You are Mandrake Kayne. Your body is a weapon. Your mind is steel.

That steel is being put to the test right now.

You analyze the facts before you, calculations of violence churning at the base of your consciousness.

Your hostage has just escaped. Right now, there is no reason for the monsters you’ve antagonized to let you live.

You reach a conclusion.

You must strike first.

You dart forward, acting on the first tactical thought you can articulate.

The half-demon girl is your target: grab her and hold a knife to her throat. Her mother will have to pause and think. In that time...you’ll be able to...

Something’s wrong.

You draw close to the girl. You reach out with your bandaged hand to seize this wide-eyed Antichrist by her brown curly hair. Her mother is moving to step in your way...but she’s moving too slowly.

Her ally, the changeling’s father, does not move at all. You can see the nervous tension in his face, even beneath the layers of silver metal that have hardened across his skin.

You veer right, leap, and roll behind one of the planter boxes.

The image of your client’s child shimmers and fades. In her place stands a bright red amphibian with six legs, a rotund frog belly, and a forked tongue that crackles with sparks.

The Salamander exhales a blast of flame, a curtain of fire that washes over you. Your reinforced coat and bandages repel most of the fire, but a few tongues of flame raise blisters on patches of your exposed skin.

You can still move, so this pain is irrelevant.

You duck behind the planters, bushes and shrubs burning merrily from the elemental’s flames.

Fact: your target, the half-demon Fortuna, is not among your assailants.

Conclusion: You do not have to show mercy.

You pull a fragmentation grenade from your coat and toss it over your shoulder.

You go prone. The explosion takes a chunk out of the planter you’re using for shelter.

You ignore the ringing in your ears and rise.

Blackened char and stone debris stain the grounds of the Goblin market. The salamander, riddled with shrapnel, writhes on the ground for a moment before dissolving into a cloud of blue pixels.

The changeling’s father stands before Fortuna’s mother, silver arms crossed in frontof his face. His pants and t-shirt are shredded in multiple places. Blood trickles from a few wounds in his exposed skin. As you watch, tendrils of silver metal slide across his pink skin and seal those minor wounds shut.

As you watch in disbelief, the changeling’s father lowers his arms and stumbles forward, a dazed look in his brown eyes.

Fact: this man seems to be bulletproof, but not immune to shock and disorientation.

Conclusion: bashing or stunning attacks will be more effective.

Your mind is such a fascinating thing, Mandrake Kayne. Perhaps I’ve been judging you monster hunters too harshly!

How to describe it?

You’re like one of those virtual avatars my guardian likes to steer around in his favorite video games. You endure terror, danger, and injuries without a murmur of complaint. You instantly, logically respond to the threats around you without a hint of panic.

I see now: this is how you are able to kill monsters that surpass you in strength, speed and magic! It is not strength or magic of your own — simply the ability to make the optimal decision under enormous pressure.

I wonder: how much of your soul did your masters flay away to make you like this?

Your mental control is impressive, Kayne...but I can taste hints of your past, scraps of images that seep through the barriers of your mind.

I can see foggy breath hissing from your chapped lips as you shiver in front of a coal pit in the wilderness.

I can feel the bone-piercing ache as you get thrown to a cold wooden floor again and again by your grappling instructor.

I can feel the scars they carved into your flesh over the span of years, ritual scars that do not hinder your movements but always, always ache.

Oh Kayne: you are just too precious, too beautiful.

You leap over the ruined planter and dash forward.

The changeling’s father looks up just in time to see you press the prongs of a Taser knuckle to his brow. Blue sparks run across the metal on his face. He convulses and collapses. You dart past him as he falls, flipping your trench knife into a reverse grip, turning your waist to drive your blade down into the Fortuna’s mother’s skull....

She swings her baton toward your wrist. You twist and block with the knuckle guard of your trench knife. The shock rattles your bones.

A bead of wobbling fire flies at your face. You jump back, taking the fire bolt on your reinforced sleeve.

“Leave Mom alone!” Fortuna shrieks as she runs  out of cover towards you. Fire dances between her splayed fingers; more beads of fire fly from her hand, zipping toward you like a swarm of angry hornets.

You run in a serpentine pattern, ducking, dodging, and hopping over the crackling projectiles.

Fortuna’s mother regains her footing. She grabs the stunned changeling’s father by his shoulders and drags him behind one of the park benches.

Again, you note, she does not seem to care that her precious spawn is rushing into danger again.

You dart behind the oak tree where you bound the Ogre. Pellets of fire hiss and crackle as they burst against the tree bark and leave small round marks of char.

Fact: That’s probably another fire spirit disguised as Fortuna, your target.

Observation: You client told you about Fortuna’s ability to conjure hellfire and summon demons. He never mentioned anything about powers of illusion.

Conclusion: The real girl is hiding somewhere, concealed by another ally with a talent for illusions.

