"…and then I smashed the beast right in the head, I did. It didn't stand a chance."
A thickly bearded man gave a rough laugh as he slapped the table in front of him, the impact making the mugs rattle. The others seated around him erupted into raucous laughter, their voices carrying through the guild-funded bar.
At a nearby table, Silas sat apart, eyes fixed on the amber glow of the lamps overhead. He half-hoped their warmth would drown out the noise around him.
"Silas? Silas? SILAS!"
His peace did not last. A thin, bright-eyed youth leaned across the table and patted his arm.
Silas blinked, pulled from his reverie.
"Silas, did you hear what I said? A new round of elections is beginning in New Breton." The young man, Leone, with his shock of blonde hair and unrelenting smile, looked pleased to finally have Silas' attention.
'The elections…?' Silas chewed on the thought. Months had already slipped by since he arrived in New Breton, abandoning his past and weaving himself into this city-state built atop the bones of a land he once called home.
"What does it matter to us, Leone?" he replied with a shrug.
"Typically it wouldn't," Leone admitted with a shrug. "After all, those pompous vampires couldn't lay a finger on us Evolvers even if they had the guts." He chuckled and wagged a finger. "But who would have thought the major conglomerates would throw their weight behind old Davis? That pudgy prick's made his attitude toward us 'monsters' pretty clear."
Silas gave a small nod. He had heard of Davis. After all, much of his hard-earned contribution points went into gathering information: dossiers on the past, notes on the current state of New Breton, and records of the rabid animals spreading across the land. Davis' name was hard to miss.
A staunch member of the anti-Evolver faction, Davis argued that humanity ought to cling to technology rather than the unpredictable strength of the few. That might would have been tolerable. Except Silas knew the man's speeches often strayed into extremes, branding Evolvers as little more than abominations.
'Alas. Is it so difficult to have a stable life these days?' Silas bit back a sigh. 'I just want to get to the bottom of this whole thing…'
Frustration welled within him. He had managed a glimpse at a conspiracy. One that threatened not only the ground beneath his feet, but might very well extend to the stars above.
From what he had uncovered, humanity could never have engineered such a potent virus on its own. Since the Rapture, true innovation had ground to a halt. Schools were gone, and invention was a rarity.
Basic comforts remained: lamps, heating, crude machines. But advanced technology—smartphones, computers, anything from the Old Era—was confined to the ruins of ancient cities. Those cities were dangerous husks, prowled only by desperadoes desperate for scraps, whilst the Evolvers dismissed them and busied themselves with the guild.
Silas' gaze shifted back to Leone, thoughtful. 'I need more contributions as soon as possible. This city could burn for all I care, so long as the guild keeps feeding me information.'
"Do you have any more of those… special tasks on hand?" Silas asked.
Leone tilted his head, studying him for a moment. Their paths had first crossed during a guild-issued collaboration, when a horde of maddened wolves had come charging at New Breton.
Since then, Silas had learned Leone kept unusual company, connections to parliament politicians, despite his disdain for their games.
The blonde man's deep blue eyes widened slightly. Then he barked a laugh. "Damn me, Silas—since when did you become so enthusiastic about these?"
"Just answer the question." Silas shook his head, grabbing the glass of beer before him.
He knew better than to fall for the young man's feigned naivety. Leone, had a wisdom and scheming that belied his age. After all, why else would Silas deign to work with him?
Mindlessly, Silas idled the glass, swishing the golden ichor inside it as he stared inquisitively at the elusive figure opposite him.
"Cough! Well, if you insist…" Leone spread his arms in mock resignation, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
For a moment, the air between them seemed to still. Leone's eyes locked onto Silas'.
Then as if drawn by some force, Leone's gaze lured to the swirling liquid in Silas' hand.
Shaking his head, he refocused his gaze back onto Silas and leaned forward.
"There is one task I have for you."
By evening, Silas found himself leaning against a brick wall in a narrow alleyway, just beside the most famous restaurant in the city-state.
The establishment was a gaudy display of excess, gold traced the edges of its tall windows, as warm amber light poured out, casting deep shadows onto the cobblestone street. Inside, laughter and the clink of glasses collided with the scents of roasted meats and spiced wine.
Silas' gaze lingered on the spectacle, his mind racing through the task ahead.
'Damn… killing the most popular candidate for Prime Minister.' He shook his head, muttering under his breath. 'And that bastard still claims he's just some ordinary businessman's son.'
The connection between him and Leone was complex. Leone had first tried to recruit Silas, seeing the potential in a powerful, independent Evolver. When that failed, he had adapted, recognizing Silas' obsession with knowledge, he began feeding him information in exchange for tasks far less savoury than most would dare accept
A sudden CLANG! from the restaurant door shattered his contemplation. Silas looked up.
