by Kell Inkston
“Dimension of origin?” he asks, his arm projecting some strange rectangular light pattern that the two both assume to be magic.
Colette and Grancis shift awkward looks to one another. “Uh,” Colette coughs, “The… Overlord’s dimension?”
The O.E.L. officer pauses and looks over Colette with a sharper eye through his goggled mask. “Yeah? Which overlord?”
Colette and Grancis look at one another again, gobsmacked. “Well,” Grancis wrings her hands. “We’re just from… the village of Ulla.”
The man sighs and types something out in his little light rectangle. “Not registered with the O.E.L., then?” he asks.
The girls exchange another glance, and Grancis almost takes a step back toward the portal. “What’s that?” Grancis asks with a wide, fake smile.
The officer gestures them to follow with all the lax displeasure of your standard government worker. “Come with me and we’ll get you registered.” The two waver as he starts down the Space Gate platform. “Come on,” he adds.
With an abrupt start, the two follow down to a small tent with a table, surrounded by chairs and multiple shining light thingies that the girls also assume is magic. The officer sits down Colette and he takes the other side of the table. “Alright, gonna ask you a series of questions. Don’t lie, or you get fined up to one thousand justices, got it?”
Colette is frozen. “J-justices?”
The officer sighs. “I should have known. I bet your dimension still deals in sin, don’t you?”
Colette draws back as if the officer had just read her mind. “Uh, yeah!”
“Whatever, never mind. Just be honest or we’re gonna throw your ass in jail, got it?”
“Got it!” Colette replies in the full positive, someone excited to prove her worth in this pop quiz.
The officer shakes his head and mutters something to himself. “Right…” He strokes his gauntleted finger about his little device a moment. “Okay, first thing, technical name?”
Colette stares forward like an animal about to be shot.
“Your name.”
She brightens up again as the officer speaks sense. “Colette Ketiere.”
“Wow, look at that,” he says with a tone of pure sarcasm while he enters her answer on a little keyboard appearing in the device. “Preferred name?”
“Uh, Colette?”
“Original!… Age?”
“Eight…een?”
He nods sarcastically. “Very good. That is an age.” He types out the information and continues. “Race?”
Colette takes a deep breath and looks to Grancis, who shrugs.
“Just gonna put you down for ‘human’.”
Colette nods.
“Eye color?”
“Hazel!” Colette exclaims, certain this answer above all the others.
The officer pauses a moment, appreciating how stupid she appears. “Great— skin color?”
“Uh… pale-ish?”
The officer sighs and ushers her up. “Rondi’s chest, holy fucking shit.”
“Wh-wha-”
He groans. “Never mind it, just come over here to the scanner.”
Colette gets up sheepishly and steps over to the weird round podium as directed. The next few minutes are filled with more bright lights, beeping sounds, and the officer taking down information on the two of them. Once it was all over, the man inputs the data into another strange device, which produces little cards with Colette’s and Grancis’ faces, information, and I.D. numbers. “Here you are,” he says. “Always keep these on you. Give them to no one. And some friendly advice? I don’t know what the hell you girls have come here for, but you’re going be dead before you get it. I registered your dimension-pass number as three million two hundred thousand and forty six. I can get you home if you need me to— which is what you should do, like right now.”
Colette grips Grancis’ wrist. “Thanks for the advice, but we’re here to stay.”
No expression can be seen behind the officer’s helmet, but he frowns in pity. “Then stay you will. Stick together, alright?”
Colette nods. “You can count on us for that much. We good?”
“Yeah,” the officer nods back at his desk, “go on ahead.” As they turn away, Grancis thinks of her father for some reason.
“Alright,” Colette says, stepping away from the tent with Grancis and up to the bustling crowd around the gate.
The two look over the shifting groups of strange, even otherworldly, figures. “So what’s the plan?” Grancis asks, eying an enormous robed skeleton walking around.
“We find a community center, like a tavern, or something— then we just ask ‘em who the toughest people around are.”
Grancis takes a deep breath. “Alright… Should we ask for directions?”
