You prod the golden lamp on the ground with the tip of your jian. Nothing happens.

You poke it again. Nothing continues to happen.

"Should you be doing that?" Mandrake Kayne asks.

"We’ll have to move this thing sooner or later," you point out. "Do you want to leave it lying around for anyone to pick up?"

An excellent point: Leaving a golden lamp boiling with curses on the ground for anyone to touch would utterly irresponsible. It would be like wearing a demon-infested hat on your head in public where anyone could steal it!

It would be just as stupid as that!

"Shut up," you whisper under your breath.

"Excuse me?" Kayne says.

"We should bury this thing somewhere!" you say loudly. "Preferably before that serpent-guy finishes licking his wounds and slithers back out."

To your relief, Kayne nods in agreement. "Agreed," he says, the sheathed knives on his tactical vest clinking together as he folds his arms. "Can we seal it in a box and dump it in the river?"

“No!” Sarah says.

"No?" Kayne repeats, turning and glaring at the Deer-woman.

"No," Sarah insists. "Fish-folk live in that river! And they have a tough enough time keeping it clean as is!”

“Besides!” You say loudly, stepping between the two. “The curses in this lamp would break down any ordinary box over time. We’d need–– "

You have an idea. A truly awful idea.

No. Out of the question, Diesel. I refuse. Don’t you dare to use my prison in such a matter––!

You remove your porkpie hat from your head, grip it by the peak and slide it over the oil lamp’s golden handle.

As you lower your hat over the lamp, you feel a sudden surge of warmth beneath the velvet you hold. The golden lamp vanishes, sucked into the lining of your porkpie hat just like the Redcap’s spear was.

You flip your hat upside down and look inside. Nothing but velvet and an inner band.

You flip the hat back over and shake it by the brim. Nothing falls out.

Of course nothing falls out. Your great sage-ancestors layered this hat with ancient blessings and wards, crafting a perfect prison for demons and dark magic, unbreakable unless the most frustrating of conditions are met.

It seems that I’ve…

…ugh…

…acquired a cellmate.

"What did you do?" Mandrake Kayne asks you, his grey eyes narrowing.

"I--" you start to say.

"What. Did you do?" Kayne repeats with extra emphasis.

"I sealed him away," you tell Kayne, sliding your hat back onto your head. Your scalp itches madly as you imagine the golden lamp bumping against your noggin and melting the skin off your skull. "Not quite dramatic I know, but Morgaeous and his treasures won’t be hurting anyone for a while."

Kayne surprises you by nodding and letting out a grunt of relief. "Good," he says.

“Prisons are inherently toxic institutions that perpetuate the cycle of crime and victimization,” Sarah muses, winding a lock of black hair around one of her fuzzy antlers, “…but I’m not going to shed much tears for that guy.”

You hear a ‘soft’ fwoosh behind your head. You turn and see a thick red curtain go up in flame, rich velvet fabric shriveling under the searing heat.

Come to think of it, the air in the ballroom’s been getting thick with smoke. Any thicker and you’ll start to have trouble breathing...

You start coughing. "Okay," you say between wheezes. "Maybe we should continue this talk outside!"

"Seconded," Sarah says. "This place is fragged for sure." She pulls out her phone and begins scrolling through content information. “Fire-Brigade, Fire-Brigade…”

As you, Kayne and Sarah head towards the Lizardman Heritage Center’s Fire Exit, you realize that you feel pretty good. You feel relaxed and light-headed.

Granted, that may be due to the smoke inhalation...but you also feel genuinely triumphant. You started into the face of death and darkness and triumphed. You saved a bunch of people from being sent to the literal meat grinder.

...but why does it feel like you’ve forgotten something important? Something that you’ve forgotten? Something tickling the back of your head.

Personally, I think you’re worrying too much, Diesel. Just relax! How bad could it possibly be?

...

“Grobach!” You say out loud. “We left him in back in the storage area!”

You break into a sprint. Smoke sears your lungs as you leap over the shattered wooden planks of the stage and past the shattered wall leading to the storage room.

You hear Kayne sigh loudly behind your back as he follows you.

