†Chapter 7: Signs of Confusion†

 

 

 

†Chapter 7: Signs of Confusion†

 

“ZELAIDE Silvergray?” That Beast Blood?” The man swiveled his chair away from the monitor he’d been watching with rapt attention to look behind him.

An excellent air-conditioning system kept the dark, extravagant room comfortable, but its lack of windows rendered the air stale and claustrophobic, despite the vast space. The man slowly rose from the leather chair, poured amber liquid into two crystal glasses, and placed one glass in front of the man facing him. His graceful movements, which clashed with his big, muscular frame, seemed calculated.

“This fine liquor was brought here by the colonists from the old world. You can’t get your hands on this stuff anymore.”

“You honor me. Now, regarding the information I’ve brought—you know of him?” asked the other man. He was wire-thin in comparison. His rimless glasses reflected the white light of the monitors, making his already enigmatic expression even more elusive.

“I’ve seen his ugly mug before, as he’s gone out of his way to make a name for himself among those Beast Blood bastards. So, what about him?”

“Our sources say he’s accepted a job guarding the girl you have taken a fancy to. Adding insult to injury, I might add, the girl is cohabiting with him in his house.”

“Well, well.” The man rolled the bitter malt liquor over his tongue. “That’s some news, all right. That thing’s got Mayor Saionji’s little sister under his wing, eh? Suppose it makes sense when you think about it—assuming it was him who saved her from the brink of danger, that is, even if just by coincidence. Saionji is an annoying woman distinguished for her quick decision making.”

“Indeed. The other day I undertook some measures to shake things up a little, to see how they would react. Forgive me for acting first before consulting you on the matter, sir…but I didn’t want to report back to you without any definitive data on the situation.”

“I don’t mind. So? What measures are you talking about?”

It was this generous attitude of the bigger man that accorded high regard among his subordinates, who always treated him with the utmost respect.

“I received word from our watchdog that a window had been left cracked open. Such a grievous breach in his defenses had never occurred before, so I took the opportunity to send a small Muta I happened to have on hand into the building. You see, dealing with such creatures is my specialty.”

“I see. You played a crafty card; one they can’t trace back to you. Good. While I doubt he’s been deceived, those dipstick bizzies down at the cop shop can’t do shit without evidence to discredit the chance that the Muta slipped in coincidently. Plenty of yuppies purchase small illegal Muta as pets, and cases of those creatures bounding into their neighbor’s property are quite common. Rather impressive handiwork, really. Ingenious, I’d say. So, any results?”

“Not much that night. No gunshots or screams were heard, so I believe the Beast Blood skillfully killed it. There is one thing of note though…I wouldn’t call it a big change, but the relationship between the two shows subtle signs of greater intimacy.”

“Ooh? And your basis for that is…?”

“Nothing definitive. You could call it…my intuition, sir. I wouldn’t take offense if you dismiss it as unscientific, as there is a dearth of data for the claim.”

“It is certainly unusual for you to suggest anything without generous data… But I wouldn’t call it unscientific. Isn’t observation the foundation of your career? If what you say is true, then…” he trailed off into contemplative silence as he stared at the swaying liquor in his glass.

The thinner man across from him was accustomed to this behavior and sat silently so as not to disturb his train of thought. After a while, the bigger man downed the rest of his drink and smiled with amusement at his patient audience.

“Sir?” his subordinate prompted.

“Interesting.”

“…You find it interesting, sir?”

“I do. For better or worse, the two people I have my eyes on for different reasons are conveniently together. What else could this be dubbed as but interesting?”

“If you say so…” the thin man sighed. “What would you like me to do now, sir? Should I monitor them a while longer?”

“Good question. Don’t take your eyes off the lass for now. You won’t spot her alone for some time, but her youth will be her vice. An opening will present itself in due time,” the man said in good humor, before his tone suddenly changed. “So she’s getting it on with a Beast Blood? Sick. She must be as brainless as she looks. Too bad. The face she made when she chose death whet such a deep craving; I have to see it again up close, by all means. All the more if she’s related to that woman.”