Colette nods. “Good thought.” Grancis takes the initiative and steps up to the least-intimidating of the passerbys: a white-haired lady looking about their age, accompanied by a raven-haired, rather handsome lad, a small black cat in his arms.
“Hi ther-” Grancis greets, stepping to just the side of them.
“Sorry, busy,” the lady says, stepping on with the young man and the cat to somewhere else in the town.
Grancis sighs, just as Colette ranges up. “Hey, we were talking to you!” Colette stamps her foot, watching the three fade into the masses. “Alright, well we’ll just look around— places have signs, after all.” Colette tugs Grancis along into the shifting crowd of Wreckwind.
The officer was wise to advice caution. Port Wreckwind is among the nastiest, deadliest, shadiest, and overall most unpleasant communities in the Omniverse. Of course, there are worse places— there are always worse places; but among places that people actually live in, it’s hard to beat. In Castel Durrimarim’s “Twenty Best and Worst: Towns and Cities Edition”, she places Port Wreckwind at number three— a ridiculously lofty achievement when it comes to being nasty, considering the billions upon billions of certifiably, objectively nasty places that exist throughout the Omniverse. The vast majority of tourists leave the hour they arrive. If it’s not the bleak, fish-scented atmosphere, the mean shopkeepers, or general unease pervading the place, then it’d be the muggers, killers, flesh-eaters, or one of the rather unpleasant tentacled beasts that live in the sewers. Notably, the sewer beasts only want to make friends and give hugs, but their way of showing affection usually ends up with people being divided in half— oops. Overall, it’s filled to the brim with characters that not only would not invite you to their birthday party, but would likely invite all your friends just so they can gossip about you together while they beat a piñata shaped like your face.
However, Colette and Grancis will not be getting torn in half, stabbed, eaten, or in one manner or other killed this night. Unfortunately, they will instead go on to meet the one person that is, out of the fifty-thousand-so inhabitants of the port, considered to be the single most dangerous being to have ever lurked within its limits.
The duo travel through murky streets filled with beggars, cloaked someones, and large, bulking men that look to have been crossed with fish by some unspeakable ritual. After a minute or so of walking, the ladies find an establishment that reeks more of booze than the rest of the streets. The sign reads “The Stabbed Eye - Tavern, Inn, Necromancy Supplier”. The two stare at the sign with some form of awe— Colette’s edging on the side of excitement, and Grancis’, dread. “This… this is perfect!” Colette takes up Grancis’ hand and tugs her in.
“It’s… perfect, alright,” Grancis says, grinning in horror as she turns just in time to watch a group of shady figures get into a fight with knives and everything. She spots one of the men take a gruesome injury, and then she’s swept inside the warm, cozily-lit tavern. The light and the warmth are really the only things going for the establishment; it’s a surprisingly hushed atmosphere as various tough-looking dudes keep to their drinks, with an equally-tough-looking bartender sliding glasses full of some vile-smelling golden
fluid across the bar. Colette grins and steps straight up to the bartender.
“Yo,” she says with a confident, business-casual look, “Who’s the toughest guy that’s looking for apprentices?”
The patrons, occupying each table with their own unique niche of tough guy, finish their present gulps and listen in. The bartender scowls, showing a yellow chasm of infested teeth. “Go home, lass.”
Colette reiterates by weighing herself into the bar pointedly, sounding a thud through the establishment. “No,” she says with a smile. “Give me what you got, man! I want to learn how to be strong!”
There’s a small chorus of jeers surrounding her. The bartender sighs, his breath like an old, blood-ridden tide. “You don’t want to meet the strongest, lass. You’d be killed for asking that of ‘em.”
“I hear Overlord Chaos has been looking for new minions,” one man with an anchor tattooed into his left eye says with a cool smirk, winning a quick laugh from the creatures listening in.
“Vampire Queen Aslinsa wouldn’t mind another slave,” says another, gaining another guffaw.
“You’re better off whoring,” says one more, looking over Grancis’ rather scandalous overlord-decreed maid uniform in particular; the patrons find this one simply hilarious.
Colette slams down again, this time leaning all her imposing weight of about zero kilograms down onto the bar. “I’m serious! I’ll make them see it my way, just point me in the right direction!” she exclaims, staring daggers right into the barman’s soul.