#

The Lizardman Heritage Center gushes smoke like a pipe, flame flickering behind the stained-glass windows. You and Kayne stand off at a safe distance, watching silently as the building’s roof caves in.

“How do they fight fires here in Cryptatown?” Kayne asks you at last.

“Weather Wizards,” you reply.

Kayne gives you a skeptical look.

“I’m not lying,” you tell him. “It’s not like fire trucks ever hang around here...oh. Look. Here they come.”

A band of Hermetic Wizards with grey robes and pointy hats descend from the sky on brooms. With a few swishes and flicks from their wands, they conjure up a grey, moisture-swollen cloud over the Heritage Center,.

“You see?’ You say. “Everything ‘s going to be alright...oh no." 

"Oh no?" Kayne asks.

"Here comes the competition,” you groan.

A band of Daoist Sages approach from the southeast, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, tossing sheafs of yellow paper talismans into the air. A new grey cloud shimmers into existence, drifting towards the first rain-cloud and roughly nudging it out of the way.

“Lots of rival Weather Wizards in the area,” you explain to Kayne scratching the back of your head.. “They tend to get a little competitive at times, but it usually works out...oh god."

"Oh god?" Kayne asks, raising his eyebrows.

"They’re having a Wizard Fight,” you say.

Far above among the clouds, the Hermetic Wizards and Daoist Sages start throwing lightning bolts at each other, the burning building beneath them completely forgotten.

Kayne sniffs in distaste. “That can’t possibly be safe,” he says.

You tug on the brim of your hat, using your arm to hide your sudden grin: “What’s wrong? Worried about the locals?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kayne says, a bit too hastily. “I won’t be able to rescue my client’s child if this place burns down. That is all.”

“Of course, of course,” you say, coughing loudly into your closed fist.

“You used to be a hunter like me,” Kayne says at last––not questioning, but stating.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment’s pause. “What tipped you off?”

“You didn’t freeze up during any of our battles,” Kayne explains. “Your spells are designed for fighting and tracking. When the serpent grabbed me with its tail...you knew exactly what I wanted from you.”

“Yeah,” you say again. “I guess we really connected for a moment.”

Grobach makes a loud, disgusted noise. “Stop up mine ears, or slit mine throat,” the Ogre groans, straining uselessly against the cold iron chains binding him to the Saint Andrew’s Cross we’d placed on a trolley cart. “Anything to grant me sweet relief from all this flirting!”

Kayne sighs loudly and drives one of his trench knives deep into the Grobach’s leg.

Grobach screams at the top of his lungs. Foam dribbles from his lips as he goes into convulsions.

“Kayne!” You shout, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him away. “Whoah there! Stop!”

“Thou…” Grobach stammers. “Thou shalt pay for this perfidy…!”

Kayne slams his palm down on the knife in Grobach’s leg, driving it deeper. “Stop that!” Kayne roars. “Stop talking like that! Tell me what you did with that girl in modern English or you’ll die screaming!”

“This won’t help, Kayne!” You shout, tugging on him harder. “You need to calm down and think…!”

“Girl?” Grobach blubbers to Kayne. “What girl? I don’t know nothing about no girl…!”

Grobach looks at you. The fear and panic in his gaze gives way to suspicion, then a dawning realization.

“Oh,” he whispers. “That girl.” His bruised lips peel back to reveal a yellow-toothed grin. “Well, ain’t that interesting…”

Beneath his layers of bandages, you see Kayne’s face flush red with rage. He clamps a hand around the Ogre’s throat and begins to squeeze.

“Kayne,” you shout into his ear. “Kayne!” You yank at his arm one more time, to no avail: it’s like trying to pull on an oak tree. “Screw this…” you mutter, stepping back and drawing your sword from its sheath. “Kayne,” you say, resting your blade against his neck. “Don’t make me do this.”

Kayne goes still. You see his shoulders rise and fall as he gulps down deep breaths.

“You can’t save that girl if you kill him,” you say. “Calm down, man. Think about the big picture.”

