Five years ago.
Mark opened his eyes, "it's finished, but again…"
"I know, If I'm not careful I could cut off my arm. Don't worry so much." Jeb smiled, waving in thanks to Mark before sheathing the now pulxed sword Mark had made.
He laid back against the wall, feeling a new crack form in his soul. He didn't like giving away pulxed Items, especially weapons.
He reached up and scratched his head. I need to find a way out. The money wasn't even tempting anymore. It didn't matter how much the government offered, it couldn't mend his soul.
"Maybe I should just use it," Mark said to himself.
He stood up, then walked out the enormous marble building. He hadn't spent any money for the past few weeks, not really sure what he should spend it on. At this point he had enough to buy a small city, not that it helped.
He wasn't a politician.
He found his way to the main market, gathering the attention of almost every street vendor. At six foot eight and wearing possibly the most expensive clothing one could get their hands on, salesmen flocked to him like chickens to seed.
He stopped at a pastry shop, and looked at the prices. Three sixteenth raches for a box of donuts. He remembered when he had to decide to either get that or a bag of apples. That was before he knew he was a crafter.
"Hello sir, what can I get you?" the girl at the counter asked.
She was a cute thing, maybe nineteen with a space bun in her hair. Mark smiled, maybe he should take Ben's advice. A woman in his life could probably help with his current dilemma.
"I'll have three boxes of whatever you recommend." he put down a full raches, then leaned against the counter.
"Um, that's enough for six, I can…"
Mark cut her off, "the rest is a tip. That outfit's cute, is it the uniform or your own style?"
"Thankyou," she slid the coin from the counter then grabbed three boxes of muffins off the table behind her. "It's the uniform," she added, setting the boxes down. "Is there anything else?"
Mark fumbled a bit, "y-yeah, um, I was wondering if you wanted to go to a parade or something. I saw a flyer for one, it's in a few days."
The girl smiled, "sorry, but I'm not interested."
Mark paused, slightly taken aback at her forwardness, then frowned. He picked up the boxes and walked out without another word. What's her problem, he thought, what kind of idiot rejects a guy like me?
Mark looked at his massive arms carrying the boxes. He was large, powerful, and rich. What else did he need?
Annoyed, Mark stalked down the street, pushing aside anyone who was in his way.
"Hey mister!" someone shouted.
Mark ignored them, they shouldn't have been in his way. He sighed, he should have just had someone else go out for him. Something tugged at his belt, Mark turned to find an urchin running away with his coin pouch.
"Hey!" he shouted, dropping the muffins and sprinting after the boy.
There wasn't enough money in there to make it worth his time, only a few dozen full raches, but he refused to be stolen from.
His run toppled over several people as he bumped into one person after another. The boy ran down an ally, Mark followed, gaining on him.
The urchin jumped over a few boxes, and when Mark followed, the boy was gone. Mark stopped, then, with a quick motion, he spun and reached into an open side of one of the boxes.
He pulled out the boy by the shirt and lifted him from the ground.
"Quit squirmin ya brat," Mark said.
Something hit his head, Mark turned to find a small child throwing pebbles at him. The girl was probably four and had tears in her eyes.
Mark turned back to the boy, "is that your sister?" he asked, his voice tight with frustration.
The boy squirmed a little more before settling, then nodded. Mark sighed, then tossed the boy to the side. He grabbed the coin pouch off the ground, and walked out the ally, kicking a box on the way out.
Mark sat down on the couch in his room and let out a heavy sigh. A knock sounded at the door a minute later. Great, just what he needed.
"Go away!" he shouted.
The door opened, and a vein popped in Mark's head. He turned sharply as was prepared to yell at whichever maid was here this time. He paused however, when a lanky man walked in with a tall beefy man.
The lanky one was a government official, while the larger man was new. He looked to be around Mark's size, in both height at build.
"Good afternoon Mr. Gadol." the official said.
"Not much of one," Mark replied, still inspecting the other man.
"I'm here to inform you've been offered a position elsewhere," the official said.
Mark perked up, "you serious!?"
The official gestured to the large man, "this is your replacement. His name is Lock. Since you're moving this will be his room, show him around while the eunuchs get your things packed up.
Mark grinned, this was the perfect opportunity to get out of this stupid job.
Or so he thought.
Several hours later, Mark was organizing his things for them to be brought over to his new quarters.
"The strike force?" Mark asked.
"Yup," Jeb said, polishing his pulxed sword. "Rather than having to petition for pulxed items, the higher ups thought it would be better to bring a Plurimas on the team. You're our tenth guy, welcome man."
Jeb gave a light punch on Mark's arm. Mark looked around, each man here was a chantless, people who could use a pulx without a chant. Much like how pulxed items could.
Mark had often thought of these people as pulxed items. He knew each one by name, mainly because he was their main supplier. But also because of their position.
The strike force was the government's most skilled and most powerful group, designed to apparently take on the Silcureuss guard.
Mark didn't believe it. But he did believe in these guys' strength. Each one was ex-army, chantless' typically gained high standings in the army early on. In fact being a chantless was much like being a Plurimas in the sense that they were constantly sought after.