The man poured himself another glass and watched the liquid swirl before murmuring further, “…Okay, give it to me straight. Did that vile Beast Blood shag the living daylights out of the lass already? She’s probably no virgin, but she is the little sister of Saionji, who runs a high integrity campaign. It’d be hard for her to go tramping around like a wanton slag.”

“Forgive the correction, but,” the thinner man demurred, indifferent to the incongruity of the other man’s vulgarity and his polished voice befitting of his fine surroundings, “they have displayed no signs of being in a sexual relationship, at least publicly. Though the intimacy between them has comparatively increased, the girl merely appears infatuated with the rare specimen, while the Beast Blood treats her with the businesslike protocols required of his contract. The girl is unskilled at masking her emotions, so I believe I will know if something else develops. At the moment, you could say she is simply attracted to his exotic physical appearance. The other women around her are squealing over him too, but the Beast Blood acts indifferent towards women.”

The man concluded his observations and tasted the alcohol in his glass. One glass of this liquor corresponded to several months of rent for a blue-collar worker. Though it did nothing for him as he put the glass right back down.

The man across from him looked longingly at the remaining liquid gold before scoffing, “Ha! The Beast Blood probably prefers banging big burly women cut from the same skeevy cloth. I’ve heard they have violent sex. That’s where the saying ‘screwing like a Beast Blood’ came from.” He shook his head in disgust. “…Hmph. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the grotty beast, but I want to meet the lass…by accident, if necessary. Just make it happen.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I think we best wait until everything is in order before we force a rendezvous, in the real sense…” the man hinted, a lewd smile quirking his lower lip. “…On another note, about business in Out Circle…”

Out Circle was the area beyond the highway running the outermost loop around Gothic City, also known as Downtown. For the most part, the less affluent working classes lived in Downtown, which was predominately occupied by average apartment complexes. However, a good section of Out Circle was home to rampant crime and their disreputable perpetrators. The grander the city, the grander the shadow it cast on its outskirts.

“Do you have new orders…?”

“Yeah. Tell Infernum’s leader to green-light his Inferni to run riot up and down the city. Give him pure Nightz, not the laced stuff, as payment. I don’t mind if some die.”

“I see. You plan to prevent the mayor from achieving reelection by destroying the public’s sense of safety.”

“What kind of daft conclusions are you drawing? Preventing her reelection is paltry—I want to hack that woman off this city’s throne. Erica Saionji will betray her noble ideology and shamefully resign before reelection. Everything she’s achieved to date will be turned on its head.”

“…As you wish, sir.”

“Good. Tread carefully though. ‘You can never be too careful’ is my creed in life,” the man said with a deep smile. For some reason, his perfectly smooth smile reminded the thinner man of a snake.

“…If you say so.”

“I expect great things from you, Shank.”

†††

“THAT takes care of the stew!” Euphemia exclaimed, shutting off the flame under the large stockpot. Letting the stew stock sit in the fridge for half a day, she believed, would bring out the flavors. The number of dishes she could cook had increased recently, though most of her recipes were hard-to-fail stews and soups.

Two weeks had passed since she began living with Zelaide. The weeks passed uneventfully without danger, aside from the one bizarre time the rare Muta infiltrated the bathroom. The peace and quiet felt anticlimactic. That said, Zelaide never let down his guard and made sure to constantly check the security system and patrol several times a night. On the other hand, a normal citizen like Euphemia couldn’t keep vigilant for long, and she recovered from her fears as if they were never there in the first place. If anything, she was struggling with a different kind of fear: that Zelaide might lose all interest in her if nothing happened again.

That attack might not have been meant for me. She hated the simple-minded part of herself that was quick to make assumptions.

The relationship between them hadn’t gone anywhere after that night, but it hadn’t regressed either. Euphemia felt more attracted to Zelaide with every passing day, while he seemed to have come to accept her presence. For now. She understood that any progress, no matter how slim, was worth celebrating. On a rare occasion, Zelaide even dined with her.

But it’s human nature to always want more.

Euphemia didn’t know whether it was because he was a Beast Blood or if it was personal preference, but Zelaide didn’t eat unless he was hungry. Hunger only struck him once every three days, and he consumed a large amount in one sitting. If he felt the need to refrain from eating, he could go for a whole week on nothing. Euphemia conjectured this was feasible because of the strong genetic similarities Beast Bloods shared with the original species inhabiting this planet. Humans also had a history of fasting when food was scarce; she wondered if the original species had adapted to the short food supply in their own way. Lack of documentation on the species played a part in their incomplete understanding of Beast Bloods.

