Chapter 25 (part 1/2) - Atrophied

  “He’s here! He’s back!” Charly shouted as he burst in, still stumbling after weaving through the rubble in the corridor.

  Takkio had arrived. According to Charly, he was already at the reception on the lower floor. The base of the Tower handled arrivals and departures like an airport, registering, inspecting, and cataloguing everything before it was eventually transferred to the Tower’s vaults. Vincent had never been there, but for husks and resurrects it was common to wait for newcomers in search of stories. Entertainment was a scarce commodity in that place.

  Though rumors would spread sooner or later, it was better to hear things firsthand when your enemy appeared. That was why Vincent had stationed the trio of husks near the lower floor while they waited for Takkio’s return. There had always been the faint hope that he might come back injured, or even that he had fallen in battle, but according to Charly he looked healthy and well informed. The fury on his face had been evident long before Edgar greeted him with news.

  So they have a way to communicate…

  If Takkio had received a letter, then it made sense that his first stop would be to see Edgar. Or at least to do so as soon as he finished the paperwork for his mission.

  “Do you want me to call Lily?”

  “No, but keep her close just in case. If I need her, I’ll send a signal and I’ll need someone to tell her it’s urgent.”

  “But she’s a magister, she could definitely intervene.”

  “I don’t want to drag her into this. It’s not her fight. I got into this on my own, and I’ll deal with the consequences on my own.”

  He had had several ways to avoid this conflict. Edgar’s offer was one. Running to ask a custodian for help was another. But he was tired of depending on others, and tired of being pushed around. Dealing with the Tower was already enough. Was he supposed to submit to yet another internal system determined to crush him?

  He would not allow it.

  Vincent dismissed Charly. There wasn’t much else the boy could do for him.

  In the short time he had left before Takkio’s imminent arrival, he decided to use every minute preparing several more anti-mage guns. He didn’t have the time or the mental space to prototype a better version right now, and they wouldn’t be especially effective against a physically trained mage anyway. Still, having them ready made him feel safer. Thanks to the gauntlet, the manufacturing process was quick and precise. He fired the clay in an instant, prepared the anti-mage potion, and carefully reloaded the guns. The hot liquid already contained a fraction of wax in its composition, which solidified as it cooled, forming a physical seal that kept the charge stable.

  Then he scattered the guns around the bathroom. One beneath the improvised desk he had assembled, another among the rubble, another behind an artery embedded in the wall, and another inside a dry toilet, besides the one he carried on him. He knew that if he ended up firing, he would probably only get one chance. There was no point carrying several just to have them taken and used against him.

  I have money… I could try to bribe him.

  Vincent thought as he continued his preparations.

  If he brings too many men, I can make him a business offer…

  He reviewed the plan in his mind, lit the poisoned incense burners, and checked that the antidote was inside his pocket.

  But if he tries to attack me…

  His staff would not be much help in that fight. He had no offensive spell worth mentioning, even if he possessed the magical power to cast one. Nor did he have the martial experience necessary to wield it effectively as a weapon. His real training was limited to firearms and Olympic fencing. He also knew boxing and other contact martial arts, but in a world without magic that would have been enough to make him feel safer.

  Here it wasn’t.

  In this world, any physical advantage could be nullified by an absurd ability or other bullshit he didn’t even understand yet. The uncertainty of this place hung over his head like a guillotine.

  Will it be enough? I’ve prepared as best I could. I’m on my own ground, I have the element of surprise… I’m ready.

  In the distance, when he finished his preparations, a creak echoed through the corridor. He had explicitly asked that no one come near. It wouldn’t be the husks. Nor Lily.

  It was Takkio.

  Amid the faint smoke of the poisoned incense, Vincent sat down on the floor to meditate. He had to sell the illusion that he was training, that this was the purpose of the burner, and that he wasn’t expecting a direct confrontation.

  “This way…”

  He heard someone murmur at the entrance. Several footsteps approached.

