Denir inspected Laudis, cautious not to blow his cover. He was opening the youth's eyes and looking at them with a magnifying glass. The man lit a match. Its smell reminded him of his workplace, a cafe. Lately, more and more people had been having candles on their birthday cakes. Moodeen looked at them with pity. People preferred to bring foreign customs, rather than practice their own. Despite his hatred towards the current government, he'd describe himself as a patriot. He didn't experience the previous monarchical rule, yet he was well aware of it. He didn't see it as an ideal solution, but it was better than the current liberalism. Unlike the rest, he didn't describe the current ruling as an oligarchy. It didn't reflect the truth. The man slowly moved the lit wooden piece closer to him and observed his pupils' reaction to light.
'Despite the same colour, size, and their whole appearance, his eye is different from a vampires'. Those creatures tend to maintain the same pupil size regardless of illumination. Notably, his eye doesn't reek of blood. It's somehow connected to mana, perhaps a technique used unconsciously. My dream of experimenting on him has fallen apart' thought Denir, saddened.
"How is it?" wondered Dantenium, observing his every move. The crimson-haired man sensed a strange aura around him; thus, he was suspicious about the supposed healer.
"It isn't an illness or vampire's eye. It's a technique, probably used without the user's knowledge. It's hard for me to tell how it deactivates or what it precisely does. I've never seen this type of technique before. Most of them manipulate whole bodies. I don't recall anyone altering something smaller than an arm. If you don't mind, can you undress, Laudis?" he replied, searching in his suitcase.
"How did you know my name? I don't recall telling it to you," the boy responded.
"That guy got an appointment for you, and he had given me your name and address."
"Oh, I see..."
"So, can you undress, or not?"
"Right, can you leave the room, please?" said Laudis, looking at the Crusaders.
"Yeah, it's not like I didn't see you without your shirt..." murmured Solisia, leaving the living room.
"If anything happens, say the phrase, 'Do you want something to drink, sir?'. I'll intervene," whispered Dante, covering his mouth.
"I understand."
They left him, closing the door. Laudis undressed and stood in front of him shirtless. Moodeen picked a jar filled with some herbs. As far as he was concerned, he distinguished it as a tea. He chose a few leaves and placed them on its lid. Then, he poured olive oil, making a deep green liquid. The man stood up and marked an X on his forehead. He placed his hand on it, releasing a small amount of his mana.
'It's good that I work in a cafe. At least, I know what tea looks like. I've never done it before, but it's the least I can do here. I have to mix his mana with mine... I guess I did it. Just like he has told me, I need to imagine the cause... I see something... A shadow, I have to focus more... A silhouette of someone... What are those? Wings? That's a vampire? How? Why the hell do I see them? I examined many of their eyes. He's not a half-blood; they have two eyes, identical to a full-blood's. A quarter-blood? Is it even possible? I know that their fertility drops significantly after mixing with other races. Half-blood vampires can't have children... I previously joked that he might be a quarter-blood, but for real? To hell with it! Damn, for the first time, I don't know if my subject is a vampire or not,' he thought bitterly.
"Is everything good?" the kid wondered, looking at his unpleased face.
"Not exactly. Tell me, do you know your parents?"
"Sadly, I do not know them..."
"That's sad to hear. Tell me, do you hate sunlight or have an urge to eat, I don't know, human flesh?" the man continued, trying to get the most information about him.
"No, I don't exactly hate the sunlight. I can walk in it freely. About the flesh, I don't want to eat it. However, if there were a situation where I'd starve to death or eat it, I'd eat it," the youth replied, feeling awkward.
"Mhm. That's odd, but somehow normal. You don't seem to be a half-vampire. You can be a quarter-blood, but it's impossible, or so I thought."
"Why is that?"
"Vampires have fertility higher than a normal human. Half-vampires have infertile, or so the statistics tell us. I've never seen a half-blood with a partner; they mostly die alone, surrounded by racism. Their current ruler, Sangiusius, despises them a lot. To the point where he favours human slaves more than them. In conclusion, you're most likely using a technique without knowing it."
"Okay..."
"Can you show me your hand? It can be a part of your problem," stated Denir, curious.
"No, I'd rather not."
"Don't neglect me, I am the healer, after all," he continued, grabbing his hand.
"Do you want something to drink, sir?" asked Laudis loudly.
'Shit, he set me up! Quick, I have to see it before I leave!'
Moodeen quickly drew a scalpel from his pocket, losing a wig. He cut through the bandages, revealing the symbol. The man knew it well. Suddenly, Dante opened the door and saw him. The butcher was squeezing the youth's forearm. Blood ran down his wrist because of the imprecise slash.
"Why the hell were you impersonating?! Wait, I know you. You're the confectioner from that cafe! What are you doing here?"
"I guess my cover was blown. It was good while it lasted. Farewell, fools!" he stated, throwing glasses at the crimson-haired man. A psychotic smile drew over his face. They looked at him, shocked.
"Flare Blast invoca—"
"The Darkest Cloak invocare," the butcher whispered, and his smile faded away.
He disappeared in an instant, leaving them confused. A smell of burned wood filled the area. The Crusaders came up to Laudis.
"What has he done to you?" asked Gladius, observing him.
"Nothing crazy, he just tried to see my mark. I've declined his wish to see my hand, so he saw it forcefully."
"I see..."