So Euphemia made an extra-large portion of food for dinner every third day. Oddly enough to Euphemia, Zelaide barely touched vegetables. He especially avoided uncooked vegetables. Though he didn’t complain about their inclusion and would even eat a little if she insisted on it, he wouldn’t touch them if she left him to his own devices.

Euphemia assumed he didn’t have a vitamin deficiency with his raw meat diet and decided not to push human food standards on him. Since he was more likely to eat chilled, thick soups, she did lots of research to make up for her lack of cooking experience and learned recipes from Mrs. Mayo, increasing her repertoire of soups and stews with vegetables and meat.

As for the raw meat, she neatly sliced it up and served it on a nice plate at the dinner table. Supposing Zelaide didn’t cook his meat for a reason, she took care not to ruin its raw quality by dressing it in sauces or seasonings like one would with traditional tartare, and chose only to copy the plating and cutting technique. What Zelaide thought of it was beyond her, but he ate what she made for him without complaint. For all she knew, he could be eating in a dark corner somewhere without her knowledge, but she believed his willingness to eat together now was huge progress.

But the more progress she made, the greedier she became. She wanted him to view her as a woman, if only a little. There was little question Zelaide had become more talkative, which for him meant he replied to her questions and conversation topics. He was now properly interacting with Euphemia instead of ignoring her. But he hadn’t touched her once since their “friendship kiss,” and avoided her room entirely. She wasn’t sure she had the right term to describe it, but he was acting like a “perfect gentleman” in those regards.

A “gentleman Beast Blood” has an odd ring to it. Is it all that wrong for me to wish something more would happen since we live under the same roof?

Euphemia placed the dishes in the dishwasher and shut the door hard. She had the day off and no other plans, so she intended to spend the whole day at home. Zelaide said he was going out for a bit and took off in his car that morning, leaving Euphemia home alone.

He had brooded over the odd Muta attack for some time before tinkering with the house’s security system. Someone was probably monitoring their house day and night, keeping her from even going for a walk through the neighborhood for some air. It was suffocating at times, but the situation had been brought upon her by her own negligence, so Euphemia couldn’t complain.

But I’m skeptical they’ll try anything funny in broad daylight. Doing so would just be asking to get caught. This city’s police force is supposed to be one of the best, after all.

Euphemia wasn’t particularly worried inside the house, since contacting her sister and the proper authorities would be easy if necessary. Besides, Tipsy was nesting somewhere inside the house, too. Tipsilox were nocturnal Muta, but that didn’t necessarily mean they slept the entire day. They possessed a keen sense of smell and reacted on the drop of a coin when they caught whiff of an unfamiliar scent in their territory.

Left with nothing to do after preparing dinner, Euphemia reached for her IHT to write up her research report draft. She could have gone to her room to work on it, but she found the kitchen more relaxing. After all, she would know right away when Zelaide returned home.

I probably shouldn’t ask him where he went or what he did. She shook the bad idea from her head and swiped her finger across the IHT key panel. She flicked her finger across the screen until a video of her lab’s Mongolian gerbils displayed. They were vigorously munching on Nightz seeds. I should really think about reporting this to the director soon.

The experiment was still under an individual researcher’s restraints, but she would receive a budget and the permission to expand its scale if the administration recognized her work. Director Burhardt, who understood her experiments’ value, might push her to present at the next planning meeting.

Euphemia buried herself in work for hours, thinking it was about time to distill her experiment results into a conclusive report.

…Which is why she failed to notice the quiet sound of heels clacking on the tile floor, steadily advancing in her direction.

When she lifted her face from her IHT, she was surprised to see a woman standing in front of the kitchen door.

“…Wh-Who are you?”

“Oh…you must be her,” the woman said in a calm voice, seemingly unaffected by Euphemia’s presence.

