I sat and smoked. I couldn't really taste the ghostleaf, nor did I get any sort of relaxin' rush. Frankly I was just doing it to grasp at whatever the fuck normal used to feel like.

  I'd take a thousand Anasisi, an eternity in the Vault and a monthly vacation to sunny, revenant infest Murkwater before I'd ever, ever, for anythin', ever ask to speak with the Lady of the Deep again. That watery bitch scared me more than unwanted pregnancies and the idea of complete sobriety combined.

  "So, good job gettin' them Abilities trained up," said the Kraken conversationally. He was smokin' his own ghostleaf out of a dark wood pipe as he shuffled and cut, the added each of the cards that represented my powers.

  Skullduggery, the card showed a little picture of me, scattergun over my shoulder and brilliant sun risin' over the dunes behind. Arcane Eye was simple by compare, just stylized image of an eye, inked in mana blue. Next was Chthonic Dexterity, again a little image of me, my tendrils free from my gloves, one tangle of limbs held toward the sky, the other pointing at the earth below.

  Ice-Cold Blood showed a man, probably also me, skewered by ten swords, yet seeming none the worse for it. Finally, Douce et Doux Drift card was my least favorite. On it, I stood mid-dance with who could only be Songbird in her human form. Between and above us rose the smiling face of the Lady of the Deep, as if presiding over the ballroom scene.

  I was probably going to kill her when I got back to town.

  Songbird I mean. I was pretty sure later was as alien to the concept of death as she was bodily autonomy or table manners.

  "Each of these has come far enough to for you to chose the way they'll grow, how they'll mutate and manfiest," he said, then placed a hand over three of the five, "Your Eye, your Drift, and your Dexterity. You missed out on choosin' them."

  I frowned and blew a ring of smoke his way, "What? What the fuck do you mean old man?"

  "I mean, son," he replied, the same easy smile on his face, "that you shouldn't have ignored communing with me. You shouldn't have ignore the message I wrote in your Rune Book. You can't hide from progress," he said tossing the three cards over his shoulder, "those Abilities chose for themselves, Roche. You absorbed so much daman mana they became what they will be all on their own. You musta seen that already."

  And I had, I supposed.

  My Eye saw far more than it used to, and I had started to hear the songs of the Wyld and Entropy. My sense had expanded to include the far more than the mundane traces of the magic of the world. As for the Drift, the fact that I seemed to be able to store, or at least delay it's effect was also fine enough proof of what he said. But-

  "What changed about my tendrils? My arms seem just about the same. Maybe a little more-"

  "Boy you tore lifeforce straight from the heart of Cuahate. The only reason you have done it since is cause the dead don't have the anything to take. Probably would've been real fuckin' useful against that blood demon you tangled with though..."

  Oh.

  Oops.

  "I guess, uh, guess I should maybe check in more often," I muttered and ashed my smoke, "rippin lifeforce outta folks does sound useful. And kind of, evil?"

  The Kraken scoffed, "Power don't have no morals boy, and don't have sense either. If you had been smarter, more disciplined, I could have helped you mold that Ability into something truly astounding. Instead you can do what any garden variety spirit eater or manavore might. I know you're thick, Roche," said the Kraken as the tapped the dust out of his pipe and loaded another plug, "so let me say it plain. You lost out. Well, two out of three anyway. Basically pissed away the potential for greatness because you were too sad, too drunk, and too fuckin' hard some other boy."

  I grit my teeth, a dozen retorts boiling up at once, but none of them were enough. Even if this old monster was right, even if I was a fuck-up-

  "You don't say a fuckin' thing about Raph old man," I snarled, "you don't ever fuckin' bring him up. If you think I'm not stupid enough to never come back here, to leave your ass to rot out of plain old spite," I jabbed the stump of my smoke at him, "well you'd best think again. I'll leave you in the dark. I'll let fuckin' luck decide the course of my Abilities. So keep him out your mouth."