The door opened, leaving a small crack. The Crusaders didn't notice it. Quiet footsteps echoed through the halls. The receptionist tried to close the door, but he couldn't. Almost like an invisible object was blocking it. The worker tried again, successfully; thus, he didn't think much about it. People were bumping into something as well, but they also quickly forgot about it. The seller looked behind for a moment, and in that moment, his clothing was missing.
"Hey! Who the hell has touched my clothing?! Huh?!" he shouted, but with no response.
'I hate it, I really hate it. The sole spell that rescues me shortens my damn life. I guess nobody is watching now.'
Phoo — Moodeen exhaled the air and started breathing again. He went to the barrel with the real healer and dressed him in clothes he had stolen from a nearby stand. Denir walked to a tavern, supporting Madeen's numb body. Bystanders only smiled at them, thinking they were coming back from drinking.
"When he wakes up, tell him that he drank too much," the butcher stated, giving the bartender a few golds.
"I understand," the man replied, grabbing swiftly the coins.
'I kept it under two minutes, so my heartbeat didn't slow down. Still, my sleep will be screwed again. Great... Ever since I've learnt this technique, I've been damaging my health. As long as I hold my breath, I'm invisible, and my presence is erased with time. I've tested it. For the first two minutes, it doesn't hurt me, besides the poor sleep. After those two minutes, my heartbeat slows down. I didn't experiment with times longer than four minutes. My heartbeat is already slowing down significantly. I hate my dominant element. Why the hell do I have the Shadow? I know the possible cause, but still. I could have inherited the Fire from my father or the Air from my mother...' he thought, walking to his house. After a while, he stood before it. It was a typical flat, located about two kilometers from the city centre. The house was modest and pretty much empty. He took off his clothes and lay in his bed. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted away. He fell asleep. The man was dreaming about the cause, the cause of his Shadow element dominance. The butcher had to face his past once again...
It was an evening, and the sun was hiding behind the horizon. Eight-year-old Denir entered the house. His drunk ass father slept on a couch in the living room. The youth went to the kitchen.
"Look, Mum, I've made eleven golds today," the kid proclaimed with happiness.
"That's great, but remember, money isn't the most valuable thing; your family and friends are."
"I know, I know."
"Now, eat up," she said, handing him a plate. There was one chicken leg with two slices of bread.
"How about you, mum?"
"I've already eaten," the woman replied with a smile.
He went to his room to eat it. The room was pretty much empty besides the bedsheet, the pillow, the candle, and the notebook with a pencil. The boy quickly ate the meal and came back to return the plate. He was leaving the kitchen when he heard shouting.
"Bitch, where the hell is my chicken?!" the drunk argued. His eyes filled with anger and disgust.
"I've eaten it..."
Slap! — the sound echoed through the entire floor. The kid glanced at the living room. His mother was lying, bleeding from her cheek. It wasn't a new sight to him. After his father was fired from his previous job, his mother started working as a tailor. The man accused her of being the reason why he was kicked out. In reality, he was caught stealing. After that, he started drinking and beating her up. She would always cover her son. Denir told his mother to leave together, but she insisted it was temporary and he shouldn't worry much about her. He felt a heartache every time it happened. That day was different. Something snapped in that man; his eyes filled with rage. He started strangling her. The woman grasped for the air. The youth was deeply frightened by the situation. His father was a heavy brute. How could he beat him? The kid noticed something. The object reflected the moonlight. It was the knife, covered in chicken grease. He hesitated for a moment. Suddenly, he felt something. An invisible force pushed him to the blade. The half-conscious boy rushed to the living room. Thuck — he pierced his own father's neck. He looked to the side to see his neck penetrated by the steel utensil.
"You dirty son of a bitch—" the drunk shouted, reaching for him.
The boy dodged his grap and withdrew the knife. Blood started pouring down, staining the carpet. The mother, speechless and shocked, looked at the sight. The father was dying in agony, yet he didn't feel remorse or sorrow. He didn't find his actions unjustified. The man gave up the ghost after four minutes. The woman, terrified, grabbed her husband's hand. Denir glanced at his bloody hands, puking after seeing them. A knocking came from the door. No one answered. The policemen let themselves in; they were terrified by the image.
"What the hell happened?!" the policeman asked, looking around the room.
"I've killed my husband. He was threatening my son. He has picked the knife I threw," the woman replied.
"I see... Therefore, I arrest you for murder. Your son will be taken to a care centre. You have a right to remain silent," he proclaimed, putting handcuffs on her.
"Wait! It was me, I've killed my father. Leave her, take me!" argued Denir in tears.
"You shouldn't lie, kid."
"But it's the truth—"
"Don't worry, she won't be sentenced long. After all, she was defending you, wasn't she?" he replied, patting his head...
Argh! — shouted Moodeen, waking up. It was the middle of the night. His breathing was heavy and irregular.
'The same, damn nightmare... She wasn't sentenced long. After all, she committed suicide after a week in prison, or so I've been told. My first victim was my father; most would break after that, but not me. I am different from the mob. For me, it was the awakening, the awakening of my emotionless murders. The following ones were committed with no remorse, just like I wanted. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be in the place I'm currently in. I'm actually thankful to him. Ever since that day, I've become greater and better. Sloth will strike soon, ending my experiments. Omar, you will see my last dance,' he thought, with a psychopathic smile.