Strangely enough, the woman reminded Euphemia of her older sister Erica, an impression made stranger by the fact they shared nothing in common besides their tall and trim figures. Brown hair tinged with silver swayed around her shoulders. Her eyes were a darker shade of brown, and while her skin was light, it had a shade of pink in contrast to Erica’s cream white. Finally, she was clad in an elaborate pants suit that screamed expensive, brand-named clothing. It was a style neither Euphemia nor Erica would ever wear.

“Who are you? No one can come inside this house without Zel’s express permission,” Euphemia said sharply as her wariness skyrocketed.

The automatic gates leading into the property wouldn’t open for anyone or any car not registered in the system.

The woman answered Euphemia’s barbed tone with the smile of a businesswoman. “And did you not consider the possibility that I am one of the select few with permission, Mayor Saionji’s little sister?”

“What?”

“I’m Palmina Nielsen, Zelaide Silvergray’s agent. He calls me Pal. Nice to meet you, princess.”

“Eh? Pa—” Euphemia gaped at the woman.

Zelaide had mentioned Pal’s name on more than one occasion, but this was Euphemia’s first meeting with the woman, and her surprise only doubled to find that she looked completely different from what she had imagined.

Palmina was the only other person Zelaide ever spoke of, which was proof of his trust. It had stoked a sense of jealousy within Euphemia at first, but since he had stopped talking about her over the past two weeks, and Palmina displayed a meticulous attention to detail with the supply deliveries, Euphemia came to believe she was a much older woman.

The woman before her, however, was an attractive and alluring woman of maybe a slightly younger age than Erica.

“Miss Pal?! You’re Miss Pal?” Euphemia sounded like a broken record.

“Yes, indeed I am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Euphemia Ashencourt, younger sister of Mayor Saionji.”

Palmina held out her beautiful hand as she smiled at Euphemia. Her fingernails were manicured into perfect half-moons and painted with an elegant light-purple gel. Euphemia held out her smaller hand in return, her own nails unpainted and unbuffed with oils. She avoided putting anything on her nails due to the sterile environment of her workplace, and she was never really fond of nail polish to begin with.

“I-It’s nice to meet you too,” Euphemia stammered. “Sorry about my initial reaction. I didn’t know enough about you to tell it was you on sight.” She was at a loss about how to respond adequately when the other woman had said her name before she could introduce herself.

“It’s fine. It’s Zel we’re talking about. I figured he left you in the dark like that.” Palmina silenced Euphemia’s fumbled excuses with a composed smile as she placed her purse on the counter and retrieved a cup from the cupboard with habitual ease. Considering she referred to Zelaide by his nickname, their relationship seemed close. “I’m going to pour myself some tea. Don’t worry, this is something I always do.”

“Always…?” Euphemia asked, watching her fill the cup with hot water from the water boiler on the pristine countertop.

“Yes, always. He dislikes people in his territory so I make a point of not running into him while he’s home. But you know, I’ve been coming here to confirm that the deliveries arrived on time and in mint condition once a week since long before you started living here. You never noticed until now?” Palmina asked, hiding the skepticism in her voice as she tore open a tea bag and submerged it in the steaming water.

“I didn’t… I knew the supplies were delivered once a week, but…I didn’t think you visited the house on the same day, Miss Palmina. Or that you came alone…” Euphemia said, pausing as she spoke to carefully pick the right words that would hide her surprise.

“Oh, you aren’t wrong. There are days I come with others from the agency to make the deliveries. But Zel absolutely despises strangers, so I’ve done my best to minimize outsider visits. As for me, you could say I’m special. I’m welcome to come inside whenever, on the most part.”

Euphemia didn’t miss the emphasis Palmina put on the word special. No woman would. What she meant by it was clear.

This woman likes Zel… There was no mistaking it. Any woman could tell: Palmina was staking her claim. The question was, how did Zelaide feel? The way he spoke of her to Euphemia didn’t even hint at any romantic tension. But what if he was just being considerate of Euphemia?

“Oh, were you cooking? Is this stew? Looks good. Are you a good cook?” Palmina asked, removing the lid and looking inside the pot without asking. Euphemia suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

“No, I’m horrible at it,” she admitted.

“Oh? But can you eat this much?”