  One by one, the men entered his domain, his damp and crumbling palace where he worked and let his ingenuity flow. Today that place was under threat. None of them had a friendly face. They came furious, irritated as well by the miserable path they had just been forced to cross.

  With Ben’s help and his limited knowledge of magic, Vincent had prepared a treacherous path that wouldn’t appear intentional. He couldn’t leave traces of magic or anything too obvious. They had only encouraged slippery moss to grow along the corridor, placed sharp stones in inconvenient spots, and ensured certain rotten boards would give way under just the right amount of weight. Nothing that looked like a trap. Just a miserable, poorly maintained hallway, like so many others in the Tower.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  His plan had worked… at least with two of them.

  The first to enter was a bulky man, balding, already in his forties. He carried a glowing staff that he used to illuminate the entrance as he pushed forward. He had taken a blow to the head, likely from one of the slips along the path. But when Vincent looked closer, he realized the lack of hair wasn’t natural. The redness on the man’s face wasn’t only anger. It looked like he had suffered an acid burn in the past, a poorly healed injury that left part of his forehead tight and glossy.

  So those kinds of wounds can’t be healed. Is it because it already scarred?

  The second man had an average build, long brown hair, and a glowing wand in his hand. He was clearly limping. He had twisted his ankle on the way in and didn’t seem particularly eager to be there.

  The last to cross the threshold was Takkio.

  A young man with Asian features, sharp eyes, and an athletic build. He carried no visible weapons, only a short-sleeved leather jacket with reinforced shoulders. Unlike the other resurrects, Takkio didn’t look like a mage.

  He looked like a thug used to solving everything with his body. A tired, violent man with little patience.

  The others moved ahead uneasily, still irritated by the miserable walk they had endured. But when they found Vincent sitting calmly among the smoke of the burner and the studied stillness of someone apparently meditating, their initial aggression softened slightly.

  Takkio did not.

  He stayed behind, observing. He let the others advance first, watching their steps, the floor, the rubble, the entire bathroom.

  He was expecting a trap.

  “Hey. You. We need to talk.”

  Vincent slowly opened his eyes. In truth, he had never closed them completely. He had been watching through the narrow slit of his eyelids, alert for any sudden movement.

  “Yes, I believe that’s the case. I’ve heard quite a lot about you,” he said as he rose.

  “I’ve heard quite a lot about you too, Vincent.”

  Edgar had already briefed him. The question was how much he had told him. Whether he had warned him, frightened him… or simply sent him there as a test.

  Clack.

  To his left, one of the circles on the floor cracked beneath the base of the burned man’s staff. Almost at the same time, the other began kicking at the crystals of the array, smearing the runes with his boots.

  “So this is where you make your trash. And this was enough to erase years of work? Some husk hiding in a filthy bathroom?”

  Vincent didn’t look at the men as they broke his things. His gaze remained fixed on Takkio.

  “If you truly believe I’m just some husk, then you’re as stupid as your own companions described.”

  Takkio raised an eyebrow slightly. The provocation didn’t enrage him immediately, but it forced him to reassess. He had expected fear, or at least visible caution.

  There was neither, and if Vincent wasn’t intimidated, then maybe the rumors weren’t just noise.

  With a single step, Takkio activated momentum.

  His body shifted three meters in a fraction of a second. There was no visible push, no sound, only a sudden distortion of the air trailing his movement. He stopped directly in front of Vincent, nearly nose to nose.

  Vincent didn’t step back. And if he reacted, he didn’t show it.

  “You’ve got guts, picking a fight with me and not starting to cry the moment I get close. I guess they didn’t tell you enough.”

  They were almost the same height, but Takkio carried more mass, more muscle, more violence compressed into his shoulders and chest. Up close, his presence was that of someone accustomed to breaking things with his hands.

  “They told me quite a bit. I even paid for the information. But I refused to believe that one of the supposed leaders of Edgar’s little operation would have the judgment and temperament of a simple thug.” Vincent tilted his head slightly without breaking eye contact. “Why isn’t Edgar here? Didn’t he have the courage to come himself, so he had to send you instead?”