You draw a cold-forged iron throwing spike from your vest and hurl it at the false Fortuna’s belly.

The moment your iron spike strikes true, the shape of Fortuna shimmers and disappears, revealing another salamander that flails on the ground before dissolving into pixels.

The instant you slay the salamander, a new spirit appears: a waddling, crystalline penguin that breathes out tendrils of fog and frost. You flick your dagger through the air, cutting through the icicle spike the penguin spirit spits your way.

More spirits start pouring from the shadowed corners of the Goblin Market, sprites, shades and elementals from a dozen different Astral Realms. You see brownies and pixies, imps and sylphs, black dogs and hitotsume kozō—tiny, child-like spirits that will kill you if you drop your guard even for an instant.

When you try to duck behind the oak tree for cover, a withered hand bursts from the tree trunk’s bark and tries to claw your face off. You swing your blade and sever the twig-like fingers of your attacker. The spirit, a withered specter swaddled in orange cloth, shrieks and clutches at their ruined hand.

You bend down and grab the discarded Claymore mines. You dart around the shrubs, flower boxes, and park benches in the Goblin Market, keeping your head low as ribbons and bolts of elemental fury are hurled your way.

Fact: The girl is probably hiding somewhere in the market, watching the battle and summoning a steady stream of spirits and demons to overwhelm you.

Hypothesis: that empty kiosk just outside the old-fashioned theater is the perfect spot to hide while still observing the fight.

You drop your trench knife and toss one of the claymores into the shadowed kiosk.

The slim plate of explosives twirls like a Frisbee through the air, wobbles, and bounces off something metallic-sounding and invisible.

You don’t have to wait long for a reaction.

“NO!” You hear Fortuna’s mother shriek. You turn and watch her sprint towards you, leaving her praetorian guard of tiny spirits and elementals far behind as she rushes in to tackle.

Conclusion: Your guess was correct.

You toss your other claymore mine at Fortuna’s mother, hitting her right in the nose. As she reels, you dive into the shadowy kiosk and press the first trigger on your detonator as you land behind the counter.

Click.

The claymore detonates, unleashing a blast of light, fury and fragmenting steel pellets. The cloth roof of the kiosk overhead is riddled with many little holes.

Two or so feet to your left, you hear a young girl’s voice cry out in terror:

“Mom!”

Fortuna materializes out of the shadows, rows of half-dried tear tracks glimmering on her colorless cheeks. She clenches her pink-cased cellphone with white-knuckled hands, trembling as she searches the darkness outside for any sign that her mother survived.

You stretch out your hand to seize her.

Something heavy slams into your side and pushes you back into the kiosk’s wall.

“Fortuna, run!” A familiar voice calls out. An invisibility spell shimmers and dissolves like melting ice, revealing the Deer-woman you and Diesel rescued from the slaughterhouse.

The Deer-woman…no, Sarah’sappearance has changed. Her clothes are dark and sturdy, leather studded with metal divots. She holds a crude riot shield, a curved square of metal cut from a trash can and painted with stripes of red and black.

“Get out of here, Fortuna!” Sarah shouts, bashing you with her shield and pushing you back out into the ruined street. “Go!” A desperate note enters the Deer-woman’s voice. “We’ll be fine!”

Anger curdles your blood.

How dare this monstrosity talk like some kind of hero?

How dare she pretend to be anything other than what she is—a monster driven by her hunger and hate?

Externally, you calmly plant your feet, push back against the Deer-woman’s crude shield and draw a dagger to cut her throat, all without the slightest change in expression.

Inwardly, however, your fury dissolves the carefully crafted wall of static you’ve built around your mind…and allows me to speak a single sentence:

Look out from above, Kayne.

You react with the grace of a well-oiled machine, leaping backwards as a golden blur flashes through the empty space where you head used to be.

A bronze, double-edged Chinese jian, two and a half feet in length, sinks into the old brick cobblestones of the Goblin market. It wobbles back and forth, polished metal reflecting the light of the full, round moon overhead.

“Mandrake Kayne,” a voice growls to your left. “Gods, even your name is trying too hard!”

You turn to look at the new comer, stepping back so you can keep both the Deer-woman and Fortuna in your line of sight.

You see Diselnoi Worawoot. He is limping toward you, arms and legs moving in a stiff, wobbling gait. He wears an old, tattered pair of jeans and a button-up shirt covered with paint-stains and tears.  Beneath the holes in his clothing, you can see intricate tattoos crawling up his legs and chest.

His dark hair is a rumpled mess and his skin is drenched in sweat. His perpetually smug smile is gone, replaced with a steady, unwavering glare.

“Get away from Fortuna, Kayne,” Dieselnoi rasps. “Also, stop trying to stab us.” He bares his teeth as he raises his voice. “Also, give me back my damned hat!”

Next Chapter: Episode Twenty-Two: Movie Night (Revised)