  The Bastard just chuckled, his black and gold eyes twinkling like stars, "Aw, did the meetin' with the big lady give you perspective? Make you realize that you can't fight the tide? Ain't not shame in lustin' for another man Roche," he said with a shrug, "the only shame to be had is the way you act on it. The way you hurt those what might do you a good turn, all 'cause you're weak. 'Cause you can't reign in that emptiness long enough to see the big picture."

  "Shut up," I muttered, knowing again that he was right. I hated it, but just now the Kraken reminded me of my old dad. He wasn't the most observant man, but he always saw straight through me. Always knew what was botherin' me, and why. And damn sure wasn't afraid to serve the truth cold and hard.

  "Yeah, that's what I thought," Sneered my Patron as my face fell, and a little of the fire in my belly guttered out, "just take his as an early lesson and be better for it. For now, let's figure out the two you can choose."

  He tapped the Skullduggery card and it split down the middle, as if torn in half. Then, in yet another reminded that my dumb ass had chosen a monster for a Patron, each half of the card got up and crawled to take a seperate place before me.

  In the first was the same familiar Fool. 'Cept this time I was grinnin' like a cat with a bellyful of canary, and also holdin' a blade, a familair knife made of rust and salt. The same one I'd carved my rune with, the same one I'd killed a demon with.

  "First," intoned the Kraken, "Skullduggery, you Ability to get into place and things you aren't supposed to, might became a knack for more than breakin' locks and wards. This mutation, Fool's Luck, will allow you to more easily find your way into the places and moments of opportunity. Pull an accidently consecrated knife against a blood demon, survive talkin' shit to being beyond imagin' just because they think you're funny," he said with his black and gold grin, "in other words, this mutation will stack the deck, just a little in your favor."

  I stared at the card, strokin' my chin in through.

  "My knife is consecrated? By what?"

  The Kraken glared death at me, the tendrils that made up his beard and bush brows wriggin' and writhin' "Does it matter?" he asked and then gesture to the other half of the card.

  On this I was not quite so cheery, and I no longer had my knife.

  Honestly the little Roche on this one looked kind... Pissed.

  His jaw was clenched hard, his scattergun level out at some enemy outside the scene, the faintest bleed of red staining the steel of my favorite gun.

  "The second," said the Kraken, "is the Fool's Lesson. Call it a consolation prize for your habit if fuckin' everything you touch right up. Rather than unlikely solutions to unforeseen problems, this mutation would give you insight. Allow you to know how, exactly, a situation went tits up, and to react faster and better when it does. The more you get into trouble, the more you'll come to recognize it comin' for you." the Kraken paused his speech to finally strike a match and touch it to his pipe. And after a long draw, "In short, you'll learn from your mistakes, in ways you should not, could not otherwise."

  I nodded, chewin' my lip and pretending I had the forethought and wisdom to make decisions like this. We all knew, me, the Kraken, The Lady of the Deep and whatever terrifying monstrosities that might peer into my Dream, that I wasn't one for plans or thought. That I was a man who did things, and damn the consequences.

  And Luck seemed like it would make it a lot easier to damn said consequences, come to think.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  And on the other hand, maybe if I learned form all the shit I got into I wouldn't need to damn anyone except those who crossed me.

  "You ain't gonna ask what changed?" the Kraken said with a smirk.

  "Hmm?" I said looking up, "what do you mean?"

  He rolled his eyes and drew deep on his pipe, "Did you somehow forget you were gift a fragment of the Great Nothin' just a little while ago? Don't you think that might have some effect on mutations? Your Abilities?"

  "Oh, well, yessir I suppose I ought to," I said with a sniff. Damn he was smokin' some good stuff, "What, Oh Mighty Kraken, did change?"

  "Everything." He laughed, his black teeth bared and shining like the oil slick, "But just for now there is one more effect attached to your Abilities whenever you advance them. For Luck, it will also make you a little better at avoiding direct attacks. Think of it like uh, a smokescreen against fate. Things that should hit you, won't."

  Well now we were talkin'. Abstract bullshit about good fortune and sensin' danger were a bit much for me, but not gettin' shot as much? I liked that.

  "And for Fool's Lesson?"

