche. I get it. This is the fastest way. Two leads. Two teams."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Fine," she said at last. "But if the teeth-ling lies, I will break something."
"Preferably not his spine," Fin replied. "But I won't stop you."
Durge was already turning, a lazy grin on her face. "Come along, knife-ears. Let's go find your precious intel."
Lae'zel didn't acknowledge her—she simply strode ahead, blade glinting faintly in the morning light.
Shadowheart gave Fin a side glance. "You're very calm for someone letting the violent ones wander off together."
Fin shrugged. "I trust them."
"Really?"
"No. But I can't be asked to hear her whining."
Shadowheart gave a quiet, amused snort.
"Let's go," Fin said.
And they split.
...
They walked side by side now, and for a while, neither spoke.
Then, without looking at him, Shadowheart asked, "Do you follow a particular faith, Fin? "
Fin's eyes flicked toward her, then back to the path.
He knew exactly what this was.
In the game, it came at just about this point when she started to soften. When the approval level ticked high enough, she began testing the waters. Measuring character. Feeling out judgment.
He didn't mind playing along.
"No," he said, simply. "Never was."
Shadowheart gave a quiet hum but said nothing.
"I always saw faith as… a distraction," Fin continued after a pause. "A way to outsource responsibility. Or pretend the world had answers it never really gave."
That got her attention.
She turned slightly, brows tightening.
"That's… not exactly the answer I was hoping for."
Fin smirked faintly, as if he'd been expecting the response.
"But," he added, "I've never thought that gave me the right to judge someone who does believe. If faith gives you strength, purpose—something to cling to when everything else burns—I think that's something worth respecting."
He looked at her now, properly, his tone even.
"I'd never mock someone's god. Or question their reasons for following them. That's not my place."
For a moment, there was only birdsong and the sound of their footsteps on the mossy stone.
Then Shadowheart's lips curled slightly—subtle, but sincere.
"That's… good to hear," she said softly. "I was starting to wonder if I'd misjudged you."
Fin raised an eyebrow. "You do that often?"
"Only when it matters."
She smiled again, just a touch more openly this time.
"I think I've done well," she said, her voice warmer now. "It's nice, travelling with someone who doesn't flinch at a little mystery. Most favourable company"
Fin shrugged. "It's not the mystery that would affect me."
"Oh?"
"It's what happens when people stop trying to understand each other."
Shadowheart tilted her head, studying him for a beat longer before facing forward again.
"You really are full of surprises."
"Hopefully the good kind."
"We'll see," she said with a smirk.
They continued on in silence, the conversation lingering in the air like incense.
And though she didn't say the name, Fin knew it.
Shar.
The Lady of Loss.
She was circling toward it, cautiously.
He didn't push. He'd let her speak the name when she was ready.
"Look," she said, nodding toward a nearby clearing. "That swordsman from the gate is up ahead."
Fin followed her gaze.
Wyll stood not far off, framed by the swaying shadows of tall trees. He wasn't alone. A group of young tiefling children surrounded him, their makeshift wooden blades clacking against each other as they trained clumsily. Wyll watched over them with a patient, guiding eye, rapier in hand, not drawn for battle, but instruction.
Fin exhaled slowly, already sensing the shift. A topic left behind. Another one offered. He let it slide.
They approached without a word.
"Come on!" Wyll called, grinning as a boy lunged at him with all the force his tiny arms could muster.
Wyll parried easily with the flat of his blade, redirecting the blow. "Not bad. Again."
The boy—Umi, by the sound of the others cheering—snatched up his wooden sword from the dirt and swung again. This time, Wyll sidestepped and gave the kid a light tap between the shoulder blades, sending him stumbling forward with a surprised yelp.
"I can't do it," Umi groaned, dropping the sword. "I'm not like you."
Wyll knelt, placing a steady hand on the boy's shoulder.
"You don't need to be like me, Umi. You just need to last long enough to escape. That's all it takes to be a hero. Not style. Not strength. Just the courage to hold your ground."
The kid looked up at him with wide eyes, nodding slowly. Determination, fragile but growing, began to take root.
Fin stepped forward.
"Mind if we interrupt?"
Wyll glanced up, then stood smoothly, brushing dirt from his knee. "Not at all."
He gave Umi a small pat on the back. "Keep practising. You've got this."
The boy scampered off, sword in hand, already swinging wildly at the air again.
Wyll turned toward Fin and Shadowheart, flashing a roguish smile.
"Well met, stranger," he said. "The Blade of Frontiers is—"
His voice caught. Eyes widened.
Fin felt it too.
A pulse. A twitch behind the eyes. The tadpole stirred, seizing on the proximity between hosts.
Their minds touched for the briefest moment.
And in that moment, Fin saw fire.
Avernus.
Endless flame and blackened stone. Screams in the distance. A flash of movement—red skin, one horn, and a greataxe bigger than any mortal should carry.
Wyll staggered slightly, rubbing his temple.
"Hells' great fires…" he muttered. "You were on the ship."
Fin nodded once, quietly. "Yeah. Me and a few others. We've all got the same problem now."
Wyll grimaced. "I saw… glimpses. A camp. Maybe your memories. But there was something else I couldn't make out."
Fin's brow lifted slightly, but his tone stayed casual. "Same. I saw a woman."
Wyll's expression darkened. His stance straightened.
"You saw her, then, Advocatus diaboli. Karlach, an archdevil's soldier. She escaped Avernus and came here aboard the Nautiloid. I was tracking her when the mind flayers caught and infected me."
Fin didn't comment. He knew the name. Knew the truth. But Wyll wasn't ready for that part yet.
Wyll continued. "She's dangerous. If we don't stop her, she'll leave nothing but scorched earth in her wake."
Fin gave a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe. For now, we've got a more immediate problem."
Wyll tilted his head. "Oh?"
"There's a healer here," Fin said. "Name's Nettie. She knows something about these parasites. We're heading to her now."
Wyll's tension eased slightly, though the fire in his eyes didn't fade.
"Nettie," he echoed. "That might be the lead I've been waiting for."
Fin extended a hand loosely. "Fin. And this is Shadowheart."
Wyll nodded, offering a respectful bow.
"Wyll. Good to meet you both. Let's hope this healer lives up to the rumours."
Fin nodded once. "Let's find out."
...
[End of Chapter]
[1] I think I got everything??