The door had swung wide, spilling more golden light into the street, and out stumbled a portly, middle-aged man. It was none other than his target. Davis' gait was unsteady, lips curling in a drunken grin as he waved dismissively at a few passing waiters.
The man made his way to a car waiting at the curb: a sleek Mercedes, the likes of which Silas had only seen flicker across TV in a time that felt so far gone.
The vehicle's dark surface gleamed under the streetlights, but Silas observed the flaws that accompanied it. Cracks in the lacquer, scratches along the fender, and worn tires. This was a car only propped up by inordinate maintenance and wealth.
Silas watched as the car started and drove off, amber lights receding into the city night. He let his gaze linger a moment longer, then using his illusion, he blended seamlessly with the dim alleyways of New Breton.
Skulking through the city, Silas trailed the Mercedes as it weaved through dimly lit streets before finally stopping at a large manor.
The estate loomed like ahead, its wrought-iron gates closed and flanked by stone pillars that disappeared into the night. Two security guards stood like statues at the entrance.
Davis' pudgy figure stumbled from the car, waving and nodding at one of the guards before being admitted inside.
Silas wasted no time. Approaching the outer wall, he coiled his legs, lowering himself into a crouch.
Whoosh!
Like a loaded spring, he launched over the barrier and slammed into the gravel on the other side. The guards didn't flinch, as if the sound had never existed. Silas allowed himself a subtle nod of satisfaction at this and once again melted into the shadows, following Davis' retreating silhouette.
The manor itself was deathly silent. No footsteps echoed through its halls; the staff had long since departed for the day. The corridors twisted and wound like the spine of some great beast as Silas crept forward.
Soon they entered a study. One lined with towering bookshelves that seemed to lean inward, suffocating in their size. Dust motes floated in the amber glow of wall sconces, settling atop a mahogany desk at the room's center. The surface was littered with documents, ledgers, and yellowed papers.
Silas' eyes glinted with a mixture of hunger and focus. Killing Davis was the goal, yes, but he would not leave empty-handed. This trove of information, combined with what Leone had offered, could lift the thin fog clouding his mind. It could reveal the truths he craved: the virus, the Rapture, the fragile threads holding this shattered world together.
As for what he would with all this information?
Well, that was for the future him to decide.
Click!
The sharp snap of his fingers shattered the silence. Davis jerked upright, his stubby legs swivelling as he searched the shadows.
"Who?!" He barked
But there was nothing.
However, it was not long before the drunken man's caution melted as his eyes dulled. Silas' voice cut quietly into his ears:
"The stairs at the end of the corridor. Go. Throw yourself off them."
"Yes, sir!" Davis saluted, obedience overriding thought, and marched out without a second glance.
Silas shook his head, watching the disappearing figure.
When did I get so good at taking lives…? he muttered, a wry note in his voice. Then again, it's not exactly something I'll regret.
He turned his attention to the desk.
Thud!
The sound echoed down the empty hallway as a small white light shot into Silas.
Even so, it did nothing to dampen the sheer thrill coursing through him. His fingers itched to sift through the documents, to map out secrets long buried.
Shffft.
Silas flipped through the brittle pages, the faint smell of dust and old ink clinging to his fingers. With each turn of the page, each jagged entry he read, he learned. He knew. He saw.
17th July 139 A.R.
They have made contact once again. Their demands have changed, something about a virus. Regardless, the new shipment of medicine and technology has arrived. With this, perhaps we will no longer need Evolvers in the decades to come.
Whrrf.
Another page turned, edges frayed from time.
23rd February 146 A.R.
Parliament has received reports of strange behaviour among animals outside the city-state: increased aggression, cannibalism, reduced lifespans.
Does this have something to do with that virus?
What is their aim?
8th September 149 A.R.
Another war with Frankum. Damn these bastards. All they want is never-ending conflict to fatten their coffers. Worst of all, they throw me scraps! Damn it! Damn those Evolvers too. They're just our dogs, why must we share anything with them?
Skritch…
The tip of Silas' thumb dragged along the parchment as he kept reading.
14th August 157 A.R.
We have encountered a new city-state, calling itself Theolia. How did it appear out of nowhere? And their pope…
Is she truly a mere Evolver?
29th March 160 A.R.
Finally! I've secured the support of those vampires. This election… I may at last succeed. I just need to help spread that virus. Perhaps I can use those low-life scavengers? As long as I send them to die, surely those beasts would follow their trail and follow. As long as the beasts any of those that have been infected, it won't be long before I succeed!
Whrrf.
The final pages trembled under Silas' touch. The handwriting here was sharper, almost feverish.
2nd May 160 A.R.