  "For that one," he said tapping the card for emphasis, "everytime you fight something you'll better understand how it tick. Not in a, fancy pants academic way neither. Basically, you'll where best to put a bullet, or a blade if you decide survival is less of a priority."

  I sat back, puffed my smoke and stared at the ceiling.

  Well that cinched it.

  "Lesson! Let this Fool finally learn, old man."

  He smiled, "Good choice. Luck is a... fickle mistress. Better to trust in your own skill and ability."

  "Well hell, I just liked the idea of usin' less ammo. Figure if I always know where to hit them," I let the sentence hang.

  The Kraken just nodded and repeated the split and crawl on the final card.

  The left half of Ice-Cold Blood was very different from the little me skewered by swords it had been earlier. While a few of them still stuck fast in my hand-drawn body, three of them hung in space, swishes of red blood suggestion motion as my likeness flung them at some threat, even as he drew another from his flesh.

  "First, your Ice-Cold Blood, the Ability that ensures you survive most of the stupid you get into instead of bleedin' out like you deserve, becomes more than a mere physical boon. This mutation, Gore Arsenal, will let you draw weapons from the wounds you inflict or sustain. That's infinite ammo, son, and all you gotta do is bleed for it. The Lady's touch on this is particularly sinister too," his grin was a mile wide and his eyes were bright, "some of that nothing in you, will be passed on. A little of her void will infect every cartridge and shot form from your own flesh and blood. It'll eat, and eat at whoever, whatever you shoot. Now that's nasty."

  And deeply morally fraught. Probably. Power might not have morals, but I wasn't sure how harnessin' the darkest, most empty, part creation to slowly kill things I failed to finish off was any less than evil.

  Then again, that was just an incentive to shoot straight and spare them some misery. Never running out of shells like I had in the Vault, like I might fightin' through Murkwater in the mornin'?

  That was worth at least some evil.

  The second was a lot less triumphant. And also involved a hell of a lot more swords.

  This Roche was so damn skewered he looked like the needle-mice I used to trap in winter. At least twenty short blades gored the little me from all angles and everywhere it counted. Despite that though, his expression was one of rage and not pain. His lips were twisted in a snarl and his eyes were wild and bloodshot.

  "And, oh dear," muttered the Kraken, "your other Ability, from Ice-Cold to Blood Fury. You got to feel a Mana Rush recently, didn't you? The way it makes the world clear, the way it lets you heard the songs, frees you from all them thoughts of mercy and peace," said the Kraken, an uncharacteristic longing in his voice, "Blood Fury will let have that on demand. When sufficiently injured, or just mad enough, you can cannibalize the ambient mana around you, pump it right into your heart and soul. Move faster, shoot better, hit harder, and never give a single damn about anything but violence and death, for a little while."

  Oh so insanity on demand? Well ain't that peachy, "And let me guess, the Lady's twist is that, uh, maybe eating babies raw lets me extend the Rush, or somethin'?"

  The Kraken shrugged, "Don't have to be a baby, but I like where your heads at. No, instead if consume lifeforce, or mana should you figure that out somehow from anything around you, it will extend the Rush and grant you a fraction of the strength of the consumed. A bit more, uh, motivation for that particular course."

  I sighed and ashed my smoke, "I'd use that change to my Chthonic Dexterity to do that, I assume?"

  "Just so. A synergy, if you like."

  I didn't but no point in sayin' so. Much as Blood Fury tempted me, and it surely did, Mana Rushes were fun and all, but they seemed to have a nasty side effect of mild insanity. Plus, I had already pondered the berserkin' just earlier. There was a reason those legendary Northman warrior were only legends now.

  Runnin' around pissed off, fightin' ever fight like it was personal? That was a quick way to a bad end.

  "Gore Arsenal."

  "Really? Not Blood Fury?"

  "No. Why the hell would I want to be that angry and stupid all the time? I'm already stupid, as we've thoroughly established. Might as well try and balance out all the impulse and poor choices with a bit of extra care. Or, uh, a whole lot of ammunition."