Kayne releases Grobach’s throat. Grobach goes limp, eyes rolling back into his head as he slips out of consciousness. “You’d turn against your own kind?” he hisses. “You’d hold a blade to my throat for the sake of a worm like this?”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” you protest. “I’ve done nothing but try to help you, and this is the second time you’ve tried to cut my throat today!”

“…oh,” Kayne says, sounding a little sheepish. He lowers his hands and steps away from the unconscious, rack-bound Ogre.

“Yeah,” you say, removing your sword from his neck. “You should be ashamed. Didn’t your parents teach you communication skill more advanced than death threats?”

“Parents?” Kayne repeats. He chuckles bitterly. “Those would have been nice to have, I suppose.”

“…oh,” you say softly. You slip the sheath off your back and slide your sword back into it. “Look…can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” You ask him. “Why are you acting so… so tense? I can try and guess what’s on your mind, but I won’t know for sure unless you talk to me.”

“…how do you stand this place?” Kayne asks you“All the…evil, and corruption, and filthy creatures everywhere I look." He shudders. "It’s taking everything I have not to go berserk and paint the streets red with my blades.” He reaches out with a shaking hand and yanks his trench knife free from Grobach’s leg. “If you were a hunter…how can you live here and not go mad?”

“I just do?” You say after a moment. “Cryptatown’s not so bad, when you get to know it better….”

“It’s neighborhood filled with evil monsters!” Kayne spits.

“The world’s filled with evil monsters,” you point out. “Every day they keep coming up with new atrocities. But you can’t burn down the world to get rid of them, because you’ll hurt the good people too.”

"Hmmm..." Kayne says.

You gesture around yourself, pointing at the buildings, shops and gawking commuters. “Cryptatown’s just the same.” You choose your next words carefully, hoping against all hope that’ll you’ll get through to this guy. “There’s good people here, people worth protecting from the bad.”

Kayne snorts loudly, a bitter smile briefly flickering across his bandaged face. “People like you?” He asks.

You flinch. “I was thinking more about the people we just rescued,” you say, turning your gaze to the side. “I…don’t know if I really qualify as good.”

Your phone chimes, the sound of a fresh new text. You pull out your phone

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Saturday 11:35 AM

「C」: [Sorry. I saw the broken doors and

thought it was a home invasion.]

Saturday 2:10 PM

Diesel: [Found meat trafficking shindig at Lizardman Center. Springing prisoners. Need extraction from back.]

Saturday 3:25 PM

「C」: [Picked up escapees. Shepherding them to Commune. Fausta on way to check on you.]

__________________________

Your breathes catch: oh no, you think. No, no no. Your finger fly over the your phone’s screen as you whip up a tangled response.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Saturday 11:35 AM

「C」: [Sorry. I saw the broken doors and

thought it was a home invasion.]

Saturday 2:10 PM

Diesel: [Found meat trafficking shindig at Lizardman Center. Springing prisoners. Need extraction from back.]

Saturday 3:25 PM

「C」: [Picked up escapees. Shepherding them to Commune. Fausta on way to check on you.]

Diesel: [Abrupt. Apart. Dammit, Abort. Call Fausta to abort. Mummy man hunting her and Fortuna.]

__________________________

“Who’s that?” Kayne asks, indicating your phone.

“A friend,” you say, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “She’s sending some people to help. I warned them about the fire...and, Er, the weather wizards.”

“Ah yes,” Kayne say. “The magic.” He looks back up at the brawling Weather Wizards, shooting lightning bolts at each other in the sky as the building below them burns down. “Sorcery’s a dangerous art.” He looks back to you: “Who taught you your tricks?”

You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much about the Black Forest Sect. But perhaps it wouldn’t be too much to say.

“My Dad,” you say. “He taught me the Ruesi arts: charms, blessings, exorcisms...that kind of jazz.” You smile. “It took some begging for me to join him on the demon hunts, let me tell you…”

“Was the training difficult?” Kayne asks. “The Art of sorcery, that is?”