Mark collapsed an hour later, his body soaked in sweat.
"Common, you're a lot weaker than you look, you know that." Michel said.
He was the one who was put in charge of training Mark, since he was nearest to him in size. Though Mark was still larger, that didn't help when your opponent was a ten year veteran in the army.
For the past hour Mark was pushed to his physical limit, unable to attempt to keep up. And he was knocked to the ground on several occasions.
It didn't bother him however, in fact, it was slightly refreshing to break down his body, rather than tarring his soul giving away weapons.
Mark sat up. "Man, you trying to kill me?"
"Please, you're a valuable asset," Michal said. "If I killed you I would find my own grave."
Mark chuckled.
"What?" Michal demanded, the perpetual scowl on his face deepening.
"Just had the thought of you rolling over and dying like a dog." Mark chucked again.
Michal threw the boxing mit he was using at Mark's head, making Mark laugh harder.
"Don't think I'm just some loyal dog. If I was condemned to death I would fight till my last breath."
Mark smiled, getting up, "by the way, where are the maids? I wanted to have one get a bath ready for me before the workout but couldn't find any."
"Sorry pompous, we don't got maids here. Gotta get your own bath."
With that, Michal walked out, as if he didn't just verbally smack him in the face. Mark shook his head. This was still much better than what he'd been doing earlier. So he stood to prepare his own bath.
Mark stretched when he walked back in the strike force's home. He caught a carbonated drink midair when Luke tossed him one from the fridge.
"Nice out there today," Michal said, slapping Mark on the back.
"Oh, 'the' Michal is giving a compliment?" Jeb said mockingly.
"Yeah, where's my good job?" Seth asked.
"Shut it," Michal replied with a deep scowl.
Mark smiled, sitting down. After a few months of living with them, their banter wasn't all that annoying. He looked to his side to find his gauntlets, the three spiked tips on the top red with blood.
They were called the strike force for a reason, and the truth behind their living didn't bother him as it would others. Of course the people they killed were scum, and not really their main target.
They had to keep up their training however, and keeping the nation a safer place gave them a good opportunity to maintain their preparation.
"Oh yeah, we got another report from the big guy himself." Nicholas said.
Jeb groaned, "another one, we just got back."
"Don't forget your training," Michal said angrily, causing Jeb to put his hands up in surrender.
"What do we got?" Luke asked.
Nicholas sat down on an adjacent couch. "Listen to this;" he said, leaning over with a drink in his hand. "Apparently, Juggernaut was spotted in Forknesses. They say he retreated into an opening in a nearby mountain and no one has seen any sign of him leaving. The big guy says this is the perfect chance."
Juggernaut, Mark had heard of the name. Of course, who hadn't. Juggernaut had appeared eight years ago, and since then, not a single war had broken out. Mainly because Juggernaut tended to murder the root cause of it.
Whether it was a government official or a rebellion that included thousands of men. Juggernaut was there before anything could start. No one knew how they got their information, but the name alone spoke worlds of its power.
Michal spoke up, "how much time do we have?"
"A few days," Nicholas replied, "or at least that's what I'd like to say. The big guy says he doesn't want to miss this chance. So as soon as possible."
Michal nodded, "you louts hear that? I want everyone here to do their homework on this one. This isn't some random criminal, stories say this man takes on army's."
"Oh please, that's just a rumor," Andrew said, getting up for another drink. "We don't have any reason to worry." Michal's scowl deepened, Andrew put his hands up. "But I do think this is a good opportunity. We were put together to take on the Silcureuss guard, who are said to have destroyed kingdoms. I think this'll be good practice."
The others nodded, but Michal just shook his head.
"Just don't blame me when you get yourself killed," Michal commented.
The clock struck midnight, so the guys each stood up to head to their rooms upstairs. Mark stood to follow, but paused, looking to the kitchen. Michal was doing the dishes, mumbling to himself again.
Mark walked over, taking a plate from him and putting it on the drying rack. Michal didn't respond. He was mostly quiet when he wasn't being bothered, unlike the others, who were one of the rowdiest bunch Mark ever knew.
"You think Juggernaut's as dangerous as they say?" Mark asked, breaking the silence.
Michal didn't respond at first, as if considering the words. "Don't know, I've never seen him. But stories come from somewhere." Mark nodded. "Besides, I've seen what that creature can do."
Mark perked up, "you have?"
Michal nodded, "several years ago, before I left the army to join this mess of a team. Juggernaut struck a rebellion we were planning to take down. I don't know if he had help, but even if he didn't, the devastation was real. There was no sign of an enemy body, just rebels."
"So he killed everyone?"
Michal shook his head, "no, we found a few survivors. But each one had gone mad. They raved about this and that, not giving any clear answers as to what they saw. When I looked into it, I found a pattern."
Mark took a cup to put on the drying rack, a little too interested in the conversation. It might have been because Michal had never talked this much.
"Every survivor was a child abuser," Michal continued. "Each one had gone mad after the attack, and each one showed signs of torture. So yes, I think this'll be one flamin good fight."
Mark nodded.