“I made his portion as well…”

“You did?! Zel eats the food you make?” Palmina asked, sounding surprised.

“He does. Only when he’s…hungry, though.” Euphemia gingerly chose her words. Palmina probably knew Zelaide better than she did, but she wasn’t going to risk exposing his secrets.

“But how? …He’s—” she started to say something but caught herself in time, “…never mind.”

“I know. Beast Bloods primarily eat raw meat. He eats that too, of course. Lately he will eat with me if I slice up the meat and serve it to him on a plate… But he also has a fondness for boiled foods and will eat a small mountain’s worth if I serve it chilled.”

“Wow. I’m surprised… Are you okay? You saw him eat, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine. You can’t tell by looking at me, but I am a researcher.”

“Hmm, but I’m pretty sure you’re doing something he doesn’t like. Are you positive you aren’t forcing your selfish whims on him?” Palmina accused, giving Euphemia the evil eye. “If you are, I want you to stop it this instant. Contrary to his wild appearance, he endures a lot of crap, especially from selfish employers who push unreasonable demands on him.”

“I’m fairly certain I haven’t pushed or forced anything on him… I mean, I doubt I could if I wanted to,” Euphemia sincerely countered. Some part of her wondered if there was some merit to what Palmina accused her of. “You know Zel very well, right, Miss Palmina?”

“Yes, I would say I do… I have been working with him for a long time now.”

“How long ago did you meet?”

“Let me see… I met him around the time I arrived on this planet, so…roughly twelve to thirteen years or so, I’d say.”

“Seriously?! Wouldn’t Zel still have been just a kid back then? You’ve known him since he was a boy?”

Palmina appeared to be in her thirties. Euphemia didn’t know Zelaide’s exact age, but he looked much younger than Palmina. No matter how she did the math, the two of them would’ve met while he was still in his early teens. Was Zelaide doing dangerous work as a Contractor and Hunter at that age?

“Do you even know how old he is?” Palmina asked, laughing when she saw the doubt on Euphemia’s face.

“I don’t know. I never asked him.”

“You haven’t, huh? Then let me ask you, how old does he look to you?”

“Umm, let me think. He looks a little older than me, so maybe around twenty-five? I’m going just by looks.”

“You’re right—that is what he looks like. I don’t know his exact age either, but I would say he’s at least close to forty.”

“What?!” Euphemia’s cry echoed through the kitchen. “No way! That’s impossible! I can’t believe it. How can that be? I mean…”

Zelaide’s skin was taut and smooth with no blemishes, wrinkles, or patches. He had sharp eyesight; his movements were keen and nimble in spite of his long limbs, and at times, he possessed the grace of a dancer. Most of all, his wild beauty could only belong to a young man.

“I don’t blame you for being surprised. Beast Bloods have no concept of birthdays like humans do, so it’s hard to know their exact age, but he told me twenty years had already passed since he became aware of himself when he met me.”

Another ten or so years had passed since then. It was hard to determine age from self-awareness, especially if the notion differed between species, but tentatively taking that to mean around age five would certainly put him at around forty years of age now.

“I don’t believe it… He’s a middle-aged man with those looks?” Euphemia asked in disbelief.

“Hahahaha! No, he’s not,” Palmina replied through her knowing laughter.

“Care to explain why not?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you? Well, I shouldn’t expect you to, I guess. Beast Bloods are a species with little care for the concept of leaving records, so most knowledge on them comes from what humans have observed and studied. Are you aware that they are objectively a species with a longer life span than humans?”

“I am. A good number of books and papers have been written on the topic.”

“Right. It’s a relatively well-known fact. What’s surprisingly unknown, however, is the fact that there’s a huge gap between a Beast Blood’s real age and their appearance.”

“…How so?”

“This is just my conjecture, but…do you still want to know?”

“Yes, I would love to hear it.”

“Okay. But take what I say with a grain of salt, because there is massive variance between individuals. Most research says Beast Bloods live an average of 120 years. I’m not a scholar, so don’t quote me on this, but my theory is that they age slower mentally, in proportion to their longer lives. Or is it easier for you to understand if I say it takes them longer to become adults? Plus, the 120 years is only based on a recent article with a small sample for the data. So Beast Bloods may actually live far longer. But you see, when I first met him, he only looked a few years younger than he does now, but his personality was completely that of a child. If we suppose his appearance at the time was that of a twenty-year-old, his mentality would be at the level of a ten-year-old human child. At least that’s the impression he gave.”