He stares at her a moment and then laughs; Grancis is already on the verge of fainting from the stench. “I like ye’,” the barman says with a smile that creeps Grancis right to her core. “Perhaps somethin’ can be arranged.” He nods his head over to a couple of really, really sketchy looking cloaked guys at the edge of the bar.
The two men approach, the one at the front addressing the ladies. “We’ll see just how tough you are. This way,” he says with a serpentine tone.
Colette smirks, just a glint of her child-like excitement flowing from her cool disposition. “Good,” she says with an in-charge glare. The two men lead her along, and Colette leads Grancis, whose heart rate is rising to a maddening speed.
She’s afraid, terribly afraid. Following cloaked men out of bars and into the night seems like something only the greatest of fools would do— and it just turns out that Colette is that committed. “Uh, w-wait…” Grancis bleats weakly as Colette tugs her along.
Colette gives her a reassuring glance. “Come on.”
The first of the two men sighs at the doorway. “We’ll leave you if you take your time. This way,” he reiterates, waving his hand into the dark night streets.
Colette nods to the men. “Yeah, we’re coming!” She starts pulling Grancis a bit harder than either finds comfortable. Grancis has to do something, she knows this is going to end poorly- she’ll take a bet. Grancis 'accidentally' drops something of hers— a small, white bracelet that used to be her mother’s. The ceramic shell ornament falls with a petite sound, and then the four are out of the doorway and straight to the right of the establishment.
A few seconds pass of snickers, as if some great joke has been pulled at someone else’s expense, and then the patrons release a belly-aching, tankard-smashing laugh together.
“Is it always that easy?” a half-man, half-clam asks the bartender.
He shakes his head. “Naw, usually it’s a slave they don’t need or something— but here Master gets two full sets for free… A round on the house for everyone!” the bartender says with a grin. Glasses are raised and a cheer is given— just as one man, sitting alone in the darkest corner of the establishment, stands up and steps over to Grancis’ bracelet. The cheering stops.
Colette practically drags Grancis into a nearby alley by the lead of the two cloaked men. The four go deep into the alley, past the shadows of the lamplight, to a giant black mess of cold stone and the scent of fish guts. “Here we are,” the front man says, guiding Colette and Grancis to go in front of the two men as if to show them something important.
Colette’s grinning with anticipation. “Alright, what’re we doing?” she enquires.
The two men look at each other in the silence of the alley. “Your test… right? Alright, kids. You join the cult if you can beat us both. If you lose, we strip you of your flesh, organs, bones, and blood— and sell your idiot asses for parts.”
Grancis cringes in cold sweat as Colette squints a brow. “Wait— so if we lose, you’ll kill us?”
The man shrugs. “Well, no, we’ll also store your souls in little gems like these; see this?” The man pulls from his cloak a large, glinting purple gem that seems to vibrate with the screams of a tormented soul. “It’ll be way worse than dying, so try not to lose.”
In a fairly rare moment, Colette reconsiders her decisions. “But hold up, this isn’t what we were looking for.”
“Afraid you’re gonna lose?” he taunts, putting the gem away.
“…No! I just don’t want to risk my friend!”
“Well, too late, bitch.” The cloaked man delivers a swift punch to Colette’s stomach. The guy’s definitely a mold-breaker for the 'wimpy magician' stereotype— he’s ripped under that cloth and has been in more than a few fights throughout his time. The man’s punch is more than enough to send Colette to her knees, buckling in agony just as he finishes by shoving his rain-slick boot into her face. Colette keels over on the ground, the last strings of consciousness fading away as darkness overtakes her vision. The two men share a laugh.
“Well damn," the first remarks as they watch her collapse, "she wasn’t quite up to snuff, was she?”
“Nope,” the second says in a raspy voice, “Definitely not necromancer material.” They slowly turn their gaze to Grancis, cornered in the black alley and trembling.
The first one hums thoughtfully, sizing her up to Colette. “You’re a pretty one,” the first one says in a voice that’s almost kind.