  “I’m the one who handles the dirty work.”

  “So you’re his errand boy?” Vincent let the word fall calmly, almost curiously. “Edgar threatened to have you break my legs. I didn’t realize he could literally send you to do it.”

  Takkio didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened slightly.

  A good sign. Vincent had just found exactly where to press.

  “I don’t care what you think or what you believe about me. I have a goal… one very close to my heart. From my point of view, you’re the villain in my movie.”

  A movie? So he’s from my time as well.

  “You think the hero of a movie would walk in with two thugs to smash the workshop of an innocent man?”

  “You’re no innocent. You’ve sent several people to the infirmary. You took away their ability to work by atrophying their meridians. You’ve messed with their livelihood. And you’ve messed with my freedom.”

  “Your freedom? And what about mine? Why should I compromise it for yours?”

  “This is why-”

  With almost imperceptible speed, Takkio drove a sharp punch into Vincent’s stomach. The force was clean, precise, controlled exactly where it would hurt the most without killing him. Fortunately, Vincent had chosen not to overload himself with energy. If he had taken such a localized blow to the center of his meridian cluster while saturated, he would have lost control and atrophied them all.

  “Ah-”

  Vincent tried to breathe, but his diaphragm refused to respond. The punch had emptied his lungs, and now he could only choke on empty gasps, trying to recover a breath that wouldn’t come. Before he could regain himself, Takkio kicked his hands out from under him, sending him to the floor.

  “What did you think was going to happen? That you’d talk big and walk out of here?” Takkio took a step closer, looking down at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t break your legs? Did you think I’d let you mess with MY WIFE? MY DAUGHTER?”

  At the signal in his voice, the other two men stepped forward. The three of them began kicking Vincent as he lay on the ground.

  “W-wait-”

  Vincent was overwhelmed by the blows. He hadn’t expected the violence to escalate so quickly. His intention had been to tighten the rope, test Takkio’s temperament, push him into saying more than he intended. Maybe he had pushed too far. Maybe that approach would never have worked at all. Takkio had already come prepared to hurt him, and nothing Vincent said was likely to change that.

  “We’re not here to debate whether you’ll continue your little business. That part is already settled.” Takkio crouched down in front of the battered Vincent. “Now I want to make sure you understand you should never have messed with me.” He leaned in closer, forcing Vincent to raise his eyes. “I want you to remember this day forever. Boys, grab him.”

  The two men hauled him up and slammed him against a damp bathroom wall. Cold ceramic struck his back.

  “Let’s break his legs!” suggested the limping man with long hair.

  “No. That comes later.”

  “Let’s burn his face!” the disfigured man proposed.

  Takkio smiled.

  Then he nodded, giving him the turn.

  “Go ahead.”

  Vincent was too disoriented to act immediately. He needed an opening, a poorly measured moment, so he let his body go limp and pretended to be half unconscious. The limping man held him from behind, pinning his arms while gripping his head. The burned man raised his hand in front of Vincent’s face and began to chant.

  “Ignis uono fath ursos…”

  Vincent knew that spell.

  It was the flamethrower.

  If he wanted to dodge it, he had to wait for the exact moment. The first spark. The first flare. The instant before the spell gained pressure and became unstoppable. That was when he would have to move.

  But the flame never came.

  “Uh?”

  Instead, the man’s palm began spitting broken flames, interrupted bursts, clumsy sparks that failed to consolidate, like a choking engine that refused to start.

  “What…? Why? What’s happening…?”

  “I knew it! He was planning something!” Takkio turned his head and scanned the bathroom. “It’s the incense!”

  He slid forward using momentum and kicked the burner with all his strength.

  But this time the movement didn’t respond the way he expected.

  Instead of stopping where he calculated, he overshot. His body lost the precise measure of the impulse and crashed into the nearby desk with a dull impact.

  The poison had taken effect.

  The moment to act was now.