“Nah,” you say, idly waving your hand. “That was pretty fun, actually. We’d go camping out in the countryside, toast marshmallows and practice enchanting wooden daggers. Whenever I messed up, they’d explode like fireworks, which was sort of fun…”

You realize Kayne hasn’t said anything in a while. No questions, no commands, not even one of his familiar grunts.

“So, um,” you say. “What was your training like?”

Kayne, still mute, turns his back on you.

“Kayne?” You say. “Did I say something wrong?”

No response.

“C’mon, man,” you stammer nervously. “Talk to me.”

"I never did thank you for helping me search for my client’s child,” Kayne says, refusing to meet your eyes. "Once we find her, I’d like to repay you, if you’d let me."

You turn and look at Grobach, checking to make sure he’s still unconscious. You try to think of a good excuse to decline Kayne’s offer, but can’t think of any reason he’d accept.

Besides, you realize, now that Kayne owes you a favor, maybe you’ll be able to talk him into letting you take custody of the your client’s changeling kid.

"Sure," you tell Kayne at last, giving your hat brim a tug. "Only fair, right? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours--"

Kayne stabs you right between your shoulder blades, poking a hole in your lucky shirt.

You can feel his dagger bite through your skin, a icy spike that sinks and scrapes past your spine.

Oh god, you think. It touched your spine.

Your knees buckle. You drop your sword. You break your fall with your hands, the skin of your palms torn open by the rough concrete.

You try to scream. Your attempt to vocalize sets your lungs on fire.

"Sorry," Kayne tells you, crouching by your side. "I’d planned something gentler, but after you said ’scratch my back’..."

He chuckles briefly, a dry hollow sound. "...it seemed appropriate,” he admits.

"K-!" You rasp. "Ka--!" The dagger buried in your back shifts. "Hggh!"

"Don’t talk," Kayne tells you. "Don’t touch the dagger. I missed your vital organs, but you’ll bleed out if you try to remove the blade."

Your hands give out: your elbows scrape against the street’s brickwork.

“Hmmph,” Kayne says, reaching out and plucking the porkpie hat off your head. His other hand draws a brass knuckle dagger and flicks it against the side of your pants.

A single cut, and your phone goes clattering to the ground. Kayne picks it up, types in the 4-digit passcode (when did he learn that?) and reads your latest text

"Hmmph," Kayne says. "So you were hiding my targets from me." He clucks his tongue in disapproval and tucks your phone into his coat pocket. "I’ll be borrowing this," he tells you.

"Wait––" you rasp, agony tearing through your chest as you say that word.

"Save your strength," Kayne tells you coldly, rising to his feet. "I should have killed you just now...but I do owe you my life."

You lift your head with great effort. You see Mandrake Kayne tilt his head to the side like a dog perplexed by a phonograph.

"You saved my life," he whispers to himself. "You could have let the monsters kill me, but you protected me. Why, though?" Behind his bandages, he looks genuinely confused. “Why?”

You try to focus your thought, to direct your will and manifest it into a miracle.

The bronze sword rattles once on the ground by your side.

You collapse. You feel the chill of concrete and solidified metal droplets pressing into your cheek. You feel a sliver of cold piercing you to your very core.

You are helpless. Worthless. Pathetic. You’re a quivering hunk of meat that can’t even stop a single man from turning and walking away with your phone and a hat containing one of the most dangerous demons in existence.

"Consider our debt repaid," Mandrake Kayne tells you as he walks away. "You’ll live. With the proper treatment, you may even recover."

"Oh no," you whisper, feeling darkness tug at your mind and eyelids.

Oh yes, my dear gaoler.

You see Mandrake Kayne, the Beast Breaker, move towards Grobach, battered, concussed and bound in cold iron.

The wicked gleam of his bloodstained trench knife is the last thing before your eyes flutter closed and your body grows still.

It appears you’ve passed out. Have you passed out, Diesel? Can you hear me? Say something!

...your sense of fashion is gaudy and narcissistic, Diesel!

…Unconscious you are, then.

Farewell, Dieselnoi Worawoot: to the very end, you were an incompetent jailer.

Farewell.

Next Chapter: Episode Fourteen: Hospitals, Not Horrors (Revised)