Euphemia was too surprised to speak.

“Ten years have gone by since then, so…yeah, I would guess it was only five years of growth mentally, putting his mental age at…let’s see, no more than late-teens? Obviously, this is just my guess, and I don’t have access to data comparing humans to Beast Bloods, so it’s not a sure thing.”

Teens? That Zel is a teenager?! Doesn’t that make him much younger than me? Euphemia reeled in shock.

“The problem with Beast Bloods is while they are still mentally children, they look like adults. Being forced to live according to human societal customs all their lives while feared for their virile, powerful physique fosters them only with experience outside the interpersonal realm, which is why they often appear to speak and act in ways we find difficult to understand.”

“…But Zel is so tough and calm all the time…”

Zelaide tried to hide his eating habits like an ashamed teenager. Did that support Palmina’s theory? The data at hand was too meager to derive an accurate analysis.

“He is. In his case, I think he’s always possessed a strong force of will and emotional control. But he’s always come off as a very sensitive young man to me—almost like that of a boy. Oh, well, none of what I’m saying is backed up by scientific fact—forget it, what am I even rambling on about? I only came to check on the state of the house today. …I didn’t know you would be here, after all.”

“Well…I happened to have the day off today.”

“I see… I’m still in shock, to tell you the truth. I can’t believe the Zel I know is living with a woman in his own home… I’m the one who introduced the job to him, so I can’t complain, but I didn’t think it would lead to this.”

“I’m with you on that one. I also didn’t imagine things would end up like this, and I spend my days surprised by all sorts of things. But I feel safe with him…and my older sister has her hands full at work.”

“I’m sure… You and Mayor Saionji give off completely different vibes. Few people are even aware she has a younger sister. You don’t appear in the public as her sister, do you?”

“Yes, we keep things this way on purpose. I never wanted to benefit from my sister’s accomplishments.”

“But you ended up benefiting from it after all.” Palmina lifted her shoulders in a refined shrug, rendering Euphemia speechless.

Euphemia knew she was being a burden on Zelaide and her sister, but having it pointed out by a bystander rubbed her the wrong way. Palmina immediately followed the remark up with a smile.

Euphemia stared at the smile, wondering what lay behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Palmina apologized, smile still intact. “I couldn’t help myself from teasing you.”

“Haah…” Euphemia sighed. “I’m used to it. Plenty of people take it upon themselves to tease me.”

“Mostly women, I’m sure.”

“…Yes.”

Palmina’s business smile shifted into a small, real one at Euphemia’s honesty. She isn’t a bad girl, Palmina thought. But I must stop her from developing a horrible misunderstanding nonetheless.

“Be careful,” Palmina warned. “Make sure you don’t fall in love with Zel.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard my theory. He’s no different from a boy right now. He’s very pure and young on the inside. And on top of that, he is ridiculously easy to hurt.”

“Like you said, that’s nothing more than your theory,” Euphemia retorted.

“Perhaps. But the one sure thing is his hatred for humans. I don’t know the details behind that either, but I’m fairly sure he went through something horrible as a child. Zel doesn’t speak of it much, and he loathes it when someone asks him about his past, you see.”

“……”

“I believe Zel knows these circumstances are inevitable due to the nature of the job. He’s a nice guy even when displeased, so he might not treat you bad, but be careful not to indulge in his kindness. With how young and pretty you are, there’s no need for you to go taking an interest in some Beast Blood. Get the picture?” Without even waiting for an answer, Palmina flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked away as if to signal the conversation was over.

Euphemia stood in a blank daze, alone in the middle of the kitchen.

†††

AROUND the same time Euphemia was confronted by Palmina, Zelaide was on the outskirts of a district known for its metalwork, located in a corner of Out Circle.

The sector closest to the fortified outer walls of Out Circle didn’t have the best reputation. Among the crowd of serious blue-collar workers were workmen who ran a secret workshop underground dealing in the kinds of dangerous weaponry and machinery that was hidden from the public.