  The Kraken pursed his lips and gave me a look I couldn't quite pin down, "I can respect that. Maybe you aren't just a fool."

  I clapped my hands together as the cards I didn't choose melted into the same black water my Patron had thrown in my face earlier.

  "We done?" I asked as the survivors crawled their way to join the deck in the old Bastard's hand.

  "We're done. Check your book when you wake up. You'll see the descriptions for all your Abilities, including the ones that mutated on their own."

  "Well thank you kindly for that." I said, reaching up to tip a hat that wasn't there.

  Even in the godsdamned Dream.

  The Kraken laughed, "Oh and one more thing Roche," he began as the imagined world started to ripple and bleed, "I hope you like the changes you've earned. When you make deals with monsters, with things like the Lady?" his rotten grin seemed to expand as it rode the collapsin' reality, until was almost all that I saw, "you get one Step closer joinin' us down below.

  I awoke. To a child's terrified scream.

  Then another, a woman's, chasin' the first as reality finally resolved around me. I sat, starin' at the embers of divinity that still protected our room in the manor. The sound of someone in danger obliterated the lingerin' fog that often came with advancing my path.

  I shot up, scattergun in hand as I scanned the room around me only to find six faces stained with terror, and one steeped in dim confusion.

  "Gods, Roche what have you done?" Whispered Margarette.

  "Is h-he, one of them now?" said Vin, the boy so pale his skin looked more like ash than anyone's, even an Outcast's, should.

  "One of what?" I snapped, still not quite understandin' why the hell everyone was freakin' out. I looed to the door, and found it closed, then turned back. As I did, I glimpsed something terrible in the reflection from a mirror hung high on the wall before me.

  I saw there...

  I saw a demon, fresh and wicked as the banshee herself, saw him starin' back at me, green eyes a-glow.

  "Gods," I swore as I caught sight of myself, "oh Gods, what the fuck am I?"

  Name: Lorcan Roche

  Path: Desperado

  Patron: Kraken

  Step: 4

  Foundation:

  The Fool - Acts of risk, violence, and self destruction will increase the strength and scope of your Path. You are far from that distant Horizon.

  Structure:

  The Tower (Inverted) - Every step along your Path will bring great power, but all that you were before must first be brought low. You are Blessed with mutation and transformation.

  Crown:

  Justice - You are bound by a code. If you ever should violate your own sense of justice, your Path will end. Do good, do ill, but.

  Do. Not. Falter.

  Star:

  The Watcher - Your Path is guided by the Eye of the Gods, the will of the Pantheons, and the desires of the Dark. You will see beyond, and you will hear the requests of those above. Absolution, Corruption, you are Herald to both and more.

  Abilities:

  Fool's Lesson: You can still crack locks and get into what isn't yours, but the consequences of doing so have finally penetrated your thick skull. Sense danger, learned to avoid traps, and never make the same mistake twice. You also gradually learn the weaknesses of the things you fight, givin' you insight into how best to put them down.

  Deep's Embrace: Greatly enhance your ability to grasp, crush, strangle and manipulate. Your nascent tendrils have matured, becomin' something worth of a Kraken young. You can drain the life from a livin' foe with a touch and, yeah, you draw faster than any man ever ought.

  Arcane Soul: More than sight, the Veil no longer obstructs any of your sense. You can see mana, taste it, hear the songs of the world. You're also an even better shot.

  Gore Arsenal: You can't die of blood loss, and you'll eventually heal from all but the most grievous injuries. You can also extract tainted ammunition by sacrificin' your own flesh and blood. Your rate of healing and recovery is faster still and even a little tougher.

  Dancin' With The Devil: You've learned to convert the momentum of every shot into impossibly fast movements, a Drift. Additionally, you chose when to expend the stored energy, resulting in multiple consecutive Drifts or bursts of catastrophic speed.

  Note: You don't need to master these, yet. The next time we commune, you'll pick an Ability fresh. And Roche, don't fuckin' wait so long again.

  P.S.

  Hope you like the gills, those were my idea. You can blame the extra eyes on the Boss Lady.