Grancis struggles to pull in her breath, but she manages just enough to call. “Hel- Somebody help—”Grancis stops the moment the second necromancer flicks out a switchblade and points it at the downed Colette.
“You scream and she’s dead,” he corrects, his yellow gaze glowing menacingly out from his hood.
The young girl freezes, nods and buckles as she begins to hyperventilate. She’s so terrified that it took everything she had just to scream— this is surely now her end.
The first necromancer chuckles lightly and approaches. “Yeah… you know, you really should’ve stuck to whoring, but your friend had loftier dreams, I guess.”
Grancis pulls in a single breath. “W-what?”
The second necromancer interrupts his friend. “We’re on duty, you know.”
“I’m not gonna let this one pass up," the first dismisses; "keep watch and keep it down.” He looks over Grancis with a hungry stare.
“Uh, I beg to differ." the second protests, frowning at his comrade’s lack of professionalism. "Don’t you know how much virgin souls go for in this economy? They’re like sacrificial gold these days.”
The first one cringes as Grancis trembles in his grip. “But… look what she’s wearing! There's no way she’s a virgin.”
“I am!” Grancis says quickly, taking strained, horrified breaths.
The first one groans. “Damn… I… I’ll pay Master back,” he says as he pushes Grancis to the floor with a single hand.
The second one shakes his head. “A month’s pay— really?”
“Y-yeah! So keep watch!” the first one commands again, trembling in excitement as he strokes Grancis’ cheek.
The second one stares a moment in disgust, and then turns about to follow orders. “Whatever you s-” the second stops short.
The first one, uncaring, leans over Grancis and whispers to her darkly. “So do you have any dreams I could make true for you?” he asks, just before he bites down on her ear.
Everything in Grancis rea
cts in utter disgust; this is even worse than she imagined. She needs a few breaths to compose herself. “D-do what you want… but… but let Colette go,” she stammers, closing her eyes and doing her best to mentally disconnect herself as much as possible before he starts. She knew a woman this happened to once; she had told her that it was like every dream one had as a child being smashed into dust in but only a few minutes— an experience that fares the least worldly victims not only physical pain, but dishonor... a destruction of innocence, and an embitterment of the world.
The necromancer laughs coldly into her neck as she feels his icy hands working down her shoulders. “No can do.”
“Uh… Saman?” The second necromancer says to the first one, who again ignores him.
“P-please…” she asks again, her flesh retreating at every touch from him.
“No. You might as well just enjoy this, because no one’s going to save you now.”
“Saman,” the second says again in a tone of urgency.
The first one, by the name of Saman, still fails to answer. His hands travel across every inch of Grancis’ chest, steadily down to her waist. “I hope you’re scared," he hisses with a smirk, "that’s the best part for me.”
Grancis inhales sharply as tears well up in her eyes; in a flashing moment of heat, she decides that if this is her end, she won’t hide, but rather embrace it. She’s a bit of a weird one, this Grancis Vereyrty.
She stares him calmly in the eyes, as if she’s suddenly over it. “No. I’ve already lost everything else today, this is my new normal I guess,” she says with the straightest, bluntest face she can deliver.
Saman grits his teeth. “No? Not scared even a little? I’m going to rip out your soul afterward— I know I’d be terrified.”
“Why would I be?” she asks blankly.
“Saman!” The second necromancer almost yells it.
Saman turns to his cohort. “What?! Can’t you see I’m try-” Saman stops silent. Grancis notches past the frames of the two men… to see a third. In the blinding silhouette of the lamplight, it looks like an angel.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” the voice says. A chill runs down Grancis’ spine— his voice is suave, calculating, like what she’d imagine a demon’s to sound like. Grancis feels Saman trembling on top of her, and this time it’s not from excitement. Somehow, by some anti-miracle, Grancis feels not relived at all that this man’s stepping in, but afraid- as if some arcane abomination beyond her understanding was about to pull everything she thought she knew into a void darker than any alleyway of man-made hands. Certainly, being assaulted like this in an alley is terrible, but there’s something about this man that strikes her with a much more spiritual fear- these necromancers can hurt her and own her, but she’s worried that this man can change her, and that terrifies her more.