Zelaide received word from his usual vendor that the small modified pistol he had ordered was ready for pickup, so he stopped by the underground workshop to retrieve it. He couldn’t accompany Euphemia packing the large hunting rifles and high-caliber shotguns used for hunting Muta.

“Somethin’ bad is in the air…” Zelaide muttered.

This sector was usually bouncing with sordid activity, yet not even the shadow of a person lingered on the street despite being midday. Some people had been present on the street before this one, the most conspicuous being the youngsters idly wasting their time, unburdened by the responsibilities of work. Quite a few were high on Nightz, and several had even approached Zelaide thinking he was a dealer with his all-black attire.

Nightz… It’s infiltrated deep into this area as well.

Zelaide sped up his pace, keeping a cautious eye on his surroundings. He had long since noticed the cloying bloodlust directed his way.

“…Got business with me?” Zelaide growled threateningly in the middle of the short, filthy backstreet.

It was a threat. Most Vermi and outlaw hunters felt instinctual fear at the sound of his growl and would retreat before causing trouble. It was only ever those who knew him who wouldn’t withdraw.

Zelaide was surrounded by five men. Backed up to an old factory wall, this backstreet was the only place without anyone within a ten mol radius. He had chosen to address his attackers here with that knowledge.

I wish for once I was wrong ‘bout why an area’s been deserted. They chose somewhere with noisy machinery to drown out their presence.

Zelaide bent his knees, lowering into a fighting stance. Two men with the telltale markers of Vermis were in front of him, three behind. Several more were watching from hiding.

Vermis was the general catchall for the dangerous gangs living off of the major cities. Word had it that Mayor Saionji’s hard work had massively decreased their numbers in Gothic City over the past two years. The downside to this, the news had reported, was that the surviving Vermis had formed cabals, some of which were beginning to use high-powered weapons to carry out terrorist attacks on the city. It wasn’t hard to follow the trail to recognize that the only way they’d gained access to this technology was through connections with the syndicates.

To Zelaide’s right was the factory’s filthy wall, spray-painted with graffiti; to his left, the walls of several crammed together old buildings. Circle Line towered above the dozens of illegal cables obstructing the narrow sliver of sky. It was dark against the sunlight, but beautiful nonetheless. The stark contrast to the peaceful, clean scenery inside of Circle Line was ironic.

“Who hired you?” Zelaide snarled.

No one answered.

“Well, not like I expected an answer.” Zelaide shrugged his strong shoulders.

Seeing as they’re targeting me when I’m alone, they’re unrelated to Yumi’s case.

“You guys look like Vermis to me. Were you hired by Infernum?”

They didn’t answer his question. Instead, they closed the circle around him. Zelaide’s teal-blue eyes locked on the man in the middle with the large tech gun—he was the most dangerous one there. The others were dressed in flashy studded leather, but only this man was dressed in all-black like Zelaide.

“Aw, giving me the cold shoulder? Somebody’s mama didn’t teach ‘em proper manners,” Zelaide taunted.

“Filthy Beast Blood scum… You’re an eyesore,” spat the man in a red jacket standing the closest. He fell right for Zelaide’s taunt, and his subsequent line of curses was the battle signal.

The two large men closest to Zelaide charged at him, brandishing bat-sized hunting knives in both hands. Light flashed every time their knives whirred through the air; they were athletic and sliced through the air with a practiced, sharp whoosh. Zelaide retreated while dodging the four knives from both directions, never letting his attention drift away from the men at his back. He knew they were waiting to put a bullet in his back the moment he devoted his attention to the knives lashing out at him.

Zelaide slid a hand inside his coat as he leapt a good distance back, drawing his favorite knife from the holster around his thigh.

Luring the man with persistent, wide swings dangerously close, Zelaide twisted around and thrust his knife through the man’s black glove as he slipped by him. The knife carved through the leather, spraying blood everywhere. He gouged out the flesh between the man’s thumb and fingers.

Screaming in agony, the man dropped his knife to clasp his right hand and withdrew from the fight. The other man rushed in from the side without delay.

“Get your ass back to the Wilds, monster!”