I used the serum for the first time today. God above, I feel alive—young. My joints no longer ache; a vigour burns in my veins like a second heartbeat. I looked into the mirror today and saw the fine wrinkles that had haunted me for a decade fade like smoke. My hands are steady again. My mind is clear.
No wonder we deal with them. Whatever conspiracy coils behind their gifts, as long as we have this serum, we can endure—we can see it through.
Placing the scripts down, Silas looked over the other papers scattered across the desk.
'Election Campaign Plans.'
'Evolver Registration Act.'
'Aberrant Species Details.'
A sigh escaped his lips, not of exhaustion. No, Silas' eyes burned brighter than ever before.
Serums? Something that could reverse aging?
"That would explain Davis' appearance," Silas muttered, rapping a knuckle against the desk. "From prior information, the fella should be at least sixty. Yet, the pudgy ball looked not a day over thirty…"
"And then…" Silas leaned back in his chair. "Them?"
Who was them? The politicians mentioned by Davis in his diary. Why strike a deal with these bureaucrats?
He could feel it, the invisible wall blocking the truth was beginning to crumble.
"Lord Davis?!" A voice cut through the night.
Following the shout came the shuffling of footsteps. Not one. Not two. But many. Dozens, even.
"Damnit! Lord Leone was right. Men, search the manor!"
Even through the cacophony of shouts and stomping, Silas heard Leone's name being mentioned.
"Oh, Leone." Silas shook his head. "Why bother? Did we not work well together? Alas…"
Despite his mock sadness, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He knew well what Leone's actions meant. Someone was keeping him from digging too deep.
In a familiar chamber, seated around an even more familiar roundtable, an assortment of men gathered.
Short, tall. Thin, fat. They came in every shape and size, but one trait bound them all: solemnity.
Their gaze fixed sharply on the young man among them, Leone.
"Tell me, Leone." A rasping voice cut through the quiet, coming from a figure opposite him. "How did that boy discover it? You've interacted with him extensively over these past months. Surely you would know."
Leone's lips curved into a faint smirk. "I don't know."
Smash!
The questioning figure slammed a palm onto the table, sending his chair tumbling behind him in a startling flurry.
"Leone," he ground out through gritted teeth. "You should know full well what would happen if this leaks. Even if we ignore them, would the Evolvers below us really allow us to use the serum ourselves? Would they truly permit them to act wilfully on Earth, carrying out whatever unholy plans they've concocted?"
He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening. "So answer me again, Leone. What do you know of this Silas?"
Leone sighed, a carefully measured gesture, feigning worry that none could mistake for genuine. "I truly know nothing. I heard of him from my guild informants, snooping for sensitive information. I used him to deal with rising civilian stars, but I still don't know how he killed them."
"His origin? He never slipped up, he seemed to have appeared from nowhere. I've sent my men to investigate neighbouring city-states, yet nothing surfaced. Nothing explains even his Old Era accent."
"So what then?" Another figure dared to speak. "We just ignore him? Leave this ticking time bomb alone?"
"Don't worry. I've got this sorted." Leone waved a hand dismissively. "Some Evolvers under me are already tracking him. Good news may come at any moment."
A chorus of hushed whispers met this declaration, reluctant agreement echoing as each man uncertain yet unwilling to challenge Leone's calm.
"Well then." Leone clapped his hands, crisp and decisive. "Let's discuss more important matters. We need a new candidate for the upcoming…"
The group's discussion continued deep into the night and at last, the chamber emptied, the men filing out silently, leaving Leone alone.
But this time, worry crossed his face. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands cradling the back of his neck.
"Oh, Silas. What a troublemaker you are."
Knock! Knock!
The door burst open, and an old man rushed in, bent with age yet moving with urgency. Leone lifted his head, reclining with practiced nonchalance, his eyes assessing the intruder.
The butler's attire, immaculate even in haste belied the urgency in his voice as he stepped closer and whispered to Leone.
"So the plan fell through…" Leone's fists clenched, chair protesting with a shriek of metal. "How can they lose him like that?! A grown man, vanishing into thin air! He's a lightning-type Evolver, for heaven's sake. Nothing special about him except his raw strength!"
The old man pressed his lips into a thin line, saying nothing further. Leone's gaze flicked toward him. "Just tell everyone to settle down. I'll think of something."
The old man departed as swiftly as he had arrived, leaving Leone in silence so thick it seemed to press against his chest, threatening to drown him in its entirety.
As time passed amid the suppressing silence, Leone's eyes glazed, and a faint thrum pulsed within him. He paused, hollow eyes assessing the round table before him.
There.
In front of him.
Where there should have been empty space, he saw something. Something, simple and mundane. Even, unremarkable.
It was a glass of beer.