The set up played exactly as Zelaide anticipated. Within a fraction of a second of sensing a gun cocking at his back, he grabbed the wrist of his lunging assailant, crouched down, and used him as a living shield.

BANG!

“AGH!”

A dry crack echoed through the deserted backstreet; a daring shot without a silencer. The bullet hit the man in the stomach. Zelaide tossed him away and let the wire strings equipped on his wrist fly. It coiled around the signboard of the building across the way, propelling him through the sky at the speed of an arrow. He confirmed the locations of his enemies as he ascended.

Two in the street and one more in a tiny back alley.

Zelaide pulled out his gun as he pinpointed his enemies from above. Sniping a target while moving rapidly through the air was a near impossible task, but Zelaide easily pulled it off with his keen eyesight and catlike reflexes.

BANG! BANG!

“GAH!”

“URGH!”

Both men stumbled back, screaming as bullets ripped through their palms. Never again would their dominant hand carry anything heavy. Attacking the hands and fingers was Zelaide’s signature move.

Even after being shot, the man in all-black, likely their leader, vindictively drew his left arm back and flung needlelike weapons at Zelaide as he alighted on top of the building’s eaves. Five or six needles soared toward Zelaide, trailing silver light.

ZING!

The set of loosed needles were knocked to the ground with an earsplitting shriek akin to nails on chalk. Zelaide deflected every needle with a flick of his rewinding wire strings.

Or so he thought.

His black leather jacket ripped and blood dripped onto the street below. His wire had failed to reach a single needle in time. It had grazed his left upper arm.

“Tch!” Zelaide clicked his tongue at the inconvenience as if it were no more than a mosquito bite. Beast Bloods possessed a high pain tolerance. “Aw man, look what you’ve done to my jacket. Pay up,” he said, firing his gun once.

The man dropped to the ground this time, fainting in agony while gripping his groin. Zelaide had shot him in the crotch. He was done for without immediate medical attention. Only one more remained.

“AAAH!” The man turned to run, but Zelaide smoothly landed five mols in front of him. “EEK!”

He barely managed to catch himself as his knees gave out and pulled out a large gun with both hands. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a coward as he seemed.

“You and that leader of yours ain’t normal Vermis.”

The man gulped loudly.

“You’re Inferni.”

“Th-That’s right. I’m Inferni,” the man acknowledged as cold sweat ran down his face.

“Do you despise me?” Zelaide asked, his voice neutral.

“Damn straight I despise you. I despise all Beast Bloods. My pops was killed by a Beast Blood!” the man hissed.

“That’s a pity. But I’m not the one who offed your dad.”

“Doesn’t make a difference… All Beast Bloods are wild beasts—ARGH!” The man took Zelaide’s fist to the cheek and rolled over backwards. Several of his front teeth fell onto the road, trailing blood behind them.

“You’re right. I am a beast. But how’s that make me any different from scum like you? Huh?” Zelaide kicked the man in the stomach, sending him into the air. He heard a dull crack which probably came from the man’s ribs breaking in several places, but he didn’t care. “TALK! Who’s your ringleader?! Spit it out or I’ll crush your lungs!”

“…Gueeeh!” The man glared daggers at Zelaide as blood spilled from his mouth. Hatred burned in his eyes.

“TALK! Do you want to die?!” Zelaide shouted, enraged. He placed a heavy boot on top of the man’s chest.

“Guaah…kill…me! Filthy…Beast Blood…scum!” Despite his fatal injuries, the man screwed up his face and spat on Zelaide’s boot. “M-My…comrades will…avenge me. By exterminating every last damn Beast Blood…see?”

Zelaide glared down at the man, anger flashing in his eyes, but he eventually removed his foot. “Shit! Just die on the street like the dog you are!” he shouted, slamming his fist into the ground next to the man’s face. The man lost consciousness.

Zelaide stood and scanned the area. The men curled up in pain on the ground were glaring at him contemptuously, but appeared to have lost the will to attack. They had all sustained fatal injuries.

“Listen up, scumbags! If you live, tell your ringleader: ‘You call us beasts, but you only prove that humans are the real beasts by attacking us!’”

Zelaide’s fury echoed through the backstreets lit by the midday sunlight.